Currently Chasing: MY STUDENTS!

I have a new job. It’s wonderful in all the ways you would expect. My own office, walls for decorating, computer with internet, phone with outside access and a fax machine. I don’t yet have a printer, but that’s another story. I have files and folders and binders…oh my. All the makings of a real big-girl office and a real big-girl job.

I even have a rolodex full of numbers and important names and business cards. AND…I even had business cards made up for myself. It’s kind of a big deal for me. A business card that will end up in someone’s rolodex under “don’t lose this card cause they cost me $50 bucks to make.”

But guess what I see when I look around? My old job. That is because I’ve brought most of it with me. The important parts anyway….The pictures of my students and the end of class gifts they adorned me with. And every single one of them has an amazing back story.

So here we go. Story time.

There once was a class: BPAS-W 020-05. They gave me this:

You see the part where it says cups of fluff? Well that is because I told them once during a lesson about writing news, that I don’t want a bunch of flowery words. This is news people. I want the facts. I want the who, what,when, where, why, how. I don’t care about…cups of fluff. And from then on, whenever I felt like they were feeding me a line a bullshit, I would say, hmmm, that’s a cup of fluff. And so they each became my cups of fluff. My lovely students. All full of life and wonder and potential. And bullshit.

Notice they have nicknames. Some of those I made up, some of those I didn’t. I made up P.K. because that particular student was a peace keeper. Always quick to say something nice. I made up Deaf Jeff, because my student couldn’t hear out of his left ear so he sat to the left of the class and listened up with his right ear. Speed bump was mine. That was the student who got drunk, passed out in the field and was run over by some other students who drove their car through the field so they could listen to music. Can you imagine? But he was fine. Discovery channel did a whole thing on him and his injuries. He recovered just in time to get kicked out of the Navy for something else not related to his injuries. The questioner…well, obvious right.  A lot of questions. I’ve had a few of these over the years..you know who you are. And the rock! I love this girl. I didn’t think she liked me at first. I would tell amazingly funny jokes and…she wouldn’t laugh! What the hell! So finally I gave her a rock. On one side it said funny, and on the other side it said, not funny. I told her to use that … it would allow her to continue to show no emotion, while still validating my skills as a comedian…er, I mean educator. She used the rock. I didn’t always like what the rock had to say. But this student is still a great friend to this day.

Recently I received a package. It was a rock from Afghanistan. It said funny and not funny, and then both were written in Pashtu…the language in Afghanistan. It’s on display in my living room. Love it.

I would also break the ice with an “Everybody Dance” reference. If you’ve never seen a rejected cartoon, I suggest looking up the one about the cloud that bleeds from the anus. It’s educational. But not really appropriate … EVER. *I've decided to add the video*

Then there is this plaque. I don’t know what class this was, but I know I was in charge of section one because the plaque tells me so. It’s burned. Cool right?

I love it because they burned a SUFI into the wood. I love Dane Cook. But more than that, I pretty much had a delusional love affair with him, and no class was subjected to it more than this class. Notice that again, everyone has nicknames. A few of those they gave to themselves. But A squared…that was all me. Mostly because that particular student had a little problem with drinking. So the first A was for alcoholic. Although, I don’t think he knew that. And then there was Baum G. That was mine also…although people still call him that. That dudes name was redic. And I wasn’t going to pretend to be able to pronounce it for 60 training days. Ricci was mine also. Mostly because that student reminded me of Wednesday from the Adams Family…and in the movie that part was played by…Christina Ricci. I remember Ricci being asked to the Marine Corps ball by A squared and she bought a dress and everything and then he gave her ticket to someone else. Maybe that is where the other A came from? Not sure. Asshole? Not sure. DJ Dub was mine also, although I can’t remember why. Milly and Gilly, all mine. The Oklahoma thing? Who the heck knows. Def not mine.

You see the line from the movie brokeback mountain? “I wish I knew how to quit you?”  Just classic.

Notice there is also a typo! On the burned Plaque! Also Classic. I wouldn't change a thing.

Then there is this from BPASC 030-10:

Yes, that is a gold record! The title of the record is She’s amazing. Every single day I would come to class the students would give me a standing ovation. Imagine how that feels. At first I was annoyed…but that didn’t last very long! Pretty soon I expected it, and when I would walk into class without them noticing and I wouldn’t get the applause…well, let’s just say grading was harder on them that day. I’m kidding. Kinda. But in the midst of the claps and hoopla, one student would yell out, SHE’S AMAZING. Another student would throw out a much appreciated, ‘I love her hair!’ It was all really much ado about …. SOMETHING! Fun times with that class. Not too many nicknames. Although Harvard comes to mind for one of them. And then there was the Asian raised by Caucasians. So we called him the Caucasian Asian.  And then there was the Russian. And we had a guy who picked his nose a lot, but he didn’t make it to graduation.

Then there is the class that got me this:

We use that word SAPP whenever someone says something they shouldn’t say. Bad words, off color jokes, brand names…SAPP, SAPP, SAPP. As you can imagine the students in this class were a bunch of SAPP Bombs! So when they first presented me with this, I thought wow, how did you find a Jersey from a team in California (where I’m from) with the word SAPP on it!

They informed me that it was an actual person and he just happened to play for the Raiders. Way less cool. Kidding. Kinda. I had lot of fun with this class. For our class photo I sat on a ‘thrown’ and they all stood around me looking up at me adoringly. Do you think I abuse my power?

So many other things over the years. Dane cook shirts, a paddle signed by my class. The paddle represented the story I told them about a principle at my daughter’s school who demonstrated to her and I the correct way to paddle a child before turning the paddle over to me and telling me to paddle her. It was a very awkward and emotionally brutal time, and my students of course decided to exploit it for all it was worth. I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Flowers, cards, notes, and well wishes. I miss my students. A couple of them are back as instructors. I’m so proud. I follow them on facebook. LIKE A STALKER. Kidding….Kinda.

They are having babies, getting married, getting out of the military and even coming out of the closet. They are like hundreds of little reality shows that I can’t stop watching. And I’m thankful for every single one. Except that nose picker. Kidding. Kinda.

Currently Chasing: A cure for CRAZY

So I’ve been wondering something. How come no matter what man I ask in my life, be it my brother, my co-workers or my male friends I will always get the same answer to this question:

Why did the two of you break up?

And the answer will always be:

Because that bitch went crazy.

I’m scratching my head over this.

I’ve had a man ask me for my underwear at the end of a date. A FIRST DATE!

“Hey, you know what would be awesome?”

“No what?”

“If you gave me your panties.”

“Well, that could be awesome, but I use them to prevent chaffing. But thanks for asking.”

I’ve had a man ask me if he could masturbate in his car, while I was in the passenger side.

“Hey, do you mind if I wack it while you’re sitting right here?”

“Um, no, if you don’t mind if I report you to the perve services and they document you and turn you into a blue dot on some predator web site!”

Good Lord!

I’ve had a guy suck his own dick on a web cam while I pointed my camera at my bare feet.

I’ve had a guy tell me that I can’t go to his house because his ex-girlfriend is there feeding the dog that they bought together, and that sometimes she still stays the night, and that yeah, it’s usually in his bed, but he promises, they are so over!

I’ve had a guy send me a picture of his penis next to a 9mm pistol.

I’ve had a guy send me a picture of his penis with a tape measure wrapped around it.

I had a guy send me a picture of his penis next to another penis? I don’t know what was more disturbing, that there was a second penis in the picture or that I was wondering which one was his. (OR) that there was a second penis in the picture.

I’ve had a guy call my phone and sing ask me out on a first date. He literally SANG  a song into my voicemail. Something creepy about loving me and staring into my eyes. It was some creepy American-idol audition bullshit.

And after all of this, someone can dare say that the reason something didn’t work out between us is because I’M CRAZY.

Come on! I’ve had this conversation recently:

“So what happened to you and Barbara?”

“That bitch went crazy.”

“Really? It wasn’t that you cheated on her with her sister that the two of you used to visit while she was in prison?”

“No, she didn’t know about that.”

“It wasn’t that you used the bonus money she got from the military to produce your own porn movie.”

“No, she supported that.”

“So she ‘out of the blue’ went crazy on you after 19 years of marriage?”

“I told you, that bitch was crazy.”

I bet she was crazy. Because you fucking made her crazy. I mean, how do you think we get crazy? You think it’s really like that comedian says? That one day we are just sitting there all normal and then you ask us what movie we want to see and we answer by saying:

“Um, I think Green Lantern sounds like a good … holy fuck I’M CRAZY!”

We just totally snap? Um, no. We stand by while you fuck our sister that just got out of prison. We stand by while you produce your porn movie. We stand by while you ask for our underwear. We stand by while you masturbate in your truck. (but for the record, I did not stand by for that.) We stand by while you suck your own dick. We stand by while you forget to tell us you are married. We Stand By. And then finally WE TAKE A STAND. And then, you say bye.

Sing this in the tune of Crazy by Gnarls Barklay.

“Maybe I’m crazaaaaay, cause you made me crazaaaaay, I’ll make you as craaaaaazay, as you make meeeeeeeee eeeeeee!”

That’s how I feel. We are only returning the favor, not initiating the craziness. I mean really. Dudes are always just pushing the buttons. Never really accountable for their shit. I would start dating chicks, but you know, them bitches be crazy.

Currently Chasing: The perfect Gift

So father’s day is fast approaching and I suck at buying gifts. There are two reasons for this.

1.       As soon as I buy a gift I give it to the person I bought it for. If they are far away I will call them and tell them I bought them a gift. I will ask a hundred times if they want to know what it is. When the consistently say no, I get pissed and send them a phone photo of it. I have no patience and I want people to enjoy whatever it is right away.

2.       There are so many people in my life that I only see once or twice a year and seriously, I just don’t know what they would need/like. So I end up buying them something I need/want. Then I end up buying one for myself as well. And you can see how all of that turns out very expensive, and usually only one person is needing/wanting that gift.

So I’ve gotten into the habit of giving gift cards or cash. That may seem impersonal, but you know what? Life is becoming a little impersonal and I’m just evolving with it. Also, mother’s day and my mother’s birthday, and father’s day and my father’s birthday are very close together. So the thought of coming up with two gifts they are going to want/need = four gifts that I want/need and two parents that wonder where they went wrong.

So I sent my parents cash and let them do whatever. My mother went and saw a show and gambled a bit. My father bought an Ipod touch (and now we can face-to-face chat, which I think is awesome.)

They spent that money on things they probably would not have spent money on otherwise, so I was happy.

But I decided I would also do one more thing. My father reads my blog and I thought…you know what? I’m going to write my father a blog post. I hope this doesn’t embarrass him. Oh who am I kidding?

So without further ado… CURRENTLY CHASING: Daddy

Thank you Father! It is because of you that I can sing and write poetry/songs/blogs. Thank you for not being a sports guy. For not forcing me onto a soccer team or dragging me to ‘the game.’  Thank you for sitting down and watching To Kill a Mockingbird with me, and then (at my request) calling me Scout and allowing me to call you Atticus.

Thank you for picking me up and taking me to Disneyland when I was having a bad day. Thank you for believing me when I told you I knew the entire it’s a Small World Song in Spanish. Thank you for then allowing me to continually sing this fake Spanish song to you.

Thank you for helping me get my first job at Castle Park.

Thank you for moving out of the nudist camp so that I could come to live with you.

Thank you for educating me on the fact that Tiffany was not the one who wrote “When I saw ‘him’ standing there.”

Thank you also for bringing me back to reality when I read you the very first poem a boy had ever written for me and you informed me that it wasn’t a poem, but instead lyrics from Stairway to Heaven, and you can assure me it wasn’t written by that boy and it wasn’t written for me.

Thank you for not freaking totally out when I told you I had sex for the first time.

Thank you for marrying your step sister my mother.

Thank you for losing your patience after about an hour of trying to teach me how to play the guitar.

Thank you for using the money I sent you to buy an IPod touch so that we can now talk face to face.

Thank you for my sense of humor.

Thank you for being an awesome Grandfather.

Thank you for being an awesome father.

Thank you for reading my blog even though there are days you probably shouldn’t.

Happy Father’s day Daddy.

And if this isn’t enough I’ve been eying up a cute pink Coach purse that I’m sure you want/need!

Currently Chasing: A place for my brick

So I’m browsing through my favorite blogs today. Some of them being http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/, http://www.datemedc.com/, and  http://www.citygirlblogs.com/, and my latest obsession www.bootyandbrains.blogspot.com.

It was on that last one that I stopped just reading through the blogs for entertainment, and really just listened to the words on the screen. They spoke to me. I don’t usually comment on blogs. It takes a while, and I usually don’t have much to say. But not only did I comment on this blog, but I posted a link to it on my facebook, and then subsequently sent the author a message letting her know I was a fan. (please go there and read this post if you do nothing else today www.bootyandbrains.blogspot.com/2011/06/good-grief.html )

This pretty much sums up the point of the blog, which is about pain in life that seems hard to get over.

BECCA: Does it ever go away?
NAT: No. I don’t think it does. Not for me, it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on 11 years. It changes, though.
BECCA: How?  
NAT: I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around — like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: “Oh, right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda ... not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is ...
BECCA: What.
NAT: Fine ... actually.

So I sent her a message and shared this story:

There was a girl I knew. Her boyfriend deployed. He had it all. High on faith and a beautiful girlfriend.

However, shortly into his deployment he started to find other people attractive and they entertained his flirting. Enabled it.

Much later his girlfriend wrote me and told me this story:

She said that one night she was driving alone on a road and something made her pull over. She said it was God. HE wanted to have a conversation with her. She said HE told her that her boyfriend was not being faithful, but that HE needed her to continue loving this man so that HE could reach him through her. She said she begged God not to make her go through this again. ( she had been cheated on before and it nearly killed her.)

But she said God insisted that this man needed God and the only way HE was going to find this man is if she continued to love him, support him and bring him closer to HIM.

So she did.

When her boyfriend got back he pretended like nothing had happened.

She called him up one day and said, I need to know the truth.

At that moment he started crying. later he said that in that exact moment God spoke directly to him and told him that she already knew everything and he just needed to be honest.

So he confessed everything.

I don't know what became of them. I imagine they broke up and that was that. Or they stayed together and she managed forgiveness. But she'll always have that brick. Either way. I wonder if it's harder to carry it alone, or to try carrying it with the help of the person who is responsible for it?

My boyfriend and I have definitely had our ups and downs. And I am carrying a brick of sorts.

I'm hoping that if/when we decide it's time to move in together, the brick will not become part of our homes foundation. I know I won't just be able to toss it out. But maybe I can use it to build a bridge...that I can finally one day truly cross.

Currently Chasing: The upgrade

I got the new Iphone4! It was time for an upgrade. Or was it?

It's white. I bought a cover for it at the very first Kiosk I saw, and then of course saw a hundred different cases I'd rather have. That always happens. But for now, I'm sticking with the one I originally bought. I've been realizing lately that in life there is always going to be something 'just around the bend' that seems flashier than what you've already got...but you just spent $20 bucks on something you just a second ago thought was the best thing ever...so why are we always so quick to jump at what we think is an upgrade.

Everything fit fine on my other phone. My 3Gs wasn't perfect - it would often tell me there was no SIM card installed and I would have to take off my earring and use the back of it to get the SIM card out, then I would blow on it and stick it back in the slot (that worked for my phone just as well as it works for most things) - but overall, my phone was fine. It made it to Afghanistan and back and I even got $150 bucks on the trade in. That phone was a trooper. But I traded it away, got my new white Iphone4 and that was that. So now I can do cool things like face time, which means I can see the person I'm calling, and I can use the the front facing camera as a mirror if I'm in a pinch. It's all part of the upgrade.

My BF wasn't due for an 'upgrade' until December, but took a look at my pretty-fly-for-a-white phone and decided he had to have one. So we head back to the mall. He gets $180 for his old phone, decides he likes the black better than the white, gets a fancy new case and before you know it we are both owners of a phone that barely gets signal in our either of our homes. Perfection.

So he has it connected to his itunes so he could reinstall of his apps, photos, notes and what not.

"I really hope all of my apps make it over," he said.

"They will," I reassured him.

"Did all of your stuff make it over?" he asked.

"Yes, but I had to delete most of my pictures because my music takes up so much space," I said.

"How much music do you have?" he asked.

"About 1200 songs," I said.

"Geezus! I only have like 100 songs," he responds.

"I like to listen to music," I said.

"No, you like spending money," he replied.

Boy was he right. He told me I should put the music into folders and only put the music I actually listen to on my Iphone and keep the rest in easily transferrable folders that I can add here and there if I need to. I told him I would think about doing that since it sounded a whole lot like organization and in the words of Cee-Lo...Fuck you oo oo.

So I start to doze off and he says something about rubbing his back. I'm so tired at this point, and I have to wake up for work bright and early, so I groggily say something like, "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that."

He pulls out his Iphone, pushes a few buttons, presses it up to my ear and hits play. All of a sudden meatloaf is blaring from his Itunes library.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. You have like three fucking songs on your Iphone and that is one of them?"

"I like that song," he said.

So we listen to the song...once it's over I begin to doze again...but then with insane alertness I say:

"Have you ever just thought about being a grown up? When I was younger I used to think my mother had every answer. She just seemed so all knowing. Now I know she was just a scared 19-year-old girl who married her step brother. (different story for a different time.) My mom paid bills and took care of me and I mean, I thought she was a grown up, but she wasn't. She probably didn't feel like a grown up for quite a few years after I was born. And when I see bills arrive in my mail, I pay them with money that I earn at a job. And I own a house and I'm a grown up. But I don't feel like one. And my daugther thinks I have all the answers and I don't? For fucks sake I'm still walking around looking for my upgrades!"

I pause there, and wait for his response.

"My fucking fruit Ninja didn't transfer over," he says frustrated.

"I'm so glad I'm pouring my soul out to you and you are mad because you can't virtually slice fruit with your fucking finger."

I ended up laughing about it then, and I'm still laughing about it now...but in that moment I could only think one thing.

Upgrade.

Currently Chasing: Something to fall back on

What happens when you don't know what the fuck you're doing?
When your brain isn't working and you get really selfish and you start feeling entitled?

It's like that episode of sex and the city where Charlotte starts to freak out thinking something bad is going to happen to her because relationships all around her are failing:

Carrie Bradshaw: What makes you think something bad is gonna happen?
Charlotte York: Because! Nobody gets everything they want! Look at you, look at Miranda. You're good people and you two both got shafted. I'm so happy and... something bad is going to happen.
Carrie Bradshaw: Sweetie, you shit your pants this year. I think you're done.
And true enough, nothing bad happened. But I'm not Charlotte fucking York, and this isn't a movie. And I just feel like, something bad is going to happen.

I had a 'conversation' with my boyfriend the other day. He and I have been in an on again, off again relationship for the better part of five years. We've lived together, not lived together, lived near each other, lived far from each other, and have even tried living for each other. And no matter how we've lived ... our relationship seeemed to be a disposable yet recycleable entity.

We always left a door open so we could return to each other without the knowledge that there was some repressed rage. Like this girl has:

So the other day when we decided to 'have a talk' no one raised voices. No one said words that would hurt or sting, and no one was verbally pistol whipped.
The comment that started it wasn't even meant to start anything...but I can see how it did.

Me: I can't wait to swim this summer.
Mr. Big: Yeah, I don't have a pool where I live.
Me: I have three.
Mr. Big: We had a pool at our old place.
Me: Yep, but you never used it.
Mr. Big: You and your daughter did.
Me: Yeah, after you left us. (I need to drink less)
Mr. Big: ..........................

And that is how he stayed for the rest of the meal. Silent. He pushed some food around his plate but didn't eat anything.
I ate every bite because that is what I do. However, I was proud of myself for not asking for more breadsticks.

Then we went back to his house and did this thing we do where I talk, he listens, but doesn't respond or look at me. I tell him I'm going to leave. He acts like he doesn't care. I stand up and walk toward the door...get my shoes on and start gathering all my stuff in a dramatic way...Then I walk out the door and wait for him to send me a text that says he's not good with his words and that this is how he acts when we argue and he knows I need for him to communicate, but that is hard for him. Before he finishes that text, I'm already walking back through the door demanding he fight for me.

At that point there are some hugs and some apologies and then he warms up the food he didn't eat from earlier and plays some call of duty.

The point is, nothing was really wrong. It was just me creating drama. Pushing and pulling buttons and talking myself in and out of him. When I talk to my friends about it, they all see how much he's trying to change and they tell me that they see us together...forever.

Charlotte York: I always knew she'd marry Big.
Samantha Jones: You thought that after the second break up?
Charlotte York: Yep.
Miranda Hobbes: After the fifteenth?
And if you ask my friends...they'll still say yes. They see it. I'm just wondering if I see it the same way I used to see it. Or am I just so sure that something bad will happen that I'm just kind of pushing the universe to go ahead and ruin something for me. Or am I in fact daring it to?

I haven't shit myself this year, so I don't have that to fall back on.

Currently Chasing: the other cutlet

Boobies~
We all love them. Want them. Flaunt them. And there is something to be said for the girl who goes to slightly extreme measures to have them.
Slightly extreme, means exactly that. Slightly. We aren't talking boob jobs! No matter how much we may appear to need one...

And I'll even admit that there are moments of weakness we may begin to feel like desperate times are calling for desperate measures...

But some of us aren't ready to not be able to feel when our tit is hanging out of a dress. Or when our nipple is resting comfortably near our armpit. So for those of us still not ready to take the plunge...there are 'slightly' extreme measures we can take.

Wearing two or three bras is one way. The more the merrier. Keep em coming. Pile those bad boys on...especially the push-up bombshell bras, and you'll be looking like a breasty bimbo in no time. I have indeed doubled up some bras in my day, and it's safe to say, I'll never burst a pad nor will the pad ever 'leak' out of my bra lining. So we are safe there.

Then there are boob inserts...

Not to be confused with these obnoxious inserts...

And this is where our story truly begins.
My friend has some inserts. The first ones that resemble chicken cutlets, not the creepy, crazy nipple ones right above this paragraph.

She wears them every now and then, but only for special occassions, or to make a dress fit better.
The other day she had company. Male Company. And though she wanted to show him around her house and maybe even allow him a peak at the bedroom, she didn't want to clean it spotless, nor did she want to shave her legs. Reasons for this are as follows:

1. If your bedroom is too clean it looks too inviting. If your bed is made with all your fancy pillows and the room is smelling like fresh cotton, a man may feel like lingering there. But if you have no intention of sleeping with him, you want him the fuck out of that room. So she picked up a little, but not a ton. And she found a chicken cutlet while she was barely cleaning. How embarrassing would that be? She hid it in a drawer and forgot about it.

2. She didn't shave. As with the bedroom, you don't want your body seeming too inviting either. If you don't shave your legs, or groom other areas of your body, then you know you won't let hands wander. No shaved legs, no sex. No clean bedroom, no sex. Simple and full proof. Sometimes.

She takes the man through the rooms of her house and then to the bedroom. She walks in, says a little something cliche like, "this is where the magic happens," and then proceeds to escort him out. That's when she notices what he has in his hand.

The other cutlet.

He asks what it is. She says it's a shoe insert. He holds it up to his chest, looks back at her and says sure it is, right before tossing it into the hamper.

I think she could have gone ahead and shaved her legs. Not wearing the boob inserts and instead deciding to go on a date wearing only one bra already sent a clear enough message.