My hair MUST look really good...

All day today, two junior boys have been following me around between class periods serenading me with voice and guitar.

The funny thing is, when I taught them last year one of them barely said two words to me from August through June. Huh.

(This is the same boy I made the mistake of asking "Why in the world do you sag your skinny jeans?" I won't give the answer here, because--trust me-- you really don't want to know.)


I have never been so appealing to the male gender.

Too bad they're 17 and I'm not a sicko.

The Return of the Back Handed Compliment

Today in 6th period, one of my students stopped me and said,

"Miss, me and Tyrell think your hair looks really pretty today."

Ahh. That's nice, right?

The problem isn't in what was said. The problem is in the way that it was said. I'm going to write that sentence again with emphasis added:

"Miss, me and Tyrell think your hair looks really pretty TODAY."

You see, it's the TODAY that I have a problem with. While I'm happy that my hair, does in fact, look pretty TODAY, I'd like to think that it looks pretty on a regular basis.

I've got to get up early more often. Seriously.

I can't catch a break...

Every day at the end of third period, we have announcements. If my school could ever get their act together, these announcements will be live video, but for now, they are just a student reading them over the intercom. It's not interesting, so I can kind of understand my students not listening too closely. Today, however, my third period class was so incredibly loud that it was impossible to hear the announcements AT ALL.

I don't know if it was because it's the last week of school before winter break, or because I don't feel good today, but either way I just couldn't take it.

I stood up and yelled at them: "You guys! You need to be quiet so that people CAN hear the announcements! You are being incredibly rude!!"

Silence decended. The announcements ended. And, through the wall, from the Spanish classroom next door, came the faint sounds of

Labamba by Los Lobos.

Kinda undercut my tirade.

I laughed until I cried. . . Oh wait, the crying came first...

Twilight Years from Tom on Vimeo.

Thanks Jill

What Not To Wear (While Taking out the Trash...)

In a couple of weeks my sister Christy is going to inaugurate my guest room. I'm really excited about someone other than me enjoying my carefully decorated little hobbit hole.

However....the fact that she's coming means that I need to muck out my "guest room" which has been my "cram all of that crap I don't know what to do with room" since I moved in this summer. I've spent the last two afternoons/evenings working on the mucking out process. I've hung new wire shelves to augment the closet organizer (when I told my sister Jamie what I was doing, she responded "Shelves in the closet? Happy thought, indeed!" which is pretty much the best thing anyone has ever said to me.); shredded old unused checks; reorganized my wrapping paper, ribbons, scrapbooking materials, paper and cardstock, sewing materials, yarn, etc.; and taken many many many bags of trash out to the dumpster.

While I've been doing all of this mucking out, shelf hanging, and organizing, I've been watching TiVo'd episodes of What Not to Wear. (It's one of my favorite shows that I don't really watch so much as have on in the background while I do other things.) Repeatedly Clinton Kelly (my third favorite gay man in the whole wide world, behind NPH and John Barrowman) has told the women on the show "The clothes you wear tell other people how to treat you." or "When you dress better, you'll attract a much better quality of man."




Clinton Kelly, you were right.

Apparently wearing a bleach stained BYU t-shirt and stretched out jeans screams, "Yooooooo Hooooooo 20 year old drug dealer who lives three doors down!! Come on over and hit on me in front of this stinky dumpster!! Oh, and could you bring your buddy carrying a 40 and your huge pit bull that's not on a leash?"

Maybe I'm being overly judgemental. Maybe this guy isn't a drug dealer at all. It's possible that all of those people who drive in to our parking lot, text him, and give him money without getting out of the car are all his friends who're repaying a loan. Maybe he has to talk to them out in the parking lot 'cause he hasn't had time to straighten up his place. I mean, most 20 year old thuggy guys are friends with middle aged twitchy eyed women....right?

Maybe this is the answer to the man plan. I could do worse, right? He's a self employed go getter and he loves animals. What more could I ask for?

Just follow the yellow brick road officers!!

Can't for the life of me figure out why they haven't caught this guy yet...

That'll do it.

First of all I need to explain my school. No, too long. Let me sum up....

I work at a magnet high school, which means it's a public school, but the students have to apply to get in and meet minimum requirements for acceptance. On top of that, they must maintain acceptable academic and behavioral levels in order to remain enrolled. In other words: students can be kicked out of the school for grades and/or behavioral issues.

While most of the students at our school chose to be there and are proud to attend, we do have a group of students who 1. were forced to attend by their parents or 2. chose to come, but after attending for a while realized (usually because of the level of instruction and student expectations) that the school is not for them.

Sometimes students from these two groups choose to get themselves kicked out of the school, generally through bad grades or behavior.

During lunch today a sophomore (but NOT one of my students) decided that failing all of his classes might take too darn long and took matters into his own hands.

He went into the bathroom, smoked a joint, stripped down to his underwear, and streaked through the lunch room full of students brandishing another joint in his upraised hand.

Mission. Accomplished.

* Update: apparently, the joint in his hand was just a cigarette. I know. It's dissapointing, but does the fact that his boxers had "Italian Stallion" across the buttocks help soften the blow?

He's not a smart dog...

I spent a half an hour today attempting to get Austen to make his cute growly noises on camera. I was completely unsuccessful.

Then I saw this dog:

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

and felt even worse.

Austen is seriously coasting on his good looks.

What happens on Nevada Day....

It's Nevada Day, everybody!! Every October 31st (or the closest Friday or Monday to it) every government organization shuts down for the day in reverence of the day that Nevada became a state.

I can't decide whether the day is supposed to be a celebration of the state or an apology to everyone who has the misfortune to live here. Kind of like, "Hey. We know you don't really want to be here, but would it make it better if you got a day off at the end of October? Yes? Good. Happy Nevada Day."

Either way, I love it. It's really my favorite thing about living in Las Vegas. Although, that's like saying that the steam facials are your favorite part of living in Hell.

Whatever. It's a day off. It's a day off that means I never have to work on Halloween, my second to last favorite day as a teacher. This is my first Nevada Day actually spent in the state. Last year I went to California to visit Jillian, and the year before that? I think I went to Utah. Anyway, today I'm cleaning my house, running some errands, and enjoying my fancy new TiVo. It's a good day.

It's Nevada Day, and it makes living in Nevada 1% more bearable.

Strange Bedfellows

Sometimes the parts of a thing are better than the sum of its parts. Take chocolate covered pretzels, steampunk, or Spaghetti Westerns.

Sometimes, however, the equation just flat-out stinks:

Case in point:



the fandelier.

Keepin' it Klassy folks. Keepin' it Klassy.

Dream a little dream with me....

Last night I dreamt that I was engaged to Patton Oswalt.



I will admit to the fact that I find him strangely attractive. Funny and talented goes a long way with me (and his bit about the KFC Famous bowl? Priceless. He calls it a failure pile in a sadness bowl. I love that). And there he was, in my dream. Engaged to me. And Mormon. (Even in my dream I had a hard time buying that one, what with his love of the F bomb and all.)

Anyway, after playing several rounds of Wii bowling and telling my mom that we were engaged we decided to go to a ward party (as you do on the day you get engaged). At the party we ran in to Mama Duggar who couldn't have been happier for us.


Maybe upgrading to Preferred Basic Cable was a bad idea....

How long 'til Wednesday?

Too long, let me tell ya. I swear, it's like the writers of Glee have looked into my soul and found my most favorite cheesy ballads of all time. Coming up Wednesday possibly the best so far....


And Puck ain't bad either.

It's a Long Way From Your Heart.

My dad isn't big on sympathy. This has a lot to do with being raised by two no nonsense parents on a family farm, but more to do with his super human pain threshold. The man has suffered more physical pain than 10 people put together, and he has never, ever, let it stop him. As an adult, I can understand why these two things have short circuited his sympathy receptors. As a child.....notsomuch.

Growing up, if my siblings or I got hurt in some way and came up to him (or, to be honest, Mom who was generally sitting near him) crying and holding our injuries, we were told to "stop your blubbering. It's a long way from your heart." The other, even less comforting response, given most often when he was feeling a little more irritated and/or obnoxious was: "we could always amputate at the neck." I know it will shock you, but as a child I never found either of these responses overly comforting. Have you ever tried to stop your blubbering mid blubber? It's not as easy as you might think. And amputation at the neck? Even as a very small child I was pretty certain he was kidding, but......

Now that we're adults we laugh about it, often using either of these catch phrases as a short hand explanation for our adult behavior. For instance, after spending nearly 24 hours in excruciating pain before heading to the emergency room, I could quickly explain why I hadn't considered my condition serious: "I figured it was a long way from my heart."

When I arrived and they asked me to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10 (which is the most idiotic thing ever. Hmmmmmmm. I'm doubled over and crying from the pain in my abdomen, and you want me to choose which sad face best resembles what I'm feeling? Really??) I said "Uh, eight?" and the nurse rolled her eyes at me and said, "You're at a 10." Well, if she KNEW, why did she ask me? Huh? I mean, ask a stupid question....


On a side note: My dad had a massive heart attack a few years ago right before Christmas. It was terrifying, but after it was clear that he was going to make it all of us kids admitted to each other that we'd each been tempted to tell him to suck it up 'cause "it's a long way from your heart." I don't know that he'd have found it as funny as we did.

Why do I bring this up? Well, the other night as I was chopping lettuce for a Chinese Chicken Salad to take to a work potluck, I cut the heck out of my thumb. It was a little like this:



It took several bandaids, nearly an entire roll of toilet paper, and a lot of swearing to finally get the bleeding under control (I think it was the swearing that finally did it). Once it stopped bleeding through multiple bandaids in a matter of seconds I decided I'd be fine. I mean, it was a long way from my heart, and so what if my thumb had developed a pulse so pronounced I could both see and feel the blood pumping to the injury site?


(2 days post-chop.)


When I spoke to my sister Christy later that night she asked me if I had considered going to Urgent Care to make sure it didn't need stitches. I told her, "Pffft! It's a long way from my heart. If it's still bleeding profusely tomorrow I'll go."

I know this makes me sound super tough, but down deep I think I might have been afraid they'd decide to amputate at the neck.

Mission accomplished Dad. Mission accomplished.

What I did... Vol. 2: "Close, But No Chandelier"

When I moved into the condo I decided I wanted to go the full girly girl route with my bedroom. I based my entire design plan on the following:



I do not personally own any Tiffany's jewelry and frankly, I'm not willing to spend that kind of money on jewelry for myself. I'd rather have someone else buy me some (and we all know that ain't happening any time soon.). The fact that my own taste in jewelry leans more toward the funky than the classic hasn't stopped me from wanting a little blue box of my very own. Instead of buying a piece of jewelry just for the box, I decided to create, for not much more than the price of this teeeeeeeeny tiny little Tiffany's box,



this one



that I get to sleep in. Pretty huh?

I pretty much started from scratch with this room. I bought a new bed for only $100 from Ikea, and instead of bedside tables I chose to hang floating shelves on either side of the bed for a total of $40. Not too shabby, eh?

Then I bought two new lamps for $80 total and they are gorgeous:



They are made of acrylic and when they're lit they almost shimmer like the chandelier of my dreams.

I also found these super cute curtains for $40:



when I first found them I couldn't decide if they were the most fabulous curtains I'd ever seen or the most horrible ones. I'm glad I was brave and bought them instead of my normal boring route, 'cause I think they give the room a little something special.

A couple of weeks ago on a visit to my parents' house, my mom and I went shopping at our favorite little antique shop ever where I found this beatiful plate and creamer set:



totally unneccessary, but completely adorable. In the same vein are the vintage hand embroidered peacock pillow cases (from a different antique store):



that I had the same internal struggle over as the curtains.

To finish the whole thing off I used a duvet cover I already had, and bought a set of new Tiffany's blue sheets and two fluffy white rugs that I can't keep Austen off of.



In the end, I have a room that I love so much that I clap with glee when I come home. Not too shabby, not too expensive, and way better than that bracelet.

Cheaper than therapy....

Once upon a time when I was a junior at BYU I had a day when it felt like all the forces in the Universe (and my evil American Literature professor) were conspiring against me. I came home in a lather of anger, frustration and bile muttering incoherent threats aimed at peoplewhothinktheyknoweverythingjustbecausethey'republishedpoets, and bemoaning my sad state--brilliant, but misunderstood.

Somehow, the anger I felt at my professor expanded to include all of the boys who refused to love me until I rolled it all into a fiery ball of righteous indignation. "Why do I allow these MEN to influence me?!" I bellowed in misguided feminist furor.

I knew just what to do. I would CUT MY HAIR!! That would show all of them.

Why did I have long hair in the first place? To please boys, that's why, and what good was it doing me? Did those boys ask me out? NO!! (Perhaps this experience sheds some light on one of the reasons they didn't. Hmmmmm. Nah! I'm charming, darn it!)

Luckily, I marched my indignant self to the lovely and talented Betsy (who cuts my sister's hair to this day) who gave me this haircut:




It was 1995. Don't be hatin'.

Anywho, that haircut changed my whole perspective. I felt sassy and in control, and those boys who told me to never cut my hair yet never asked me out? Well... they still didn't ask me out, but they thought my hair was cute.

Flash forward to now. I've had really long hair for a really long time and it was just boring me to death. I feared cutting it, not because of the rejection of men (I have come to terms with the fact that I am, in fact, a man repeller) but because I didn't want to have old white lady/mom hair.

The start of this school year has been incredibly stressful for a host of reasons I'm not going to get into here for fear of releasing the "Indignation Beast" that still resides inside me, and things finally built to a boiling point. What did I do? I made an appointment with the lovely and talented Melinda who is cheaper than a shrink AND is really good with a straightening iron.

She listened to my incoherent ramblings (IhatethewayIlookeverysingledayandIdon'tknowwhattodo'causeIdon'twantmomhairorlooklikeRonaldMcDonaldsowhatshouldIdo?) calmed my fears, and gave me the cutest, sassiest, non mom hair cut ever. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it.

So here it is:

Straight:




Curly:


A good haircut can save your life.... or your sanity.

I have no words....

Tear. Sob. Gulp.

What I did over my summer vacation: Home Edition.

For those who don't know, I moved from my second floor, one bedroom apartment into the first floor two bedroom condo my parents own here in Vegas. On a list of my 100 least favorite things to do in the world, moving would come in hmmmmmmm somewhere around #3 after teaching Sophomores to write research papers and gall bladder attacks (Have I mentioned that Summer '09 was the summer of the gall bladder attack? No? Oh well, that's another post for another day).

Anyway, moving in required rearranging furniture, figuring out what went where, painting, and cleaning. Luckily I had two things going for me:

1. My sister Christy took some time off work to help me get started, and

2. I'm a teacher, and therefore have the summer off.

I painted the main area of the condo a pretty medium spring green. It's really serene and lovely, and I can use some serenity in my life.

I've added a few new items to my decor, and I'm pretty pleased with them all. First of all, I moved out of an apartment that had wall to wall carpeting into one with laminate floors. That meant that I needed area rugs for the living room and master bedroom. At first I thought I could wait awhile for those purchases, but after two weeks of watching the corgi hair monsters chase each other around my living room and Austen's pathetic attempts at jumping on the couch I was convinced otherwise. If I waited any longer Austen and I would have both needed therapy.

I planned on buying this rug:



for $220. I like it a lot and it had the right colors, plus I loved the pattern. But, in my shopping I found another rug with similar colors for $65. I like the second rug even more than I liked the first one and it was WAY less than half the price. That made my stingy little heart sing, and Austen's neurosis recede a bit.




Additionally, right before I moved out of my old apartment I was sitting on the floor in front of the table I was using as an entertainment center and because of my gimpy foot, I needed help getting up. I put my hand on the table to use as support and stabilization so that I could stand, and as I stood I heard "CRRRRAAAAACK!" and immediately began to weep. You may ask yourself, "Maury, why you cry? It's just a table!". But, you see, this table is not "just" a table. It's a table that my grandfather created with his own two hands out of cedar that he himself harvested (probably illegally) from the foothills of the Bighorn mountains, planed in his shop, and then carefully pieced together. Additionally, this table was in my home as I grew up making it important not just to me, but to my entire family. I was also crying because here was obvious proof that I am a big fat fatty. My body weight alone killed a family heirloom.

Luckily, my father is an incredible at wood working, so my table is sitting in his shop awaiting the end of cabin season when it will emerge phoenix-like and take its rightful place in my livingroom.

Long story short, I needed a new console table. I bought this one:



That cost me more than I've spent on any one piece of furniture in my life. I resisted spending the money, but my mom told me that I needed to grow up and buy big girl furniture. Thank you Mom. It was an interesting experience to buy furniture that didn't come in a box and need to be put together with wooden pegs and an allen wrench.

Of course, now that table makes my dining room set:




look kinda silly. I think I'm out of my "Early Chewed By Austen" phase(Luckily for him, so is Austen).

All in all, I'm really happy with the result. I have a few things left to do, but for the most part it's done.





Pretty, huh?

Next time: The Bedroom.....

I'm baaaaaaaack!

I can hardly believe it, but I'm sitting here in my own little apartment typing this post on my computer. I have so much to say about the whole ordeal, but that's a different post. Mostly I'm just giddy to be back blogging. I've really missed it.


There are definitely more posts to come, but for now I'd like to share 4 things, maybe 5...

1. This weekend was General Conference for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I've been treated to a two day spiritual feast. I was moved to tears often and the messages and lessons I've been taught this weekend have strengthened my resolve to be a better person. I realize that I've allowed myself to become very spiritually lazy over the past year or so, and it's time to make some changes. I recieved answers to prayers I'd yet to utter, and I know that I want to be a better person than I've been. The highlight of the two days was, for me, Elder Holland's
talk. His testimony of the prophet Joseph Smith and The Book of Mormon has inspired me to begin reading and studying The Book of Mormon from the beginning starting tonight. I'm going to attempt to finish by Christmas. We'll see how it goes.


2.I've agreed to teach an extra class this year. This is one of the only extra duty assignments in public education that is actually worth the money they pay you, but it is tiring. I get my first extra payment this next Friday, and I'm looking forward to it. I've decided that to celebrate I'm buying myself a TiVo. I know. I dream big.

3. My sister Christy and I have begun planning our super fabulous vacation for summer of 2010. We have some ideas, but welcome any input. I know that a certain Nashville bus tour is under consideration, at least for me.

4. Jim and Pam are getting married this week. So, don't bother trying to call Thursday, October 8th between 9 and 10 pm pacific time. My phone will be off. I will be living vicariously through my two dimensional friends and squelching the desire to scream "Don't marry her Jim! You love meeeeeeeeeee!" at the top of my lungs. (I love you John Krasinski, and I forgive you for robbing me of those two hours.)

5. I have a new t.v. obsession: It's an appropriate title because it fills my heart with glee each an every week.

That is partly because of the super FAAAAABULOUS musical numbers like this one:



and partly because of this man:



Matthew Morrison, who is both adorable and incredibly talented. What makes him so special? Maybe it's his curly hair, or his cute smile, or the way he dances when he's singing "Gold digger", or the sweet earnestness of his character, or, or, I just don't know. I just know that I love him. I'm sorry Toby. I do.

So there you go. I think this post is my blog in a nutshell: from the sublime to the ridiculous. What can I say. I'm complex. I'm deep. I like cute boys.

Guess what's on tonight????

Awwwwwwwww yeah. Welcome back Dunder Miflin, welcome back.

This one's for you Christy

I'm sorry.




I'm really really sorry.

I haven't posted in a really long time. I have reasons:

1. My computer is still broken (but hopefully on the mend as we speak)

2. I've sold my prep and am teaching 7, count 'em 7 Sophomore English classes. (Seriously, I deserve a medal or some sort of baked tribute. Really. I am NOT looking forward to teaching this many kids research papers. There may be lives lost, orrrrr I'll get really whiny.)

3. I'm not feelin' it enough to stay after school even longer than I currently have to in order to post on the blog.

When one or two of these three things change, I'll be back at it. I promise.

Me Today....

But hopefully not tomorrow.

Recurring Nightmares....

1. Showing up to a final in college for a class that I forgot I'd signed up for and never attended. I arrive with 1 ripped piece of paper and a little stubby pencil. The test is book length and when it starts the professor says "You may use your notes on the final." At that point everyone in class pulls out 5" binders full of notes and I cry.

2. I am being chased by a psychotic serial killer who has killed each of my family members in turn as we run, panicked through the deserted streets of some unknown town. Right before I wake up I'm hiding in a stairwell and can hear him coming.

3. I go to school/work/etc. fully dressed, but as the day progresses my clothes become increasingly shredded until I'm frantically trying to cover vital body parts with rags.

4. I am required to be on stage in front of an incredibly large group of people to a) sing a song I don't know
b) teach an incredibly detailed and complex concept
c) perform in a play I have never read, let alone rehearsed or memorized lines for.

5. I have written down the wrong date for the start of school and show up 4 hours late for my first day of work.


Guess which one came true today?????

At least my clothes are intact.

Another Apology...

Hey everyone! I'm still alive and kicking, although I'm so tired I'm not kicking very hard....

It's been a long hot summer and without a working computer I haven't been able to blog at all. I'm currently using a computer at the public library, which is an experience in and of itself, but I don't have the time to do it justice right now.

I've been traveling, packing boxes, painting, spackling (sp?), unpacking boxes, napping, family reunioning, crying happy tears for a friend's new baby, reading, painting, hanging pictures, visiting my dear friend Jaci Claire and my new best friend Emma, swimming in Zion's, cleaning, unpacking boxes, painting, cleaning, etc. . .

I would love to promise you juicy details, but I'm shooting for a working computer some time in the next month and then we'll see how it goes. I do promise pictures when all is said and done.

So, please hang in there, and don't give up on my blog. I will begin writing again in earnest asap.

Love you all!!

An Apology and a Gift

First of all I know it's been a long time since I posted. I have several reasons for this:

1. My computer is broken...

2. I've been traveling (I'm in Vancouver, WA as we speak), and

3. I didn'wanna.

But, then my friend Jillian showed me something so wonderful, so on the mark, so the answer to all of life's big questions that I had to share.



There it is. The way a REAL woman deals with a whiny, overwrought, sappy vampire.

Sign me up for Team Buffy. (Thanks again Jillian!)

Nowhere to run to baby. Nowhere to hide.

In preparation for my super fabulous Pacific Northwest vacay with Jill I went out and bought a bathing suit today.

I was stoic and emotionally detached in the store, AAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDD

then I came home and crawled under the covers and contemplated sucking my thumb. I think I may have hit rock bottom.

But, I will squeeze my chubby body into that torture device and no matter how many people on the Oregon coast will be scarred for life just by seeing so much of me in so little, I am determined to have a good time.

Girl power and chub love aside, I might want to skip the whale watching. Wouldn't want any parallels drawn.

I think he's on to something...

(Thanks Malissa!)

They gave me candy and called me their light...

The past two days have been emotional for me. So emotional that I don't know how to write about them, but I'm going to try.

For the past three years I've taught AVID at my school. AVID (Advancement Via Individual Determination) is a program that aims to help students in the middle who have potential, learn the skills and take the rigorous classes necessary to gain admission to a 4 year university upon graduating from high school. I believe in AVID. I believe because I've seen it work.

My school, due to budgetary concerns, has cut the AVID program for next year. My students and I have known about this for quite some time, but it's still a hard pill to swallow. I've spent three years with these kids, taught them organization skills, how to work effectively in groups, how to write better papers, how to talk appropriately with their teachers and peers, SAT and ACT test taking skills..... and now the class is no more. I'm heartsick. I'm going to miss ending the day with my kids.

I didn't always feel this way about them. Freshman year was rough, and I spent many afternoons in my classroom crying in frustration. That was the year I:

1. repeatedly shot down the idea that AVID was special ed,
2. constantly had to command them to stop touching each other innappropriately,
3. reminded them almost daily that they were in high school, not elementary
4. was present for more than one disciplinary hearing,
5. filled my recycling bin with the contents of 1 student's disgusting backpack at least 3 times.
6. lost the lid to my Candy Jar after the class decided to see how far it would fly,
and
7. thought I was incapable of loving them.



Sophomore year was better, but I still wondered if this group would EVER catch the vision and get with the program. Halfway through the school year I realized that I truly loved my class, warts and all. This was also the time when one of my students gave up completely and began to act out in such a terrible manner that I had to write my first referral in 5 years. I had to kick a lot of kids out of AVID at the end of Sophomore year, and that hurt, but it was the right thing to do.




This year AVID has been the best part of my day. I was blessed to have AVID for my 8th period class and so we ended each day together. On the first day of school my AVID students walked in and we were just so happy to be together again. We talked about the year and the challenges they would be facing. They asked me intelligent questions about the SAT and ACT tests they'd be taking. I finally saw that although it didn't seem like it, they'd actually been listening to me.

We worked hard this year, and my students challenged themselves to a level they'd never done before. We loved AVID and we loved each other. We had finally become a family. Gone were the cliques and hurtful names, gone was the drama that had plagued our first two years. What we had left was a group of kids that worked incredibly well together, that wanted to help each other succeed.



Then, halfway through this year came the news that AVID had become another victim of our economy. I kept the news from my students as long as I could, but by the beginning of 2nd semester I had to tell them. They took it badly. We cried. We were angry. But we kept working.

My AVID students continued to participate in tutorial groups even when we had no tutors. They continued to listen to my *ahem* wise words of advice. They carried on. They embodied as a group the words of one of their classmates who said "We are AVID. They can cancel the class, but they can't get rid of AVID because it's inside of us."

On the day of finals, I planned a special awards ceremony where I talked about each student and gave them an award. We cried through the entire thing and had to hug it out when it was over. I thought, "Well that was tough, but at least it's over now."

Notsomuch. Today they all came into my class during the break between finals to present me with a scrapbook they'd made for me. Each student wrote me a letter and they'd also put in pictures I took of each of them wearing my graduation robes from UNLV. They wrote that they would be friends forever, and that they were ready for what lay ahead. The last page states "This is not the end..."

It made me cry. BIG SHUDDERING UGLY SOBS and reminded me of the end of Dangerous Minds where Michelle Pfieffer's character decides to continue teaching even though it nearly killed her. Her friend says "How'd they get you to stay?" She replies, "They gave me candy and called me their light." and he says, "That'll do it."

He's right. That'll do it.

That's how I'm feeling.

Meh.

That's why I haven't posted.

Don't get me wrong, I've had a good couple of weeks. I got to go to my parents' cabin this weekend, I'm walking on two feet without the aid of the walking boot or crutches, and school's out in 1 1/2 weeks. I should be happy, planning my summer and looking forward to the sleeping in and other lovely things....

But.....


meh.

Well, I can now just up and die of happiness...

Awhile ago I wrote about the wonders of the new BBC television series Robin Hood. I waxed poetic about the fun story lines and cute boys and related the sad news that I do not, in fact, have BBC America, and therefore have to wait until each season is released on dvd.

I thought that would be all I'd have to say on the subject,(on this lil' ole' blog anyway) but I was wrong. Ohhhhhhh how I was wrong.

Because, you see, in series three not only is Richard Armitage



back playing the evil (yet yummy) Guy of Gisborne,

and cutey pie Jonas Armstrong



as the cheeky, yet righteous Robin

but new to the show is,


wait for it.....





My boyfriend Toby Stephens playing Prince John!!!!!!!!!!

And I will love him, even though he wants to kill adorable little Robin Hood.


So let's get this straight. In a British show that I already love, I get to watch



him, and



him, and (be still my beating heart)





him?

As my friend Ricci put it "There could be absolutely no plot and this would still be the best show on TV."

Damn. I'm going to have to get BBC America.

Things You Should Check Out, Volume 4

This beautiful little jewel of a film came out my freshman year in college (1992) but for some unfathomable reason, wasn't released on dvd in the U.S. until last week. I have personally been waiting for this film since I converted my movie collection to dvd a few years ago.

If you don't know what this movie's about, I can sum it up with one word: Love. Love of self, love of others, love of those who are difficult to love, love of nature, love of strangers.

It's the story of four British women who, for individual reasons decide to share a vacation at an Italian castle for the month of April. At first they struggle with themselves and each other, but because one is willing to love unconditionally the castle becomes a home, a "bucket of love". These women are transformed because they step outside themselves and choose to be different than they've always been.

My favorite moment is when Lottie (played by the magical Josie Lawrence) makes the realization that the problems in her marriage were not solely the responsibility of her cold and distant husband. She decides that instead of loving him in the manner he has loved her (not very well), she will love him with her whole heart. What a powerful message.

I also love that these women were miserable and instead of wallowing in it, chose to step outside of their comfort zone and make a difference in their lives. It makes me want to do the same (and a month in an Italian castle wouldn't hurt, you know?)

Finally, it's beautiful. A feast for the eyes.

Of course, this is a woman's movie (I refuse to call it a chick flick. It's too special for that), a period piece, and British. If those things aren't your cup o' tea, I understand, but I'd hate for you to miss it.

Look Ma! Two feet!!

My doctor's visit went well, my foot's healing, everthing's in the right place, and my doctor told me I could start trying to walk without the boot.

He gave me three rules:

1. No Running.
2. No Jumping.
3. No Falling. (Wah wah wah!)

When we left the office my mom and I decided to go to Target, 'cause why wouldn't we? She dropped me off at the door and I took my first non-booted steps. It felt like I was walking on a marshmallow, a magical, pain shooting marshmallow.

Yesterday I was able to walk without the boot through my first three class period, but by the end of 6th period I was hurting. Last night was also our AVID Awards Night, and I didn't want to wear jeans, so I put on a skirt, tights and flats and went with out the boot. It was probably too much, but I looked cute, so I felt like it was worth it.

I came home and put on the boot, frantically cleaning and packing for my trip to Utah this weekend for Mother's Day. Let me tell you a little something about me: When I get into a cleaning jag I become single minded. Let me tell you a little something else: Because I switched from shoe to boot midday I brought my left tennis shoe home in a Trader Joe's bag along with my water bottles and lunch stuff.

Sooooooooo to make a long story short, I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until I had three bags of trash to take out. Although I was tired and my foot was hurting, I clomped down my stairs with three bags of trash narrowly avoiding rule #3.

On my way back from the dumpster, my neighbor congratulated me "Good job girl! Next you'll be running a marathon!" I felt all warm and fuzzy.

Later that night after I'd taken a bath and removed my boot I started to lay out my clothes for today and realized I couldn't find my left shoe. I searched everywhere, finally realizing that the Trader Joe's bag was no where to be found. "Where in the world did I put the...."

Oh.

Poopy.

I threw it away.

In the dumpster.

Downstairs.

So, because I was tired and couldn't stomach the idea of putting the boot back on I gimped my way downstairs with wet hair and no bra and jammies to pull my trash out of the dumpster to search for my missing shoe.


I got down there only to realize that the dumpster was nearly empty which meant that unless I had developed super human reach, broke rule #2, or both, I couldn't reach my garbage sacks.

I didn't feel warm and fuzzy. Instead I felt sweaty and prickly as I thought:

Oh

Poopy.

I have to go upstairs, get the step ladder, gimp back down here, and THEN pull trash out of the dumpster to find my shoe.

And that's what I did.

By the time I got back to my apartment with my shoe but without some of my dignity, my foot felt like it was on fire.

At least I didn't

Run
Jump, or
Fall.

THAT would have been bad.

Look What I Can Do!

As I mentioned in a previous post I attempted, but failed to make a homemade banana cream pie.

I considered giving up completely after the rubbery mass I produced the first time, but my mama didn't raise no quitter.

Soooooooo, although I live alone and knew I'd probably end up eating enough banana cream pie to make me puke and increase the size of my hiney, I persevered. I'm not one to back down from a challenge... especially one in pie form (mmmm pie).

The custard for this pie is made from brown sugar rather than white, and includes both cinnamon and nutmeg, so it's not the traditional vanilla custard used in banana cream pies. Intriguing, no? This time I knew a little better what I was doing, ignored some of the more confusing directions while making the custard and ended up with this:




instead of the rubbery industrial sludge I got last time.

Then, after waiting for the custard to set, I layered custard and bananas and custard and bananas and then made the topping from whipped cream, vanilla, and sour cream. It was so pretty when I finished:



Here's a cross section:



mmmmmmmmmm. And, it tastes better than it looks. Really. And if you don't believe me, ask these two people:


(actual yummy faces.)

If you'd like to have one of these lovelies for your very own you can find the recipe here. (Just don't cook the custard as long as they tell you to. When it get's to pudding texture STOP cooking people!!)

Why I will be seeing X-Men Origins: Wolverine

It's not because of this guy:



as lovely as he is (have you seen Australia? Probably not, but let me tell you....hubba hubba).

I'm going because this guy:



from my favorite tv show about high school sports is playing Gambit, a character who's super power is in some way related to fiery playing cards? Sorry X-Men nerds enthusiasts, I don't follow this stuff. I'm just in it for the cute boys.

But....the thing that made me decide to see this movie (even though I don't generally get excited about comic book related films) is that playing Hugh Jackman's half brother is this guy:



My boyfriend Alex (known as Aaron Jefferey in real life)! I know I might be the ONLY person in America who's decision to see this mega big budget shoot 'em up action film was made by the fact that a little known (in the U.S.) Australian television actor is playing a small supporting role.

But hey. That's how I roll.