Kid-Sized Problems Vs. Teacher-Sized Problems

My seven year-old, Brynn, brought some papers home from school yesterday--I didn't see them until after I got home from dropping her at school this morning. One page outlines issues/problems that a child might have at school and helps them determine if they should approach their teacher or just "work it out."

Kids get so many mixed signals in the classroom, often encouraged to "tattle" on other students for misbehavior, or required to ask permission for every single thing. I'm not surprised that they go to their teacher with everything because they're so used to seeking his/her approval on everything. I can see how this can become quite the problem as today's class sizes aren't getting any smaller, so I'm pleasantly surprised by a worksheet to help them determine what really needs to be brought to the teacher's attention.

Notice the title "Don't Squeal Unless It's a Big Deal" and my daughter's messy handwriting.

The paper defines Kid-Sized Problems as problems that kids can handle on their own by talking, listening, and helping others. Teacher-Sized Problems are problems that involve people or things getting hurt and it's an emergency.

Brynn was then asked to write down examples of kid-sized problems. I like that the child has to put some thought into it, but obviously they need guided answers. Brynn's answers are a bit confused:

1. Getting a splinter. Brynn is nothing if not overly dramatic--a splinter is a big deal and almost always accompanied by tears. I don't think she can work this out by talking, listening, or with help from others.
2. Pencil isn't sharpened. If she can pass her pencil to the kid next to the sharpener, then problem solved, but I'm pretty sure she can handle this one on her own.
3. Picture isn't pretty. Good grief. I really hope this means that she's unsatisfied with her own pictures, but I'm almost certain she's willing to help the kid sitting next to her by "talking and helping" that kid with "constructive" criticism and color-palette recommendations.

The Teacher-Sized Problems scare the crap out of me, and I don't think they need an explanation:

1. Bleeding to their death
2. Weapons
3. Alligators running around school

These sound more like they need Emergency Workers and/or SWAT team--I'm not sure a teacher is going to be much help there. 

I'm glad Brynn understands the possibilities of people "getting hurt" and the "emergency" in her listed Teacher-Sized Problem scenarios, but I'm not sure she really grasps the reasoning for this little exercise. That's one of the bad things about looking through her homework--I'm not really sure what was discussed--if this was just a random handout or if scenarios were gone over in detail (esp in light of all of the crazy school shootings across the US). I'll go over this with her when she gets home from school today. Not that I don't think alligators running around the school is an emergency situation, but there are sometimes scarier things than alligators... things with familiar names and faces--sometimes disguised as friends. 

Happy Wednesday!
~2

Gearing Up for NaNoWriMo

I've been a very busy girl! Between work, family, and book reviews on Easily Mused, I'm organizing notes, building character sheets, and outlining a story.. for NaNoWriMo.

Diving back into Eden Corp for this years novel,  I hope to make some serious headway. These characters have been with me for almost 3 years now, and they're dying to get out of my head. I've yet to finish 50K words in November, but I'm hoping this is the year I do--third time's a charm!

On top of writing a novel in November, I will also be blogging every day--journaling the writing process. It's going to be a quick post. I haven't quite decided on the format, but I have made a nifty banner that will head each journal entry.

My emo roots will probably show quite a bit in these posts, so you might want to look away.. or have a laugh.

Are you participating in NaNoWriMo this year? What are you writing?

Apoc-Zen Project: Quondam

Apocryphal Zenzizenzizenzic is an old Latin phrase referring to someone who has the uncanny ability to define obscure words with pinpoint accuracy.

NOT!
(read about the project and accompanying contest)

Day 17: Quondam: Super-secret architectural design from the FUTURE!!! I can't add too much to this definition out of fear for the well-being of my family and close friends. Let's just say, this is a bio-structure created in a lab--that's it! That's all I can comfortably tell you--maybe a few hints posted below.

*wink wink*

We'll you've got my definition. What's yours? (leave it in the comments for your chance to win)

~2

Apoc-Zen Project: Omphaloskepsis

Apocryphal Zenzizenzizenzic is an old Latin phrase referring to someone who has the uncanny ability to define obscure words with pinpoint accuracy.

NOT!
(read about the project and accompanying contest)

Day 15: Omphaloskepsis: The scientific word used to describe a smaller than average person with a slightly orange complexion and abnormally green hair. Native to Loompaland.

In the early 1900s, Loompaland, was raided by tyrants who were able to smuggle these bite-size humanoids into the US virtually undetected. They have been traded/sold for years via black market and later, in more recent years, on ebay.

Young native of Loompaland in his natural state

While this natural anomaly is slowing phasing out, certain traits are still recognizable in this "Melting Pot" that makes up today's outstanding US citizens. 

We'll you've got my definition. What's yours? (leave it in the comments for your chance to win)

~2

War Wounded... Heart Broken

September of 2006, I posted a little something about a person very near and dear to me. This was a time when my blog was mainly rambling thoughts and half-assed poetry attempts. I hope those of you who occasionally read my fiction, will forgive me for the ramble and repost.

Want to See My War Wound?

When I think of veterans, my ex-step dad comes to mind. Ex, yes, now removed. My poor mother will never be happy – she takes OCD to a whole other level. My ex-step dad was this incredibly awesome person. He always did things for me and my sister, like help coach our softball teams, take us fishing, and was active in our school. He did, however, have a way of freaking all my friends out by showing off his war wound.

He was honorably discharged from service after being shot in the Vietnam War. The bullet had pierced his abdomen and exited out of his back, leaving him with this hole that looked like someone just dug out flesh with a spoon. Unlike most draft dodgers during that time, he willingly went off to war; he wasn’t even of age – had his folks sign the necessary paperwork to ship him off, because he couldn’t wait to protect and serve.

I can only imagine what it’s like from his stories and the many movies I have seen. War changes you. I don’t think he was diagnosed, but I am sure he had post traumatic stress. You couldn’t touch him while he was sleeping or try to tap him to wake him up--you would likely lose your head. He would wake up swinging, ready for the fight… very sad, but humorous to a young teenager. I think I perfected the art of tap and run just to catch a glimpse of the man in the act of self defense.

Yeah, I am probably going to go to hell for that--one of the many things on my list of BAD things.

Even though he had been to Vietnam, he was still more laid back than my mom. He caught me ditching school at the lake one nice April afternoon. He was conveniently fishing close to where we were semi-naked cliff diving.  

We, my friends and I, weren’t too smart--all stoned out of our gourds and drinking wine. I saw his truck on the horizon and made a mad dash to my friend’s car--dove into the front seat and laid there, eyes closed—like I was invisible. I heard him stop--questioning all of my friends. I laid in the seat; eyes closed, holding my breath. I heard footsteps and then the tapping of glass.

When I finally glanced up, he stood there with a very irritated look on his face, giving me the finger. Not the one you’re thinking. It was the “come here, I’m not EVEN going to say anything” finger.

GULP.

I got out of the car and followed him over to the truck where he said few words — told me he was disappointed in me, but he didn’t make me leave.

I’ll be damned if I went back to school--no way. I think we spent the rest of the day off-roading in a friend’s beat up car.

The awesome thing... he never told my mom.

I did end up in trouble though. My mother found a check I wrote to Pizza Hut for eighty bucks that day. Yeah, I know, I already told you “we weren't too smart.” She ratted me out to the principal of my school, and I got in-house suspension.

Even though my mother and he divorced right after I graduated high school, I still see him. He takes Gabe golfing, and even lets him drive the cart; he brings gifts at Christmas and birthdays for the kids; he calls from time to time to see how everyone is; and I even talked him into coaching our Co-ed softball team a couple of years. 

War may make men tough, but I think it gave him an appreciation for things that we tend to take for granted. I love my mother dearly, but she never took an interest in what we did as kids, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the time he spent with us, making the most of it. My mother may have removed him from our family, but my sister and I... we kept him.
~2

Today, the world lost a great man. Not only was Dawson Ogletree an awesome dad, but he was one of the most genuine people I have ever met. It sucks not to be able to tell him how much he meant to me... I guess I will settle with telling you. 

Political Discouragement (featuring Awesome Ideas)

I am feeling really discouraged by our political system lately. After just coming off an election (I voted), and living day to day with the political campaign bombardment, I know you are ready to read/hear about something else.

I am honestly sick of it all, too. All of the “Republicans did this,” “Democrats did that,” bullshit. Stop pointing fingers and get something done. Everyone is so quick to blame someone else for why things are in the state they are in, but no one wants to try to work together and figure shit out. It’s ridiculous… an embarrassment.

We are sitting here watching this empire crumble.

I’ve been thinking. I have some really awesome ideas to cut spending, and what a better place and time to share them with you, than on my little bloggy-blog.

2mara’s Awesome Ideas:

1. Congress/House shall be ran like student government
1. The job is done on a voluntary basis
2. This job does not pay
3. Only those with a real desire and drive to do something GOOD will apply
4. You do not quit your REGULAR job to take on this responsibility
2. Meetings are held online
1. No reason to travel to Washington (airfare, rentals, gas, mileage)
2. No reason to LIVE in Washington (rental/2nd(or 3rd) Mortgage, utilities)
3. No reason to pay expenses other than highspeed internet and cell phone usage
4. No reason to pay expensive upkeep on buildings/offices in Washington
3. Campaigning
1. Should be illegal to accept contributions from big business
2. No calls, mailers, TV ads
3. Online ads only--collected in a general repository, so that voters can find them. Ads cannot list other running mates in them, the bare essentials. Videos can be available for viewing at the polls if online access if not available to the voter.

What I would also like to see:

• During a campaign, I don’t care about your family orientation or religious beliefs—actions speak louder than words. (I’m Agnostic—doesn’t mean I’m immoral. I have a wonderful family—but that doesn’t mean everything’s perfect.)
• I think we should get rid of parties altogether. It’s a discriminator that holds us back from accomplishing greatness.

I am sorry for ranting. I am just really disappointed with how things are going… and scared.

ANYway…

I think we should pool our ideas and share them. We are a brilliant collection of minds, and that resource has yet to be tapped. We have to do something because it’s just not getting done…

Let’s hear your awesome ideas.

Friday, I'm Home!

Sometimes, I find it hard to sort fact from fiction. The other day, I was at the grocery store buying a brisket. It was this ten pound package of vacuum sealed blood and guts. I stood in line, shifting it from one hip to the next; waiting. When I got to the counter, I sat it down for the cashier. She ran it across the bar-code reader, tossed it to the other side to be bagged, and said, “I love throwing meat.”

I laughed at the comment, but my “What if” mechanism started firing. I see the meat flying in slow motion, hitting the conveyor belt, ripping, and splattering its contents across the poor bag-boy’s face. He screams. The woman behind me folds over, throwing up, and it splatters my shoes.

I am standing there glassy-eyed as the cashier repeats the amount I owe. I pay and walk out of the grocery store wondering how I can work this into my #FridayFlash.

I didn’t even know what flash fiction was until I stumbled upon Editor Unleashed about a year ago. They were hosting a flash fiction contest, and I entered. As soon as I posted, I wished I hadn't.

I posted the wrong story, with a horrible title. It wasn’t even fiction. It was part of a collection of tales from my childhood; exaggerated truths. It was definitely a lesson learned.

I met some really cool people in the forum at Editor Unleashed: E.D. Johnson, Laura Eno, and Jon Strother. The three of them played this cool game where they posted a piece of fiction, a thousand words or less (flash fiction), on their blogs each Friday. They would then tweet their URLs with the hashtag #FridayFlash; forever linking their stories together and showing the world how cool they were.

I wanted in. I have never considered myself a writer, but I have always written. Flash fiction is a manageable chunk of writing that I can hold myself accountable for. I have started many novels, but I get overwhelmed by the sheer size of the project, and end up tabling them to work on later… or never. I can’t explain to you, with my limited vocabulary, how great it feels to finish something.

All of my life, I have written for an audience of one. Now, people take time out of their busy weekends to read what I have written. I am so honored to receive comments each week with reader thoughts and feelings, or what I could change to make my story better. It feeds my fire, and I want to write more.

I also love to read what others have written. Over the past year I have made the acquaintance of many amazing writers. I am shocked at the variety that is posted each week. I want to read, so they will write more.

Jon Strother asked me, “What does #FridayFlash mean to you?”

My answer in essence is Everything: It’s all of those “What If?” moments; The love of writing; the wonderful sense of accomplishment; the honor of you reading my posts; the emotional rollercoaster of reading your posts; friendship; family; and rubbing elbows with genius.

Thanks, Jon, for making me feel at home here, and Happy Anniversary, #FridayFlash!
~2



This is my submission for the Friday Comes Monday contest on Mad Utopia. Readers, there is a contest for you too, check it out: HERE


Continue to checkout the #FridayFlash hastag on Twitter for great flash Fiction each week. If you're confused about how all of that works, hit me up on IM and I will walk you through it ;-)
MSN: tomaral@hotmail.com Yahoo: mara_barz or shoot me an email tomaraa@gmail.com

Oklahoma? Beautiful?

My family and I moved back to Oklahoma last July. While I was born and raised here, I don't remember seeing the trees blooming like they have been the last couple of weeks.

I had to take some photos this evening in my yard, so I could show you how truly beautiful it is here right now.








I don't expect them to last long with the crazy wind, but I am going to enjoy them while I can.

Homesickness: The Ghosts of Oklahoma

I was just thinking about this post this morning. I wrote it about this time last year. Three years in Phoenix, AZ, and I was missing everything about home. We've since moved back.

Now I am freezing my ass off... I am still happy to be home :-)

Homesickness: The Ghosts of Oklahoma

Winded, I plop myself onto the ground, leaning back to enjoy the warm sun on my face. Bittersweet... I would happily trade a dozen of these moments to hover over the old floor furnace in my childhood home. For just a little while, and absorb the sensory overload that IS my family and friends; just a minute... maybe two.

Homesickness weighs on my shoulders and sours in my stomach. Choking on the warm air, I can feel my heart, burdened by my heavy tears, sinking down through me into the hard ground below. Anchoring me on the spot and stopping time to draw out a single, torturous moment.

It's a warm January birthing a hot February, hotter March, and a baking April; a scattered litter of hot and sunny days bleeding into one another. In Oklahoma, the children are bundled in their cozy layers while ice frosts my hometown. Kids out of school; enjoying snow days with soaked mittens and pink noses.

Life goes on...

A fog of secrets and complaints will fall on other deserving ears, but my head hums with a loud silence. Ghosts of stories that will reach me too late lose their significance and fall sleepily to my feet. I shove them aside. Kicking up the dust and dirt that Arizona gifts me.

Oklahoma hasn't even noticed, and I am forgotten in Arizona.

Moving Sucks!

I am not saying that I am not looking forward to being back in my hometown; I am saying that everything else involved with this move has been UBERshitty.

I am so ready for it to be done and over with I cannot begin to express it here. It has been one headache after another, and I surprised I have made it this far without medicinal help. WOOT!

ANYway...

I have stories to post and many more to read, so please be patient. We are turning off our cable and internet in a few hours, so I will see you after we make it to the new place.
*cross your fingers that we make it there*

Talk to you soon!
~2

Courtly Love? What a Crock...

my submission for Inspiration Underground post The Art of Courtly Love


When I originally saw this topic and read the description, I laughed. I don’t think "courtly love" exists today. Not because I think we have evolved into a mutated society incapable of truly loving, but because I don’t think “courtly love” ever existed in the first place.

Being female (duh), I want to relate to this definition (see post) personally, but it is a term defined during the Middle Ages. I am guessing this means that “courtly love” defined a man’s love for his fair maiden.

Let’s break it down:

Jealous people can’t love

In the animal kingdom, the male of the species is flashy and puts on a show for the female of his species. Often times, he must fight or compete with other males for her attention. Sounds like jealousy to me.

Boys don’t love until they reach the age of maturity

You’ve got to be kidding me; when exactly do they reach maturity?

Easily attained love doesn’t have as much value as hard-to-attain love

Stalker?

Love always turns pale in the presence of their beloved

Whatever


We all want to believe in this romanticized term, that someone could hold the highest form of love, but you can’t measure someone’s love for another based on a written set of ridiculous rules.

Love is measure by words written and unwritten, thoughts spoken and unspoken, and actions; not only the way you treat your beloved but the way you treat others because you’re in love.

And,

The way one person loves their beloved cannot be compared to the way another person loves his or hers. We are unique individuals in every other aspect, how can we believe that we all love the same.

ANYway…

Courtly love is a crock of shit if you ask me.

Happy New Year!

It's been a while, and a great start to the New Year so far. I spend the 31st sick, and Chris made a trip to the Gallup, NM (we were driving back to AZ) emergency room the morning of the 1st. Lucky me; Strep Throat, for the first time in my life. I really hope this isn't a reflection of my year to come.

Maybe the worst part is out of the way, and it can only get better.

I feel pretty good now, and thanks to the strep, I am about 7 lbs down on the regular weight loss resolution. Did you make any?

I am always overly ambitious with the resolutions, and then at the end of the year I get bummed out when it's time to make resolutions all over again. This year I didn't really get to think about it because I was sick, but besides the weight loss thing, I think I am going to try finishing things I've started. That's a pretty good, all encompassing resolution. I am probably going to hate myself for it later, but the year is new and I have a lot of time :)

I am still reading a lot. I have finished Lauran Myracle's Bliss... eh it was ok, and Jen Lancaster's Such a Pretty Fat. I am not used to reading Humor, and it took me a while to get into it, but I found it inspiring. I started the year reading Harry, A History. I am a Harry Potter fangirl, but I got kind of bored and had to move on to something else (shhhhhhhhh). I should post a list of all the books I read last year, and you can easily see why my posts were few and far between.

What's new with you? Working on any projects? Make any New Year's Resolutions?
~2

No More Birthdays!

Another birthday draws nearer sucking the life out of me. It was maybe yesterday, when I was ten, wishing I could be older to do "cooler" things. Back then, my idea of "cooler" was greatly distorted... twisted and molded forms of greatness, when really I am merely twisting and molding into old age.

It is kind of depressing, but I shouldn't really complain. I mean, I am a mother, and I should get to wear some badges. I am not, however, anyone's grandmother (that just made my stomach turn... bleah). Don't get me wrong I love my grandmother, dearly, but I am not yet ready to cross over to that side of my older age.

Grandmothers are on both sides of the personality gridlines. You have the sweet, smiling, soft cuddly ones; and then there is the lanky, bitter, grouchy ones. I have been fortunate to have the most wonderful grandmothers, but I have read about type B... and have known some people to be less fortunate than myself.

ANYway...

I didn't come here today to trash talk anyone's grandma. Basically I just don't want to look like one. I want to put my birthdays on hold and stay the age I am... I don't want wrinkles, age spots, wiry hair... a bad back, sore feet, ANY of the ailments associated with getting older.

This is the last birthday.... day after tomorrow, I will be 33, and I am done. No more birthdays! I am going to focus on staying young"er", so if that is a new years resolution to eat sea weed 4 days a week... I will do it*.

Maybe it will teach the kiddos a lesson too... don't wish your life away. Growing up hits you on the head like an acme anvil, and by the time you shake off the stars and twittering birds you have bad skin and hairy moles.
~2


*as long as I can still have ice cream and strawberry pez.... occasionally

I Didn’t Think I Was Going to Make It.

I have to write something today, if it kills me. I have no clue where the last few weeks have gone. I have been so busy with EVERYTHING, I have neglected my passion for writing. It isn’t very likely that you have noticed, but I notice. I notice everyday I log on and see that repost from months ago.

I should have posted before now. A blog is supposed to be personal, and here I am waiting for some literary piece of magnificence to come to me. I should have written about my work on my other sites, or how my kids are driving me nuts. Gabe has managed to make it into the gifted program at his school, as well as more than 59 visits to RTC (responsible thinking center — the schools disciplinary system) almost a record in the history of the third grade I am sure. Brynn has enhanced her scream to envelope pitches only dogs can hear within a 3 mile radius of her global positioning — quite a feat for a two year old. I could post how I took above mentioned children to the department of motor vehicles yesterday and finally got my Arizona license… you can put two and two together I know you can.

I have been busy. AZoverload is really taking off. I have more than 30 local bands on the bios page, and have recruited a few reviewers for that section on the site. I have launched the AZoverload series of podcast on Blog Talk Radio, with interviews and a weekly spot to promote the weekend’s venue. This has been sooo much fun, but it requires a LOT of work. I have to scour the bands pages, on their site or myspace, for show dates and manually add them to the calendar I have set up on my site. I also have to contact each of these bands directly to get their permission to add them to the site, etc. It’s a lot of busy work, but it will all be worth it. Even if the site isn’t a huge success, it is definitely something I am proud of.

This weekend we are traveling to Oklahoma. Chris’ daughter, Stormy, is coming to stay, and we are all very excited. Now the 12+ hour drive with above mentioned kids (each way), may require medication, but it will all be worth it in the long run… your suggestions are appreciated ;-).

ANYway…

That’s what’s new. Check out www.AZoverload.com. Drop me an email and let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. You can visit it on myspace too www.myspace.com/azoverload and on Blog Talk Radio http://www.blogtalkradio.com/azoverload

I promise, once I find my niche…. you can expect real content from me.
~2

Five Minutes in Size Twos

***I don’t remember, but I think I originally wrote this for The Blue Doodle right after we moved here from Oklahoma… so back in September or October of 2006

Isn’t it strange how as we get older we forget about the things we enjoyed when we were young? I took my kids to the park today, and I don’t usually do that; I am a bad mother. I have little patience with my own children (the oldest really), and we don’t spend a lot of time doing things we really SHOULD be doing. My son was pouty because dad wouldn’t let sister go down the slide with him, so I decided it might be fun to swing. He got in his swing and I in mine, and I immediately took off.

Who can go higher? Of course I can, and I am extremely competitive so the challenge is on. The higher I got the more exhilarated I became. The wind in my hair and the jump in my stomach as my swing traveled down. The height I climbed and the speeding ground below. Why did I give this up? At what point in my life did this become a childish activity?

Those few moments on that swing freed me of all worries. As I flew through the air, guided only by my imagination, my eyes were closed and all the world’s ailments where bandaged. What else am I missing out on?

I have spent so much time viewing things from an adult perspective, that I forgot what it is like to see things as a child; to see the beauty in a rainbow, and the charm in making wishes. To roll down a hill, not worrying what I will be covered with and how sick it can make me… but rolling for the roll – the tingles in my stomach and that dizzy feeling when I stand to my feet.

Just maybe this is what is wrong with me. This is why I feel my life is lacking. A few moments as a child and all my worries will disappear. I don’t know. I can tell you this… if I move again, I am getting a swing set.

~2

The Worst Time of Life

Recently I picked up a copy of the Daily Spark’s Journal writing. It has page after page of journal writing inspiration. I thought originally I would use it for the Green Room, but I have yet to get the site up… hopefully soon.

ANYway…

DAILY SPARK JOURNAL WRITING 1: What was your most humiliating junior high experience? Write a short, possibly funny, description of it.

Wow! Where to start… junior high. Well thankfully I can remember lots about junior high, but to be able to establish where one embarassing moment ends and the other begins… well that’s a different story. Now if you would have asked me about high school, we would be in trouble. Let’s just say that high school was not just a clever name…

In Elk City, Junior High officially starts in 7th grade. The town isn’t all that big, and I basically shared classes with the same kids since 5th grade, when the three seperate elementary schools melded into middle school.

This is the time in life where the girls get mean and the boys OH SO cute. You have your cliques of various types which seem to be the same everywhere you go, and they seem to pass from one generation to the next. I can intermingle between them, because I can get along with anyone… but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I like the people associated with those cliques… or they even like me for that matter.

A moment that stands out, would be a particular day the spring of 8th grade. The country was facing AIDS in epedimic proportion, or so we were led to believe. A local doctor was asked to come to the school and visit with the students and answer our questions about the virus. 8th and 9th graders were required to get parental permission, and we were of course seperated into two groups… boys vs. girls. I didn’t necessarily want to go, I had heard the boys gave the doctor a run for his money with their ridiculous questions about aural (yes I spelled that right) sex and masturbation.

After lunch we, the girls, were required to head to that auditorium. I am not sure why I sat where I did. I can recall fighting with my best friend and we weren’t speaking, so I damn sure wasn’t sitting next that “bitch” (did I mention how fickle a young teen is). The content of the speech was embarassing to say the least, and I was very uncomfortable listening to the man speak, and I wasn’t about to ask a question… and I don’t think I even got that far into it when a teacher walking the isles pointed me out.“You!” in her best whisper scream, “come with me” she gave me the finger (not that one) and I hopped up and tried not to make a scene as I rushed past others sitting there taking their verbal medicine from Dr. Gill. She grabbed me by the arm and escorted me out of the auditorium.

I was at a loss for words. I was just sitting there listening… not talking… not anything, and now I was getting a scolding like I had shot spitwads at the man from 25 feet. “Get to your class, you should be ashamed of yourself.” she scolded.

“um… what did I do?” I wasn’t being a smart ass or anything, I asked politely.

“Your were slouching… that is so disrespectful. Get to your 5th hour.” and she scooted me along.

I walked back to my class… embarassed. I think the scene the teacher made was more disrespectful than me…”slouching”. What the fuck, really, who doesn’t slouch in 8th and 9th grade? I am sure ever single catty, junior high girl was aware that I walked out of that theater, escorted by the arm. What did they think I was doing?

When I got to class, the boys got a big kick out of it…. “wow, what did SHE DO to get kicked out of that seminar?” For some reason the slouching didn’t go over well, and my teacher sent me to the office to speak with the principal… for slouching, can you believe it? He explained to me that it was an act of disrespect, and I explained I wasn’t even aware I was doing it. I wasn’t sunk down in my seat hiding behind spread fingers… I was just sitting there, paying attention.

ANYway… he walked me back into the auditorium, and I got the priviledge of sitting next to another teacher for the remainder of the “ordeal”.

… and I didn’t even want to go. I alread knew “everything” anyway.

~2

Homesick

You would think being in Oklahoma this last week would quench that thirst for home. I mean I did grow up here, but something is missing. My mother, sister, and neices are all here… and I do love them so, but something just isn’t right. My rotten seeds are here as well, soaking up as much sugar and absolute evil as possible… but what is it?

I can’t sleep… I lie there for hours just going through all the possible blogs in my head… I even wrote some ideas down… I miss home.

All this time I thought home was Oklahoma… was my past, my family here. I am tired of living in the past. I am tired milling over the “what ifs” and “why nots”. I am so hungry for now it’s not even funny.

I am missing my bed, my things, and DH (dear husband as he is often referred to). I am missing that awful smell of the area rug in my living room… like the way your hands used to smell after basketball practice. I miss being snuggled up on my fluffy couch watching a movie… just hanging out with DH. I miss my bathroom rug tickling the bottoms of my feet… the climb into and out of my ridiculously tall bed… the sound of the alarm clock in the morning and DH struggling to climb over me to get to his morning routine.

I miss the calmness in the AZ air… the quiet in my head… the beautiful scenary. I miss the new life I have created for myself totally independent of my past.

I miss the warmth of DHs arms and the most perfectly soft kisses.

Home truly is where the heart is… I can’t wait to get back to mine… back to normal.
~2

When I drive… I’m invisible

If I am in my car, and the windows are up - HELL, even if they are down.. you can’t see me. My windows have a little bit of tint, but that’s not the point; when I am in my car/truck… I am myself.

I sing… not just a little “la la” either.. I fucking wail, and dance too… and nobody sees me…. I’m invisible.

I am guilty of picking my nose… who’s going to see that… I’m invisible.

I make faces, apply makeup.. I am even guilty of plucking my eyebrows - if parked of course… who’s going to know… well besides you… I’m invisible.

It’s funny the weird things we do in our cars, and we assume no one can see us… I mean I can drive down the road with a soda in hand… stuffin’ a burrito in my face, dripping shit all over my pants, and I could CARE LESS if anyone sees me.

Call me disgusting if you will, but you know as well as I… you think you’re invisible too.

You do… don’t you?

~2

Sometimes… I Shake My Head

Isn’t it strange how a community of people can somehow become the stereotype for a whole state of people…

When I lived in Oklahoma, I totally hated watching the news. They always picked the worst case to interview… it was always the toothless hillbilly who made no sense what so ever.. trying to explain that his house, which was of course a trailer protected by a layer of tires strategically placed on the roof… just blew away, and it was “like nuttin’ I’d never seen b’fore!”

I just rolled my eyes and shook my head

Now in Arizona, a whole new breed of people are causing me a bit of mental anguish. I hate to even mention it, but something is just wrong here. I am not a person to make fun of anyone with a disability, but if I have to question that there is even a disability to begin with… stupid people are fair game.

First… I live on the 3rd floor in an apartment complex. Across the hall of the THIRD floor is an older couple… ahem the THIRD floor. Our apartment doors face the courtyard, for us to go to the lot… we must first exit out of our apartment doors… walk down a somewhat long cooridor and then decend down the stairs to go happily on her little motorcade way. My neighbor, who lives across the way, that walks down the same flight of stairs I do, has a handicap parking place reserved for him.

I understand that if he has a disability… I have no problem with him having a reserved spot… and actually I park out front, so I could care less that he has one altogether. What bothers me is that he walks down the stairs to get to his car. Why is he on the THIRD floor to begin with? Why not the first level?

I shake my head at that

Here is where the community that defines the whole state come into play…

I picked my son up from school last Friday early, since they were having parent treacher conferences (my son is brilliant.. just saying) and decided to grab a bite to eat, since the baby and I hadn’t had lunch yet. He decided we should go to Jack in the Box - since he had never been there. While sitting there waiting for the baby to finish throwing her food in the floor, a Phoenix fave pulled into the lot - a fucking MONSTER truck. I have yet to see what the deal with these are, but everyone has them here. I noticed that they had pulled into a handicap spot, and I was starting to get pissed… I don’t care if someone jumps out and you are just standing there… that place is reserved for a reason.

So.. as we are walking past the truck I noticed the plate… and it was handicapped. WHAT THE FUCK?!! That thing required a ladder to get into. I am not even going into how much I SHAKE MY HEAD AT THIS!!

What is wrong with Arizona? I am always one of the first people to help a person in need… I would go out of my way to help someone with a disability, but this is ridiculous.

What do you shake your head at?
~2

Thank GAWD it’s Thursday!!

Driving home today, I couldn’t help but think about all the things going on around me. I have been a bit discouraged by the new job, and of course, sleep deprived, so while taking a moment to breathe I decided to take a break from the cd of choice at the present time…. King for a Day Fool for a Lifetime (Faith No More).. I slipped in something different… something I hadn’t listened to in ages, and I was pleasantly surprised on how much I had forgotten.

okokok it was the Bloodhound Gang’s Hooray for Boobies… yeah yeah don’t give me shit - it cracks me up.

Have you ever been listening to something… of course loud… and noticed how it seems life outside the vehicle is somehow in tune with the music? The shaking leaves on the passing palms, the bouncing vehicles… the peds crossing the street mouthing the words. Even each breath I took seemed to somehow fit, and that maybe I cracked some sort of secret code… there has been something going on all along behind the scenes, and I am just now beginning to understand it.

I drive on and there is a girl dressed like the statue of liberty, waving at me, smiling at me. It’s a tax service. Would someone standing on the side of the road waving at you really sway your decision on who you let process your taxes? I have always wondered why do that… and how much does it pay, because on this same stretch of road, less than a mile long, I have seen the statue of liberty, a guy waving a flag, and a few others… and it’s a busy street.. they drive like 40 mph and I can’t see someone slamming on their breaks.. crap… I need to have THEM do my taxes… RIGHT NOW. Just something I think about. I drive down the same street everyday to pick my daughter up from the sitter.

I pick up pretty girl, and drive back down the same road… palm reader…. 5 bucks. I would so love to stop, but I know Brynn wouldn’t let me… so I drive on with music — giggling “they said vagina”… hehe

Stop at the light, and in front of me is a vehicle… I can’t remember what kind, but I remember the sticker and it totally brings a smile to my face:

I brake for saucy wenches!
Suddenly I am wishing I was a saucy wench… I am not 100% sure as to what that’s talking about, but it just rolls off the tongue. Oh to be a saucy wench!

It’s amazing how many things stand out on this drive, and it makes me wonder what I am missing. Am I suppose to be seeing something, but I keep overlooking it. Like some sign from a higher power. I am not religious by any means, but I like to think I do have a purpose here. I so wish to know what it is. Maybe I should get my palm read… maybe I should get my taxes done, or maybe I can get some lessons and become that saucy wench I so long to be.

~2