Yes, we can.

3 02 2008

I don’t think I’ve ever talked about my personal politics here.  Maybe I have, I don’t remember.  And it’s not often that I ask you for anything, but today I am.  Please click right here and turn up your speakers.  Then come back.  I’ll wait.  Go!  I’ll still be here. 

 
All right.  I ask you, was that or was that not the most inspiring, uplifting, and hopeful thing you’ve seen for, oh, at least EIGHT YEARS?  I am in love with Barack Obama.  I am in love with his optimism and realism.  I want him to be my President.  I want him to be your President.  And if you’re Ed, I want him to be the President your Prime Minister meets with from time to time to discuss important matters such as “How the in the world can this horrific wound be healed?”

 
Barack Obama, ladies and gentleman.  Vote.  Yesterday my teaching team leader went canvassing for Obama.  At a little house in central Phoenix he rang the doorbell and was greeted by an elderly black woman.  When my friend introduced himself and told her why he was there, she began to cry, saying she never imagined she’d see the day when a white man would walk miles and miles to support a black man for President.  Yes, we can.

Yes, we can, yes, we can.

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So what you’re saying is….

28 01 2008

So.  All that happy clap-trap was before I met the delightful creature who I’ll call Smayla Smaxwell.  Student privacy and all.  The evil evil ass-faced bitch actually told me to shut up and chill out.  Oh yes, and then she invited me to bite her.  Remind me, why am I doing this?  Why did I want to be a teacher? 

 

I’m just kidding.  I love teaching, I really do.  I just hate that evil ass-faced bitch and hope she … transfers.

PS- Noro Sock Yarn.  Believe, yo.





How can I keep from singing?*

10 01 2008

I swear, I could listen to the Wii main menu music all day long.  I could sleep to that stuff.  I wonder if they make a disc of it that I can play in my classroom?  Ah, that reminds me.  Next week I start my full-time student teaching, so you might think I’ve died, but I assure you, I will not have died.  Unless I actually do, and then my GOD wouldn’t this be creepy?  If I do it’s my ex-husband’s fault.  Even if I choke on a Jolly Rancher, it’s his fault.

 

I’m so excited to start teaching full-time.  I cannot wait.  I am so nervous, though.  Last night loverman and I talked about measuring your success as a teacher.  For me, it boils down to mutual respect between me and my students, and observable understandings and applications.  That might sound education buzz-wordy, but I assure you I mean it.  On the other hand, if you ever read the words “pedagogical implications” or “pedagogically justifiable” on this here blog, the OLPP you know and love (and yes, you love me, even though I’m never around and never share good stuff like knitting and gossip) has been overtaken by an alien being.

 

Today, for the first time in months, I actually bought yarn.  Tow skeins of Malabrigo Lace and oh my god, it’s all true, one skein of Noro sock yarn and I don’t know why since I HATE knitting socks, and two skeins of Manos which will become a Meathead hat and matching mittens.  Maybe for me.

 

Do you have a Wii?  Wanna play?  I’d copy Ed once again and put my Wii number out here, but my kids use it, too, and I don’t know how iron-clad are those parental controls.  If you leave a comment with your email address, I’ll email you my number and we can be Wii pals.  Almost like wee pals, but we’re neither short nor using the potty.  If you are using the potty, I don’t want to know.

 

I miss you all.  I miss my blog.  We’re moving AND I start working full-time again for the first time in more than a year.  Yes, I am very stressed, but it’s all so, so good!

 

*Enya, not Martin Sheen

 

*





F that S!

12 12 2007

So I did this little thing to see what my blog would be rated and I’m quite displeased!  Only PG-13?  What kind of crazy talk is that?  Maybe I should say stuff like “boobs” and “whiskey” and “drunken sluts”.  But you see how I put those in quotation marks?  Those aren’t my words!  I don’t use such language!  Priss priss priss!  This story is about to change all that. 

Loverman works for a marvelous internet advertising agency, and they are very good to their employees.  Twice a year they throw big parties, take their sales guys to trade shows in NYC and San Francisco, all sorts of good things.  I was very much looking forward to this year’s Christmas party; all the guys who work for this company are nerdy and awkward in their own special way.  I’m not sure they’d deny that.  The wives and girlfriends, however, are AWESOME and I always have a good time with them.  Oh, and two of their super super gay boys, one only semi-spectacular gay boy with the BEST girl pal ever.  For some reason the party organizer decided that this year, there would be entertainment.  I’m not sure what he was thinking when he booked the dance troupe, but I’m quite sure it wasn’t “Ooh!  Itty bitty titties!  Deeelightful!”  But that’s what we had, and it was quite entertaining.  I am mostly convinced that more than half of the troupe members were not originally women.  All right. The evening progressed, I tossed back more vodka tonics than would prove later to be good for me, and had a gay old time talking with K, L, and J about which dancers we thought were doing a great job at passing, and which dancer had the most prominent package.  Towards the end of the show, the main entertainer (and I think she was the main entertainer because she shook her booty more feverishly than any of the others) waved to a man in the crowd and said “Come on up here, baby!  And bring your chair!”  And I, never having experienced a lap dance before, was reluctant to sit idly by and watch someone else enjoy the entertainment all on his own.  So I opened my big fat mouth and “Where’s MY lap dance?” came sauntering out.  Well.

“Come on, honey!  I don’t discriminate!”  So I grabbed my chair and joined co-worker and Dancer and sat happily down.  I spent the next thrilling four and a half minutes trying to determine the gender of my lap dancer.  Her bum was squishy when she sat on me, but her shoulders were broad AND she was wearing a wig.  I didn’t spank her, although now I think I should have and I regret the missed opportunity.  However, she did pull out the top of my party blouse to check out my rack, after which she announced “They’re fabulous!  And they’re real!”  Thanks!  Thanks, Victoria’s Secret, Secret Embrace Angels Bra with up-lift and separation!  The dance ended al too quickly and Dancer kissed my cheek.  She left a very big lipstick mark and I walked around with my cheek stuck out for the rest of the evening, bragging about my slutty encounter. 

The next day at work management herded everyone into the office and apologized for the entertainment.  Apparently Organizer truly had no idea what he had booked, and they were truly sorry if anyone, particularly anyone’s spouse, was offended.  Loverman piped up “Mine sure wasn’t!”

 
I can’t wait for next year’s party.  I’m bringing some fives, though. 





I’d Like to Help, But No.

3 12 2007

I would like to take this moment to announce that I PASSED my licensing exam and, upon completion of my Masters degree, be certified to teach in the state of Arizona.  Lest you think I’m getting a swelled head over this, my guinea pigs also passed the test.





Let Nothing Ye Dismay

27 11 2007

I figured that the South Beach Diet with which I am currently torturing my fat ass would leave me hungry. I figured I might be a bit snappy with friends and loved ones and everyone else on the planet. What I did not figure is that it would make me completely brain dead. I have had a very hard time waking up these past few mornings, and I’ve always been a morning person so this was quite a disappointment. I’ve never stumbled around my kitchen bleary-eyed before, so this day has already been full of new experiences. Coffee, of course, which I love and will gleefully admit has me addicted, so I wandered over to the pot, rinsed it out, filled it with water, poured the water into the reservoir, put the pot down, placed a filter in the basked, and scooped eleven scoops of coffee into the filter. Close the basket, flip the switch, wait for coffee. Listen to the pretty sounds of what in a few minutes I will realize is a coffee waterfall, a coffee fall, if you will, roaring from my countertop onto my floor. Right, because when I put the coffee pot in the counter, I should have put it on the warmer plate under the basket in the coffee maker itself. But alas, I did not.

Not soon after my precious daughter (who, by the way, loved having me volunteer as a lunch lady, go figure!) had a serious flip-out over clothes that no longer fit her but she still insisted on wearing. I cannot allow my children to start the school day al upset and in tears, so while I wanted to throttle the bad attitude right out of her nearly-pubertyish self, I did not. I took so many deep breaths that I became light-headed. But again, that could be South Beach Diet. During the drive to school we spied with our little eyes an elderly couple on a morning stroll through the neighborhood. To cheer my delightful daughter and ensure a joyful start to her school day, I told her that the old folks were casing the neighborhood looking for houses to rob. We howled with laughter making up stories about The Cult of Elderly Thieves, and how the members sell their goods on eBay to raise funds for their new sports stadium.

And that is how I’ve spent my morning.

Oh, and PS: Here is a picture of the baked brie in a pastry puff shell that I made on Thanksgiving. Proof that I am not always a disaster in the kitchen. I also won the gravy cook-off, thanks.





Unce-a Punce-a Time….

14 11 2007

Heavens no, Ed, I haven’t forgotten about you or my blog.  I’ve been studying, teaching, buying a house, flying across the country to see my new baby niece, knitting an awful hat for Jim, and busy with life in general.  I go through phases where I can’t be arsed to blog, look at blogs, or think about blogs.  I mostly grow out of those phases, although I’m in the middle of the “can’t be arsed to look at blogs” thing.  I’m being moody.

Since I won’t show you pictures of my new niece, new house, students, or what I ate for breakfast (because I ate it, see), I’ll show you pictures of my current one true knitting love- the Moonlight Sonata shawl. 

 

After months and MONTHS and months of trying to decide what to knit for my wedding shawl, after a few false starts, this is the one.  Here’s a close up of the double increase, which for the LIFE OF ME I cannot figure out how to do properly according to the recipe in this pattern.  So instead of all knit stitches at the start of every new circle, I have purl stitches.  I’m sure with blocking they’ll be less noticeable, but even then I think they’re ok. 

 

Can you imagine having the super mega brain that was able to come up with this insanely gorgeous pattern?  Isn’t it amazing in its complexity?  Don’t you think I must be so frickin’ smart and such an incredible knitter to knit this?  Seriously.  I can’t wait to wear it, and I think I’ll have it mounted and framed after the wedding so I can gaze upon its loveliness every day.