Like when...

I have these funny little pregnancy moments--moments when I'm not sure if I'm thankful I'm alone or if I desperately want to share them with someone else so we can also share the laughter that would surely accompany them.

Moments like...
When I'm doing my 80s pregnancy workout video and laughing at the cheesiness of the whole affair.
When I'm reading in one of my childbirth books, and the author touts lotus birth, and I just can't believe what I'm reading.
When I lie in bed like a beached whale, contemplating whether or not to strip off another layer because it's just so hot (when it's not really that hot at all).
When I'm attempting to take my prenatal vitamins, even though the doctor keeps telling me to just take the Flinstone's variety, and then I throw them right up--a wasted effort.
When my belly is hanging out of the bottom of my tank top, and I look like a mess.
When I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs looking up, thinking, "Why are there so many?"

In these "embarrassing,"everyday moments, I feel the most alone in this.

Ode to Cabernet.

The first connection of wine to tongue is ethereal--
as if I've been waiting my whole life for this moment.
A few glasses later, my skin is warm and life feels full.
As I make my way to the bottom of the bottle, I laugh more freely.
Drinking used to mean Friday nights and whiskey and beer.
Now it's classy and smooth.
I think.
Oh, yeah--it still drops me off in the same place.
Drunk.
Alone.
Sad.
It seemed so promising, but really it's the same old shit.
If only I had stopped at warm and full and laughing.

1. I need a breathalyzer on my phone. Too many drinks? No texting privileges.
2. I sort of want to be married just so I can play this game.
3. Two of my toes have been numb since Vegas. That's the last time I ever wear heels.

I'm pretty sure this face is when I started realize that my toes were getting numb.

Letting it all hang out

This morning, one of my students walked up to me and sweetly whispered, " I think your shirt is inside out. I can see the tags." The same thing happened to me at the library a few weeks ago.

My forehead starts to sweat, my ears begin ringing, I'm disoriented, and I sort of feel like I've contracted a rare virus that is going to kill me within the hour. I'm having a panic attack again, and I don't realize it until it has passed. I never do. I'm too, well, panicked.

Here's the thing about my panic attacks, though: I've learned to appreciate them. They require me to stop and take a break. When my mind fails to convince me that it's okay to pause, my body takes over. I'll take that.

It's like coming down with a cold when you were Jonesin' for a day off, anyway. It's sort of a blessing in disguise.

Instead of going to the city today, I'm on my couch in my sweat pants watching a movie. It's time I didn't plan to have, but time I need.

Usage jokes (that I usually keep to myself)

Lately, I've read some ridiculous eHarmony profiles,  and the errors in the profiles can also be really funny. 

Today I read this: "I am much more content sitting on a rock by some lake than on the coach." I thought to myself, "As if the coach would let you sit on him!"

A confession I probably shouldn't be making.

25 things about me...

(I think I should get 26, since that's how old I am.)

1. I change into sweat pants within 15 minutes of getting home. No fail.
2. I love owning my home, but it sometimes makes me panic to feel so tied down.
3. I sometimes wash my sleep aids down with Diet Coke.
4. Although I think I love to teach, it often drains the lifeblood out of me.
5. I spend more time reading blogs than I do reading books.
6. I read a lot of books.
7. I never thought I would be teaching in America.
8. I spent most of my life ardently serving a God in whom I no longer believe.
9. I think I might want to be a children’s librarian, but I feel inferior when I admit that in front of my Library Science classmates.
10. Dog saliva gives me hives.
11. I love my mom’s dog so much that I always leave her house with hives.
12. I read my reviews on ratemyteachers.com.
13. I wish I could knit. Kirk, will you teach me?
14. Each time my mom tries to teach me to sew, I get frustrated and end up crying.
15. No matter how tight my budget, I always find money for books.
16. I’ve signed up for Match.com twice and, both times, deleted my account in disgust.
17. I know many people who have met wonderful people on Match.com.
18. I think I’m going to be alone forever.
19. Some days, I’m perfectly fine with that.
20. Other days, it terrifies the hell out of me.
21. The fear is mostly because I want to be a mother so badly that I can taste it.
22. I miss my foster son every single day.
23. I pretend that I’m glad he’s able to live with his birth mom, but I’m not.
24. I love to get flowers, but I hate red roses (and carnations, for that matter).
25. I think “peace” is the most powerful word in the English language.

Somebody else.

I am honored that they trust me with the deepest secrets of their souls. I think. Sometimes (like today) I want to tell them not to tell me. I want to tell them to tell someone-- anyone—just not me.

I’m their English teacher, though. I’m the one who reads their journals and their personal narratives. My class is the class where life’s “issues” are discussed thoughtfully. I chose to teach English because I knew that English class “mattered.”

Sometimes, though, I just want to remind them of the counseling office. I feel like I’m surviving most days and their "junk" is often too much for my already sore shoulders.

What if they knew that I, too, am hurting? Some days it’s hard for me to keep going, too. Even me--the English teacher who hears their secrets and becomes responsible for getting them help.

I went home with a crazy migraine today. I'm sure it had something to do with reading her gut-wrenching autobiography, which landed me crying in the counseling office. Those poor guidance counselors.

What the heck?

When I was moving pictures from my old computer to my current computer, these pictures made me laugh. Hopefully you get some enjoyment out of them, too. Or you can just be embarrassed for the people in the pictures.

Megan's attacking me, as usual.

We were so happy to hear Tyler's joyous news. Jonathan's eating ice cream to celebrate.

I don't know him. Do you think he'll find his picture on my blog? 10 "cool points" for the person who can tell me what I'm saying in this picture. Do you remember "cool dollars" from college?

I just don't know. I do know that I was not yet 21 in this picture, so I don't have an excuse. We look so sweet and innocent.

"What are these freaky bang things?" This was Spring Break 2004. I didn't get the memo to dress like an Easter egg. This is also when I didn't like Kimberly, so I was keeping my distance ;)

Pieter sucks at taking pictures. Michael! You met Jenny for the first time right after this picture!

Aww. Okay, so I threw that one in for good measure.

Drinking and driving; this was early on in Jessica's relationship with Kevin. His attempt to make a good impression, I guess. Those are my feet in the background, so Jessica was obviously the impressed one with the camera.

Hide your breakables.

I'm the queen of accident prone. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, but I also like to get things done. I'm not exactly careful.

Just this morning, I was trying on my dress for Jessica's wedding. For some reason, I put my heels on before I stepped into the dress. As I stepped in, I sliced (not scratched) my leg with my fancy heel. Blood.

On my way down the stairs this morning, carrying a laundry basket and trying to look out the window, I missed two steps, fell down the rest of the stairs, and broke a vase of paperwhites sitting at the bottom of the stairs. My favorite pedestal vase was broken, rocks were all over the carpet, and yucky water that has been in the vase for weeks was soaking into my carpet. Bruises.

My hands provide more evidence of my spastic nature. I have a blood-blister from the scissor handles, raw fingertips from bleaching my valance, and a blister from moving a hot candle. Last week, I also broke glass in the bathroom, broke my grandma's Christmas present, and made cookies with way too much Crisco. Tears.

My brain is elsewhere lately. I'm just not sure where. Let her know I'd appreciate her returning, please. Otherwise, I better not leave the couch.

Oh yeah, and I also washed my phone. No cell phone for me.

Confessions of the twangy sort

"I believe in my cosmetics line. There are plenty of charities for the homeless. Isn't it time someone helped the homely?"

-Dolly Parton

I love Dolly, Hank, Johnny, and The Judds. Yes, really.  The twangier, the better. My parents ruined me for life. Johnny Cash was my first concert, and my dad comes from a family of cowboys. Country was ingrained in my brain. When we were in middle school, my dad even told my sister and I that we were only allowed to listen to country music. Of course, in my quest to pretend to be normal, I listened to hip hop and alternative music in my room; I only listened to country around my closest friends, much to their dismay. 

On the 4th of July, each time a super twangy song came on, Kimberly would look at me and say, "You probably like this one, huh? It sounds like something you would like." Then she would laugh at me. She refers to "Family Tradition" as my song. (I refrained from posting a live performance because Hank's pretty torn up after carrying on his "family traditions" for too long. It's gross.)

I especially love Dolly Parton. I'm pretty sure it doesn't get much better than "Jolene," "Why'd You Come in Here Lookin' Like That" [so maybe that was a drag queen, but it was funny], or "It's All Wrong, but It's All Right." Lately, my mom and I have been talking about how much we love Dolly. She's just so trashy, funny, and sweet. She has some of the best quotes ever. My mom says she's one of the best performers she's ever seen, too. When my mom saw her, they had to drag her off the stage because she would have kept singing all night. Why doesn't that surprise me? I just get giddy thinking about how much I like her.

In my recent hunger for Dolly, I discovered that she's going to be in Sacramento on August 4th. Hmmmm....I just sent my mom an e-mail with a link to the concert information. Don't tell anyone, okay? It really is embarrassing. 

By the way, this post warranted a label all its own. Then I went through my archives and realized how many of my posts belong in this category.  I'm all about transparency, I guess.

Jug wine

I just googled a bottle of wine to find out if it's cheap enough to drink alone. Just sayin'.

Don't worry, if I ever do anything even remotely embarrassing, I will promptly confess it on my blog. Don't feel like you're missing anything.

Oh, those crazy homeschoolers.

I read a lot of homeschool blogs. There: I said it. Now you know. The "homeschool culture" is one that intrigues me. It reminds me of Cal Bapitst--it doesn't really make sense to anyone who's not a part of the community. And both communities think they really have something going (and perhaps they do).

One thing I've noticed in my "research"is that I'm pretty sure the homeschoolers have the monopoly on organizing boycotts. I'm constantly reading calls to boycott this or that business because of its immoral practices. For some reason, it's funny to me. 

I guess it's possible for such a large group of like-minded people to create quite a ripple. Something tells me, though, that the businesses don't care and they're wasting their energy.

I understand the conviction behind it. There are a few places I try not to shop because I can't get behind their practices. I wouldn't call it a boycott, though. Right? 

What do you think? To boycott or not to boycott?

Just playing it safe.

I'm bleeding because I cut myself on a package of child safety locks. Oh the irony.

Last night, in an effort to avoid the Pottery Barn box filled with Styrofoam peanuts, I opened the front door over my foot. We have one of those wonderful, sharp weather strips on the bottom of our door and it sliced open my foot. I sat on the floor, blood seeping through my fingers, not really sure how I was going to get up the stairs to the kitchen to grab a washcloth. I managed, I hobbled, I sat on the floor, I put pressure on my foot, and then the sweat started to roll down my face. My ears started to ring, and I started to panic. I wasn't really sure what to do. Did I need to go to ER? I remembered my phone in my pocket and called my mom and mumbled something about blood, sweat, and fainting. She came right away. She lives 30 minutes away. By the time she arrived, the blood slowed down, I calmed down, and I moved to the couch. She ran to Long's to retrieve some bandages. She bought one of every kind.

I called in a sub, not sure if I should go to the doctor today or not. Breanna came by and recommended a trip to have someone look at it. I called the doctor. They are closed between 12 and 2. It was 12:15. I graded essays and waited. Of course, there were no more appointments for today. At any of the three offices. Don't they have an extra "if you get queasy looking at the gash in your foot and would like to do something about it" appointment set aside?

I have an appointment for tomorrow after school. Don't you worry. I'm actually going to the doctor (and, thankfully, before my insurance changes next month to the point where I can no longer afford doctor's visits). Cheers to the health care system!

I've got it!

I want to be able to do it all by myself. Everything. I hate asking directions, asking questions, or anything else that may point to a vestige of my weakness. Hate it. Especially if it means I will have to depend on a man for help. I have this annoying need to prove my independence.

Today, I was trying to move a piece of heavy, bulky, newly refinished furniture up the stairs of my town home. I was frustrated that my mom didn’t have time to help me last time she visited, so I decided that I could do it on my own. I carried it across the garage effortlessly. My hubris got the better of me and I ended up being a jumbled mess of legs, arms, and heavy furniture. It was on top of me; the furniture had me pinned to the garage door.

I cried, unscrambled myself, and vowed to ask someone to help me carry it upstairs. There are some things I can’t do by myself. You caught me.

Update: Due to popular demand (Stephanie asked), I posted a picture of my newly painted vanity. Who says vanities don't go in the kitchen?

A continuation of "you should probably know"?

At the end of the day today, I fell in a quad full of students. One boy asked me if I was okay, and a group of girls laughed at me. I have a bruised ego, rocks in my palm, and bloody knees (through my pants, mind you). I told my colleague what happened and he said, "No way! That's great! [insert insulting laughter]" Sympathy, please?

The up side? I was so flustered that I packed my teacher bag and went home. I made it home in time for Oprah!

You should probably know...

...that I’m a weirdo.

I know you’re thinking, “Check!” Give me a minute to explain myself: It’s worse than you think. I’m moving on the first of the month. (Sing it with me: “It’s the first of the month. Cash your checks and get out.”) I’m going to have a roommate for the first time in over a year. I adore her. Our place is going to be rad. I couldn’t be happier, but I’m realizing how strange I’ve become. Living alone is a weird thing. The proof is in the pudding (I’m not really sure what that means):

Exhibit A: I fall ALL THE TIME! Today, I tripped on my pajamas, fell to the ground, dropped my laptop, and hit my lip on the corner of the computer. My computer ceased to function for about two hours. Thankfully, it’s working once again. Also, on my way to bed, I tripped on the fan cord, which knocked the fan off the stool, and the fan is now lying on the floor looking a bit contorted. I’m too tired to pick it up. And, that was just today.

Exhibit B: I do my laundry on the kitchen counter. The washer and dryer are in the kitchen. Laundry is my least favorite chore. In order to lighten the load (pun intended), I do all of my laundry on one day. Rather than putting clothes away between loads, I fold them and make piles on the counter. Something tells me that Kim doesn’t want my underroos stacked next to the stove burners. They’re clean, but it’s just weird.

Exhibit C: I obsessively check my E-mail and blogs. I admit it. I even read Amy's Humble Musings. I have nothing in common with this woman. She believes in the simple life, and I love to shop. She homeschools her children, and I teach in a public school. She’s reformed in theology, and I don’t give a shit. I’m not sure why I read it. Maybe I secretly want to be her. I had a site tracker on my blog because I wondered if anyone else was as obsessive about checking blogs as me. I deleted it after a few weeks because I didn’t need a new obsession and it was depressing.

Exhibit D: Today, brownies and pizza were my sustenance. I’m not particularly fond of either food. In fact, I really don’t like pizza at all. I’m trying not to grocery shop until I move, because I really need to eat the food I have. I took care of my nephews last night. I made them brownies and my sister brought pizza. The rest, as “they” say, is history. On that note, I very rarely have dishes in my sink. I do, currently, have four Diet Coke cans in my sink. That’s the about the norm.

Exhibit E: I’m an insomniac. It’s 3:00 and I wanted to go to bed long ago. Through the course of the night, I often move from my bed to the couch and back to my bed again. I’m not sure why I move so often; it doesn’t seem to help me sleep. I refuse to believe that the sleeplessness and Diet Coke are connected. To me, Diet Coke is more valuable than sleep.

And, Exhibit F: I talk to the computer, myself, and the radio. I also read aloud when the ADD kicks in. You should probably also know that I’m currently listening to Great Expectations on tape.

There. It’s off my chest. Maybe Kim will read this and put an ad on Craig’s List for a new roommate. I hope not, because, if she decides not to live with me, the cats are next. I vow not to be the cat woman.