Cranking Up the Hearing Aids

There's an opening in our bridge club. I play with the gals on Tuesday nights at 3:30 before supper.
I also got my AARP card in the mail today right after I got the x-ray results which reveal that my hips aren't actually those of a 78 year old woman, but likely just feel like they are because I have bursitis. Which rarely occurs in people under 40 and is the result of high-risk activities such as raking, gardening, and carpentry.
After I set Dr. B straight, assuring him that I do not participate in any sports, that my gardening career has been cut off before it began, and don't jump, dance or generally activate myself often, he brushed it off as a form of arthritis, or inflammation of the bursa.
I'm thinking about asking for my own copies of the films to bring into Perkins to see if I qualify for the 55+ French Toast breakfast. "Here, look at my pelvis. See? Bursitis. I know, I know. I don't look 78, but believe me, I am totally deserving of the 3 slices at the reduced price. Hey. Would you talk to your grandmother that way?"

Bugger!

Remember when I got totally stoked about renting the entire first season of The Office?
And then when I accidentally rented the original, British version of the show, The Office?
And then how I punched my fist through the TV at the annoying accents and complete lack of Steve Carell?
Me too.

Okay, Seriously.

Or at least as serious as one, myself included, can get while blogging.
What do you say when this happens:

Boy 1: "Hey Ms. T...Is Santa real?"
Boy 2: "No, the real Santa is dead."
Girl: "Santa IS real!!"
6 big eyes stare at me in anticipation.

I search for non-religious-in-a-public-school answer.
Then walk away.

Bigger is Better

You Know That Sound That Scissors Make gets a face lift today.

Blogger in Beta and I have started to overcome our differences for the greater good. Or, the Blogger team fixed all the coding holes like not being able to comment on non-Beta blogs. Times are better now. And I wasted an hour of this morning playing with templates, fonts, and colors.

The conclusion:
1. Links which have already been clicked on will now be plum. Because plum is in.
2. Bigger fonts are better because (a) I don't have to wear the reading glasses to read posts. (b) When I post little posts, it looks like more.

I am a Writer, Writer of Facts

Texting Matt
Matt's Calling
Me: Hi...we're...(looks up)
Matt: She's on stage.
Me: She's on stage.
Matt: She's doing a jig.

I paid for a Decemberists concert ticket, but got an unexpected showing of the Superman underpants. Just kidding.
Colin was sick, but in both ways. In the "Colin was so sick last night, he ran off stage before everyone else probably to go throw up in the tour bus before coming back for the encore" way and also in the "Colin rocked so hard last night, it was sick" way.
Also, I made a new best friend and her name is Lisa and she's not actually in the Decemberists, but she can play more instruments than I have fingers and her hair is unbrushed and totally rock and roll and we're best friends.
She maybe just doesn't know it yet.

Ruining Childhoods, One Second Grader at a Time

Me: Oh is this your daughter?
Mrs. N: Yes. This is Emily. Say hi, Emily.
Emily N: Hi.
Me: Hi! I'm glad you're here today.
Emily N: Me too. I don't have success center at my school.
Me: Oh really?
Emily N:Yeah. I came here today just because, and because my mom's the teacher.
Me: Okay, well welcome.
Emily N: Thanks.
Me: So they don't have success center at her school?
Mrs. N: Nope, not until third grade.
Me: Right.
Mrs. N:Yeah, Emily's FOL so we'll be sending her next year.
Me: FOL?
Mrs. N:Foundations of Learning...She needs intervention.
Me: Ohh...(?)
Emily N: Wait, what? I'm going to success center next year?
Mrs. N:Uh....Yes honey.
Emily: WHAT?!
Me: Oh, sorry...
Mrs. N: No, it's just, she just, she struggles, Emily you struggle sometimes, and we work on it at home...
Emily N: I DON'T WANT TO GO!!!!!!!!
Mrs. N:Oh God. I'm sorry. Emily, its just. She just needs intervention.
Emily: AHHHHH! (Pouts in corner for next 60 minutes)
Me: I'm...sorry.
Mrs. N: No. Its just. She needs intervention with reading. Well it's a long explanation.

Shortly thereafter I told Emily she was adopted, that chocolate was a vegetable, and that Santa was a hoax. Then I killed My Little Pony.

Light at the End of the Blog Tunnel

Sometimes you feel like you've blogged all there is to blog.
And then something like this happens:

"I'm sorry guys, I don't speak Guatemalan."

The sun shown through.
And the Blogger formerly known as Lift_Her_Pull_Her blogs once again.

Nature and Nurture Come Together for the First Time

I'm in the market for a new hobby.
Because buying replacement parts for my phone on eBay is getting expensive, and I've simply run out of time to finish plotting the end of the world.
You know how it is.
I think I'll take up gardening. I understand that, depending on which way you look at it, I'm either six months early, or six months late with this, as carrots don't grow when their home is frozen. I don't blame them. I wouldn't either. But, my blood rushes at the thought of going to a gardening store (Do these exist? Must Google.) and getting my very own mini shovel (also Google: correct gardening equipment terms), veggie seeds, gloves and maybe even a gardening apron.
This brings me back to the childhood days when I used to take up sports and activities for the equipment they came with. (See: Swim caps, hockey gloves, volleyball knee pads, gymnastic leotards, and any sport that requires special shoes or equipment bags.)
I plan on growing various beginner veggies, because I don't really appreciate flowers, although they are aesthetically appealing to some, they are not food. At the end of the growing season, I'll make a dinner with the fruits (Veggies. Can I grow fruit? Google.) of my labor.
For you. You're invited.
Come at your own risk.

He Went to the Pumpkin Farm with Jesus

It's probably for the better that when I come home from a weekend away, my muffin pumpkin is gone.
True, I don't like Halloween.
True, I don't like squash or foods in the squash family.
True, I love the word squash, it may be playlist-worthy.
And true, I can imagine that this is how Senorita Cosita felt when she came home and it was like Freckles was never there. He's in a better place, my dear. He lived a long, 14 year, beagle life. Too soon? Apologies.

Coming From The Kid Who Made Her Dad Ring The Bell

Halloween sucks.

Normal kids can go out, knock on doors, retrieve various tooth decay, and go home dressed in a normal witch costume.

Minnesota kids are Eskimo Dorthy, Alaskan zombies, and pirates who sail the Arctic Sea. They're mittens can't grab candy from the basket, and their voices criticizing my muffin pumpkin are muffled by scarves and chattering teeth.
Opening and closing the door lets in a rush of frozen air that pisses me off as much as the doorbell angers the dog.
Except I don't bark.
Most of the time.

When I'm old and motherly, I feel like I still won't have the capacity to treat small, frozen, whiny children with the charm my mother does.
She:
Ring.
Knock.
"Hiiiii! Ohhhh what a scary witch! You look fantastic! Wow! Oh here, little scarecrow, I love you're hat..Have two Butterfingers! Alright! Everybody have some? Okay! Have a great night kids! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!"
I:
Ring.
Knock.
"Hi. Okay. There..One each. Now get your greasy mitts off of our property before I call the cops."

Success is Measured in Strong Platelettes

My purple stick-to-self tape is evidence of the iron supplement I took this morning.
I didn't anticipate that my iron would be up from its' last (and rejected) 37%, as I have not had any extra dead cows or leafy greens, and mentally prepared myself for failure once again.
Blood spun.
Iron was measured.
And 40% may as well be 100%.
And then I started to panic.
Blood Guy told me to settle down or my pulse would keep going up and he'd send me away.
Blood Guy sent me to Blood Gal. She told me to relax, that I'd be fine, and that my blood would enjoy its free joy ride on a teeter-totter. I told my legs and chin to cease the shaking because if they were going to send me away, they were going to send me away for a legitimate, chemical reason. Fear would not get me here.
Blood tubes on my right kept my gaze at lovely, calming, friendly faces. Marissa even documented my fright in photos- blood bag and all. All was wellish. Until I saw Senorita Cosita on a bed, covered in blankets. I squeezed harder to force blood into the tubes to go crack a Ron Burgandy joke to make all well in the world for SC.
My time: 5 Min. 2 Sec.
I stood.
I walked.
I comforted.
I buckled.
And we laid sipping Sprite from straws, knowing that for something to go smoothly and without black-outs, for us, is simply too much to ask.

This Is A Personal Attack At Beep

Things that will give me stress ulcers:

1. Recording voicemail greetings
1. The urgency of that woman
2. The beep-record-pound process. How am I to record a decent song such that I don't have to record my own voice when I'm worried about pound?
3. The 25 seconds of talk time my expired battery allots me.
   
2. Chocolate chips in ice cream.
   
3. Beta-blogger
4. Suitcases
5. Ebay
6. Posting codes that don't follow the proper outline format.

Early Childhood Lessons Teach Tough Love And The Real Meaning Behind Infinity

When little kids need a number line to do 1+3, it's because grasping that it's the same as 3+1 is just too hard.
And yes, 0+0 is much bigger than that. How do you explain to a 2-footer that it really is nothing+nothing?
A number line.
That's how.

"Free plus free is..fo? No. Let me see da white bode. Free...fo..five..six...seben..no. SIX! Six? Six!!" (Waves celebratory digits about)

"Okay. Watch me make da free"
"I'm watching"
"See? Make two bumps. Like dis."
"Oops, that's backwards, try again"
"Oh yeah. I knew dat. [Erasing] Dis eraser is sorta soapy."
"Soapy?"
"Yes. Dat's why it made that yellow line."
"Ohh.."
"Yeah. Okay I'm going to draw lollipops."
"Wait, what about the three?"
"Will you put me inside your coat?"
"Errrm..."
"You're my best friend."
"Do you want red stars for the ones you got right?"
"I love you."

Things That Suck No. 584

Whipping your hair stylishly around completely forgetting you have two semi-heavy glass beads stranded in, until one hits you on the bridge of your nose.

Twice.
In an hour.

My Chain Hangs Low Like The Floor Of The '84 Cutlass In Dusty Rose

Add this to the list of things that I will just never know:

Why GGMA-M's car had B96 as her preset #2.

This Is The Best Day Of My Life Because I Learned What Apostrophe Does

When second graders just don't feel like getting out of bed in the morning to play word finds and read "Iguana", they find means of cheering each other up. Mahkaylah struggled with the word "where" time and time again, while Amara just didn't want to roll the hard consonant dice. Deshawn had a gold-star attitude even after a dice-throwing casualty that landed "cl" right on his forehead. Of course, what better way to boost spirits than to serenade Amara with Dido.

"Amara, what's wrong? It's not so bad. Seriously. It's not so bad, it's not so baaaad. OhhhOHHOHHH It's not so baaad Amara!"

And you know what?
It wasn't so bad.

Things That Suck No. 253

Realizing you've been posting via the "Edit Html" tab and not the "Compose" tab for the last year. I guess I just thought indentation and lists were not really an option.

Lesson learned:
Ignorance is not bliss.
Ignorance keeps features from Muffin.

Because Mittens Don't Reach The Home Row

Its time to venture into the unknown world of functioning thermostats when you're typing with gloves on.

How To

Genuinely embarrass yourself:

Do a 2nd grade math problem wrong.

"6+3+5 isn't 15? Oh yeah. Well, I don't have that many fingers. What's that? Neither do you? Well my shoe size is older than you. Give me your lunch money."

Benny'd Be Proud

Real Catholics show up to mass 1/2 an hour late and leave early to avoid lines at the doughnut table.