It's Just a Small Gift, Really. But Still...You are Welcome, Neighbors.

The worst thing about the stupid cast thing is taking it on and off.

Seriously, I would like to burn it. When it's not, you know, attached to my foot.

Seriously, the level of lazy that I am reaching here is astounding. I blame it on the fact that I can't do freaking anything.

As I am required to take it off to drive, and then immediately put it back on upon arrival at my destination, it gets old. Fast. I can't really do anything about it at work. But at home? The thought of taking the boot/cast off to drive home, put it back on to walk into the house, take it off two minutes later when I get into my cozies (Everyone wears cozies around the house, right?), and then put it on after said cozies are on is enough to kill me. So I have figured out that I can save minutes, actual minutes, by getting out of my car, taking off my pants, putting the cast/boot back on, and walking into the house in my undies.

Then when I get upstairs, I can just throw on my cozy pants OVER the boot. Because those pants STRETCH.

Where's the gift, you might ask?

I close the garage door first. You are welcome.

Because my neighbors know that I am not above walking around in my undies. 

Hello! My Name is Childless.

 This weekend I was reading on Facebook a friend whose children had been reprimanded by a stranger in public. I don't know the details, so I am not really writing about the incident. What I am writing about is something that I have not been able to let go of since I read the responses to her post yesterday.

Someone (Okay. It was her husband. I was not going to mention it, but it got pretty ugly and at this point I am so disappointed in everything that played out that I do not give poo.) had responded that the reprimander, an older woman, was "a bitter, old, childless woman". Anger coursed through me and it would not stop. Has not stop.

To use childless as an insult?

To suggest that anyone without children must be bitter? My life is less fulfilling than someone who has children? I don't even understand this.

Not every woman has to have children to feel complete. To suggest otherwise is ridiculous.

Not every woman should be a parent. There are plenty of examples of these women in the news. After my accidental "trip" on prescription meds, I doubt my own parenting abilities. I fear I am a little nutty.

In addition, what about the women who have had children and lost them? The women who want to have (or wanted to have) children but could not? To them I imagine that being called childless is a slap in the face. The cruelest of comments.

I responded politely but with an obvious dislike of using the word childless as an insult. The response? That I think too much and that obviously any woman that would reprimand children that were not hers in public could NOT have children of her own (I mean, OBVIOUSLY).

Because all you parents raise your children in the same way? Because parents take an oath to never speak up in public when another person's children misbehave? Was there a secret handshake involved? Man, I am NOT pissed about being childless, but I AM pissed that I missed the secret handshake. I LOVE secret handshakes.

 I responded just as politely as I had the first time but this time suggested that perhaps the woman had indeed raised children of her own, but simply did not agree with the parenting style that she was witnessing. Was she in the right? Maybe not. But again? You are still being insulting. And to assume that everyone thinks you are the most awesome parent and that you never make mistakes and everyone wants to parent just.like.you?

Is just wrong.

Regardless of how you look at it - calling someone bitter and childless is defensive and insulting. It's a shame that some of us can't just say "Whoops. I did not mean to offend anyone."

Instead the response back was this: Is calling someone dogless if they don't have a dog insulting?

No, and neither is just saying that someone without child is childless. It's an insult when you pair it with all those other words.

At this point, he decided that I was a bitter woman (I would like to point out that if Jeremiah EVER called any of my friends names or made insulting remarks it would get ugly. Not that he ever would.) and I was just jealous. And that I was what was wrong with the entire world - people that made everyone else walk on eggshells. It was a shame that this value of respecting other people's privacy was not taught anymore. I should not read her posts any more and next time her name pops up on my screen, I should just keep scrolling and mind my own business.

I responded by saying that if you post something on Facebook, you lose your right to tell me to mind my own business. And then I told him I would work on minding my own business though, if he would work on being less insulting and stop name calling. It was a shame that no one taught their children that anymore, I said, because it would make my job a lot easier. I also told him it was a shame that two adults could not disagree without one of them making it ugly.

And then I unfriended my friend. Because seriously? Even if a friend of mine was completely out of line (which I was not) and rude (again, I was not) I would still have Jeremiah lay off or delete the post. But she just let her husband call me jealous and bitter and everything else.

He also said he wished he had been there to give that woman a piece of her mind. Like, in the woman's room?  My thought to this (which I did not say) was, Can she (my friend) not stand up for herself? And why do you need to yell at a woman? Too afraid to stand up to a man who might beat the shit out of your wimpy ass? So you go after women instead? That right there is a tough guy. Oh, wait. I mean an asshole.

Sad.

So he can have my friend from high school who apparently does NOT think too much and does not speak up for herself and her friends.

P.S. Edited to add: All the while he was attacking me, he and his wife posted about an adult bible study they were hosting at their house that weekend. That's really all I have to say about that. 

Dear "Guest" Teacher,

Thank you so much for coming into my room last week and deciding for me that all of my dry erase markers (which aren't cheap, by the way) were not "dark enough" and throwing them out. That was nice of you to show initiative.

I also want to thank you for giving my students free time at the end of the day when I specifically asked you AND my students to not have free time and to wait until Monday. It was not even in my plans. My students even told you they were not supposed to have it. But again, you showed initiative.

Lastly, thanks for NOT covering my duty at the end of the day. You were scheduled to be here until 3:20, but you did not want to do a duty that lasted until 2:45. So you left at 2:30. I mean, good for you. Leave work fifty minutes early.

Maybe it is because, as you mentioned repeatedly, you are a retired teacher and taught for twenty-eight years. I thought that I expressed the correct amount of respect and admiration. I could be wrong, though, because I tend to be socially awkward.

Here's the deal, though, honey.

YOU were a guest in MY room. I am the teacher. You said it yourself - you retired. It is now MY turn to make decisions and run a classroom. I would have never had the balls (excuse my language) to go into someone's classroom and do the stuff that you did. It would be like being invited to someone's house and throwing away their stuff or listening to a friend give direct instruction to their child/grandchild and then intervene, telling the child that they do not have to listen to their parents.

Awesome.


So thanks again for everything. You'll understand when I don't ask you back, right?

Hugs & Kisses,
Emily - The Teacher

Don't Let It Go to Your Head, Jeremiah.

Time: End of May
Place: School
Why: Packing a shit ton of boxes


Emily: Packing/filling HUGE boxes with everything - packs of paper, textbooks, etc.
Jeremiah: What are you doing?
Emily: Um...I'm packing.
J: Did you ever think how heavy those boxes are going to be to move?
E: No. Because you are going to move them, Mr. Muscles.
J: I don't know if I can lift those boxes.
E: What? Why? Are you wimpy? Do you have saggy muscles?
J: Seriously? You're making fun of me?
E: If it's too much for you, I'll have students push the boxes on Monday.
J: USE SMALLER BOXES. They are easier to move.
E: NO. Because they get filled too quickly.
Jeremiah gives up, I gloat, filling my giant boxes with dictionaries, encyclopedias, and the like.




Time: Beginning of August
Place: School
Why: Unpacking a shit ton of boxes

Emily: Looks around at the huge boxes stacked in new classroom. No assistance to be had. Desperately tries to lift/move one to start unpacking new classroom. It's a negative. Almost has an accident straining so hard. Awe, crap.

Okay, so this ONE TIME, Jeremiah was right.

A Little Perspective, Brought to You by Goodwill

I would like to premise this by saying a few things. One, this really isn't my story to tell, but by being in a relationship with one who writes, I would say that you know that you are forfeiting your story-telling rights. Two, as my mom told me when I told her this story, "Sometimes I think things happen for a reason." and this totally did. Fate.

Jeremiah and I were waiting in line at Goodwill. He had vinyl and I had books. We were buying separately, so when the lane next to us opened up, I shooed Jeremiah over as "The next person in line! That's you! Go!".

When he got there, the young guy that was checking him out noticed the long scar going from Jeremiah's ear to mid-scalp. Checkout guy asked Jeremiah how he got the scar. Jeremiah told him. Turns out that the guy had had the same surgery for a tumor removal. What are the odds?

And then he said:

"What did you have to relearn?"

Jeremiah's reply was that he had not had to relearn how to do anything.

This guy had to relearn everything. EVERYTHING. He could not even walk.

What a humbling experience. For someone (sorry, Jeremiah) who has been so impatient with the healing process and so eager to be back to his presurgery state, I think it puts things in perspective.

Jeremiah was able to bike for the first time yesterday. 

We are so lucky.

Definitely Related - A quick overview of a root word and some affixes.

Dear World,
Let's have some fun with words, shall we?

Finite = bounds, limits, certainty

The nice people that came up with this word threw some affixes on it and called it definitely.

So spelling definitely should not be an issue. If finite means certainty or limits, definite means with certainty or limits, and definitely means in a definite, certain, or limited way.

These words are all related.

Not a single version of any of these words contains an "a".

Please stop spelling definitely like this: definately. As far as I know, "finate" is not a word.

In addition, in a world where everything is spell-checked and auto-corrected, how does this word still get spelled incorrectly?

Anyone else tired of seeing a specific word misspelled?

That is all.

p.s.
Five more days of school.

Dear neighbors, I deeply apologize for the fact that the image of me walking around the backyard in a tank top, bright green panties, and Jeremiah's old grey converse searching for granules in piles of dog barf is forever burned in your retinas.

Believe me, everyone. If time had permitted me to put on pants, I would have.

The title for this one practically wrote itself. Alternates I was considering:

• What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger...one dog's true story.
• I feel like a million bucks...or at least $39.99 and the cost of some hydrogen peroxide.
• Do you know the number for the poison control line for pets? No? Because I do.

Here's the story.

Yesterday was a self-proclaimed "Day of Fun". More details on that later. Or never. Who knows. Anyway, to have the day of fun,  Jeremiah got up around 4:30, I think. I slept in until 5:55. This has little to do with the story, other than I am appalled that I consider 5:55 sleeping in late. That just makes me sad.

At one point (the point where I was dressed only half way) I could hear scraping noises outside. I asked Jeremiah to check on the dogs. It was then that he discovered that Spike had gotten into the ant poisoning that we put outside. It was in a container, covered and surrounded by bricks, but he got in.

And then he ate the poison.

I have to say one thing. If there is ever an emergency, I will need to duplicate myself. Jeremiah was little help (sorry Jeremiah, but it's the truth), except when he whipped out his credit card. He made the phone calls, but basic information was relayed from me to him to the person on the phone. Age of the dogs? No clue. Weight? No clue.  EPA number on the side of the poison? Couldn't find it.

So Spike eats the poison. Atticus is flitting around the backyard, and I am actually concerned that he might have gotten some.

The first person (actually the second person. Our vet was closed, so we called the emergency number they listed.) suggested that both dogs be given a tablespoon of hydrogen peroxide, which is safe for the dogs and would make them barf. I pulled out the dropper/measuring thing that I use with the dogs (pet owners - you should ALWAYS have one of these on hands. You never know when you will need it.) and fed Atters a bit less then a tablespoon. Spike willingly drank about half of his and then I had to squirt the rest in with the dropper.

Atticus went outside. Promptly sat down, grinned at me, and horked up a tiny pile of dog food. I used my foot to smoosh through it. No poison. Thank god.

Spike didn't barf. The dog has an iron stomach. He's also ingested transmission fluid, primer, and a bunch of other random things. He walked around gaily, wagging his tail, smelling things.

Jeremiah calls a third person, recommended by the previous caller, which will cost $39.99, but will tell us if the ingredients are toxic. Jeremiah calls, I provide him with his information (time to learn your new phone number, Jeremiah) and the EPA number listed on the side of the container and we discover that it should not be a problem. Spike's stomach will be upset and he shouldn't have any water or food for awhile, but he will be fine.

After Jeremiah got off the phone he sat patiently and reassured me that I would not end up on a list of people who were banned from buying/rescuing shelter animals. I still do not believe him. I probably will not ever be able to adopt any animal again. I probably am not even allowed to volunteer (Actually, Jeremiah and several friends have forbade me from volunteering with animals as they fear that I will bring them all home.)

Then - Spike barfed.

He barfed up a pile of ant poison pellets.

And now he's fine.

"Cross ant poison off my bucket list!"

Let's Start with the Basics - Parking.

Ready, Friends?

It is that time of the week. The time when you take a break from all that work you are doing for your weekly driving lesson.

We are going to start with an easy one.

Or more accurately, what should be an easy one.

Parking.

Do you know what chaps my ass?

This:

No, this is not a picture from England. This is my street. I LOVE that both red cars on either side of the road are parked facing the wrong direction. It is a shitload of awesome around my house, let me tell you.

 Rule Number One: When you park, you have to park (by law) in the direction that the traffic flows. Passenger side against the curb.  IT JUST MAKES SENSE. That way, when you go to drive away from your parking spot, you are NOT driving on the WRONG side of the road.

In addition, your craptastic parking job won't freak out regular, less imaginative drivers who are driving down the correct side of the road.

You would think especially near intersections, like in the photo above, you would stick to the rules. Apparently NOT SO MUCH.

Exhibit B:

Notice the black truck and the white car. Same intersection, different day. I was all, "I have had it, Jeremiah. I am calling the non-emergency line because there are too many idiots living near us." Jeremiah's response: "Um, considering it is the police officer's SON, I don't think they will really care." And then I said a profanity that is not fit for your gentle ears. 

To be fair, I was a country girl growing up and did not have to do street parking. My senior year of college I had to park on the street for like, two minutes, and my friend Derek went ape-shit and informed me that I was on the wrong side and I should move my car immediately. Friends don't let friends park on the wrong side of the road. 

But apparently the police do.

And I am SORRY, but if you have lived in the city or cramped suburbs, you have NO excuse. You should know the rules.


And then let us examine Exhibit 3: Parking Lot

I took these pictures of Old Red IN ONE DAY. Old Red is in the center. In general, this is how bad the parking is in Arizona. People are not only incapable of parking correctly on the street, but it is also a challenge to pull forward into a spot. And forget backing up and straightening the cars out a bit. That would be an inconvenience.

I got a new car (more on this later) and I have already been scraped up in the school parking lot. In addition, Jeremiah says that my new vehicle is a magnet for crappy drivers. We go into a store? No one parked around me. We come out? Idiots parked in the same parking spot as me. Not next to me, but squished right in there with me.

 Bastards.

So I guess what I am saying is this: Be aware of parking rules in your area. People do NOT love it when you park on the wrong side of the road. You are NOT too special to follow the rules like everyone else. Suck it up and turn your freaking car around. And if you park crookedly, back the freak up and try it again.

Believe it or not, people notice your parking. And if they are like me and you park like this, they laugh at you and curse the day you were born.



And then they post the pictures online.

P.S. Okay, let's hear it. You KNOW there is something that irks you about other drivers. Spill. 

You Are Welcome, Arizona

As I was nearly killed by an idiot with a license (a license to KILL, if you will) while driving on my way home from work the other day, I began to think about all the other times that I have been (or nearly been, I guess) sacrificed by the horrible drivers here in the state of Arizona.

Friends? They are REALLY bad. As in, deadliest state in the country for driving. I read that in a book about Arizona. For my Arizona class that I took a few years ago. To include a statistic like that, it is almost like they are proud of how crappily they drive.

I would include the actual page number and name of the book, but it accidentally on purpose disappeared shortly after the class finished. First book I have ever been happy to lose.

Anyway, as many of you know, in the state of Arizona, NO SORT OF DRIVING CLASSES ARE REQUIRED in order to get a license. You just go in, prove your age, and get to drive. I might be missing a few little steps, but this is generally how it goes.

I could be all stereotypical and blame the driving just on people who grew up here, but guess what? Arizona is the Plymouth Rock of the Southwest. Those of us that have migrated here are like the pilgrims (Who we all know were not exactly the cream of the crop in Europe. More like the hookers and prisoners.) We seem to have forgotten our skills upon arriving in the new land, friends. We really have. Plus, let us not forget the joy that is Sun City (where I would not mind living but I am not old enough) where the cars are big, the drivers are slow, and the paths those big slow cars drive are deadly.

So as my gift to Arizona, my gift to all of us, really, I am going to offer weekly (or every other weekly. It depends on how much other charity/volunteer work I am doing besides this.) driving tips on here. Now if you know a driver in another state that might need a gentle (or not so gentle) reminder that they are an asshat and need to practice their driving skills, please refer them here. Or forward it to them. Whatevs. I just want to give back to my community, you know?

Stay tuned next week for our first lesson. Please note that you should NOT be driving while reading this lesson. This is more like, instruction in the classroom, practice what you learn later sorts of education.

Idiots on Bikes

Today Jeremiah convinced me that I really wanted to bike with him. I reluctantly went with, thinking about the last time that we biked and my TIRE (not the tube) got an odd hole and we had to walk home. With the bikes. Sadsies.

Anyway, I geared up and he geared up and we were ready to go.

I took the right side of the paved bike trail, as to 1) Not be in anyone's way 2) Leave the moving out of peoples' ways to Jeremiah.

We went along at a leisurely pace. By leisurely I mean that I went a good speed for me and Jeremiah braked a lot to slow down to my speed.

As we are leisurely biking along, with Jeremiah regularly checking back to make sure he didn't need to move out of someone's way, I felt/heard/saw someone fly by my RIGHT SIDE without announcing themselves. The paved path is wide enough for him to have gone by Jeremiah on the left. He could have also used biking etiquette and slowed down and then announced his intentions with an "On your left!".

But no.

This idiot went flying by ME. On the right. You aren't supposed to pass on the right. We all know that, don't we? By the way, this rule applies to cars, too. Just saying. I know that none of my blog readers are passing on the right types...

So I put myself in this guy's shoes.

 He comes upon two bikers on the path. One is obviously a pro, with all the gear, fancy saddle, Camelbak, shoe clips for the pedals, etc. The other biker might qualify for the slowest, wobbliest biker race ever. Big cruiser with an "I heart my bike" bell. Tennis shoes. A t-shirt stating "I'm 21. R U?". That weird biker that got her leg caught in the pedal earlier that you missed? She's riding on the far right. You could pass the pro biker on the left and stay on the path. Or you could hop the trail, ride in the sand/gravel, and (I'm guessing purposefully) intimidate the beginner.Which would place you in the same category of hell as people who intimidate little children or tease puppies.

You choose to do the latter, and hop off the trail, fly by the beginner, scaring the shit out of her and prompting her to say in her best smart ass voice "ON YOUR RIGHT!"

And as that girl says that, you are hopping back on the path, proud at your show-offity-ness.

And you begin to wobble.

Then you wipe the hell out.

Falling on your left side, scraping the shit out of your bare little legs (those stretchy shorts don't protect knees, do they Mr. Butthole Biker?) and your arm/hands.

The two bikers that you were so eager to pass? They stopped (on the side of the trail. Let's not forget biking etiquette, please). They have nothing else to stare at except you - they can't pass you on the left (but you better believe they would have done a sing-song "On your left, asshole"), because you are perpendicularly blocking the path. With your bloody body and your bike. So they stare. They could ask if you are okay, but the man is being oddly silent (and he's normally so polite. He might be pissed that you scared his girlfriend or that you give bikers a bad name) and the girl (who is NEVER nice and will laugh at just about anybody that gets hurt) is trying not to laugh and is getting by with a wide smile.

So you get up and pedal off as fast as you can.

People?

Do I get credit for not laughing until he was out of earshot? And how about the fact that I didn't reenact the scene until he was out of view?

But I didn't ask if he was okay. I did stare. And I did say "On your right" which *might* have had something to do with the fall.

This is probably why I'm going to hell. For sure that idiot will be there too. If hell is anything like Dante wrote it, the man will be wiping out with people watching over and over again for eternity. Totally worth the flames.

p.s. If any of you reading in the Phoenix area have a husband/boyfriend/dad/son/uncle/grandpa come home today and he is all bloody and he tells you that it is because he was rescuing a whole heap of kittens from certain death he is lying his ass off.

Public Speaking Lesson #1

Try not to be an ass by starting your speech with an insult to 3/4 of your audience. Calling (or insinuating that) your audience is dumb is not okay.


My Thursday gift to you. You're welcome.

Edited to add: I was not the one speaking in this particular situation. I try to only make 1/2 of my audience feel like idiots. That way I can still reach 50% of them. Half isn't too bad.