To teach or not to teach. That is the question.

I go back and forth. Some days I totally feel like I want to be a teacher and that I'm completely ready to take over the classroom. Other days I feel like I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. The problem with me is that I'm a moody introvert. Some days I just really don't feel like talking. It's nothing personal, it's just who I am. So I wonder if I can really handle putting on a happy face and being animated for six hours every day. I just don't know...

I'm (kind of!) a teacher

So I'm in the field full-time now, and I'll be gradually assuming more teaching responsibilities. Yesterday I did a PowerPoint presentation for all my students to introduce myself. I had some pictures of family and Hector and some of my hobbies to show them, and I think they enjoyed it. I can't wait to actually start teaching, though.

Anyway, waking up at 6am is actually going pretty well. I've been going to sleep by 10pm the past few nights, so I've been getting my requisite eight hours of shut-eye. Which reminds me, speaking of eyes, mine is still acting kinda weird. I've been putting this ointment in my eye every night, which is supposed to make my vision a little blurry, so I can't even really tell if it's helping or not. Oh, well, I guess I'll find out next week when I'm back at the eye doctor's.

I'm done!

Today was the last day of Block II for me! I can't believe I'm halfway done with getting my graduate degree. On Monday I start student-teaching-- well, I won't be actually teaching quite yet, but for the next 12 weeks I'll be in the field. I officially take over all teaching responsibilites at the very end of April. For now I'm just slowly getting integrated into the classroom and next week I'll start teaching a class a day. I can't wait-- I'm teaching a creative writing unit, so hopefully it should be really fun. And then I get to possibly do a unit on mythology, which would also be pretty awesome. Really the only thing that sucks is having to wake up at 6am every day, but I'll get used to it. I know it's really not that early, but classes on campus don't start until 9am, so I'm used to rolling out of bed around 8. Plus I'm more of a nightowl, anyway. Oh, and I guess one more thing that sucks is I'll be technically working 40+ hour weeks with my student-teacher position, but then I'll have to go to my actual job that pays me money on the weekends. So basically I will never have a break. I'll be working Sunday through Saturday. But I figure it's only 12 weeks, so I'll just have to suck it up and tough it out. And I do get a spring break, so I can't complain too much.

My eyeball

So, as many of you know, my right eye has been giving me grief for the past month and a half. Well, I finally went to the eye doctor today, and it appears that my eye has developed some kind of intolerance for the contact solution that I have been using religiously for the past six years. So that's what's been screwing with my vision and making my eye look red and infected. The contact lens specialist that I saw was pretty hilarious. She looked at my eyes and goes, "Throw those contact lenses away. Your right eye is all irritated and your left contact has a tear in it." Now I have to use some kind of hypersensitive solution, and every night I have to put my contacts in this weird little contraption with magnesium in it to let them soak overnight so that all of the preservatives are gone. And because my eye's been so messed up for awhile now, I have some corneal scarring which has to be treated with eye ointment. But, on the plus side, the eye technician told me that I have a "very interesting eye color that is very unusual." Yeah-- it's called diarrhea green.

I've lost it

I think I've officially gone insane. To celebrate my unit plan being finished, I played Karaoke Revolution by myself for an hour...and now I have so much energy I don't think I can go to bed. I really want to go for a run, but it's dark outside and people are sleeping and I already ran this morning.

Tomorrow I'm doing a presentation for one of my classes on junk food marketing to children. My group and I are using some old '80s commercials for fun, and I came across this absolutely hilarious one for "Big Stuf" Oreos. It's pretty much the only thing that's gotten me through this week.

The end is near...

My unit plan is almost done. Now I can finally get out of stress-induced starvation mode...

I need some serious meditation time...

My poor Quasimodo back is not used to sitting at my desk for hours on end...

I've been slaving away working on my unit plan all weekend long. It's basically the culminating project for this quarter, and it's going to be a huge 100+-page document. I keep taking short little breaks to stand up and stretch or walk around my apartment. Sometimes I scream really loud or sing in my opera voice (which, upon second thought, might actually qualify as screaming, anyway). For some reason it just feels good to be vocal. I have what I like to call "controllable Tourette's." Whereas actual Tourette's Syndrome is characterized by involuntary tics and exclamations, I make a conscious decision to shout random things. Most of the time I just make really weird, loud noises. Although I'm fairly sure there is at least some genetic component, because my dad has been known to do the same thing (sorry to call you out on that one, Dad, but I gotta give credit where it's due!).

"Rain, rain go away..."

Yeah, yeah, I know I live in Seattle, but it's rainy and yucky and cold and I don't feel like going outside to run-- or to do anything, for that matter. I think I'm going to finish the lesson plan I'm working on right now and then curl up on the couch with my fleece blanket and read.

Cuteness

Ah, this is the life...

There must be a mathematical equation...

...that states that the distance I run is directly proportional to the current level of stress I am experiencing.

So, if x is a constant variable indicating my normal level of sanity, y=my current level of sanity, and r=the number of miles I run, then y=rx. Since I ran 7 miles today, y=7x. Or, in other words, my current level of sanity is equal to seven times my normal level of sanity.

P.S. I haven't taken math in six years.
P.P.S. It probably shows.

P.S.

Oh yeah, the vision in my right eye is still all screwed up. I called the eye doctor and tried to make an appointment today, but the lady on the phone was rude and incompetent. So I'm in a bad mood because I can't see and it's giving me a headache. And I have too much homework to do, and I have to work all weekend, and I'm sitting around wasting time right now because if I have to write one more lesson plan I'm going to vomit.

OK, just had to get that out of my system.

I'm a material girl

A leg broke off of my couch today, my vacuum cleaner is a piece of crap, and yesterday I busted this little plastic thing in our closet when I tried to do a handstand and slammed into the closet door instead. Basically, this boils down to one thing: I'm sick of this apartment and I'm sick of all the cheap crap that I own. I decided that I can't be a teacher because it just doesn't pay enough. I want things and stuff-- and lots and lots of it. I want a condo with a secure parking space in a garage, my own washer and dryer, granite kitchen countertops and stainless steel appliances. And I want a loft study and a gas fireplace and a balcony. And real couches that aren't cheap Ikea crap. So excuse me for wanting to live, but I'm really sick and tired of getting paid pittance, and the thought of going into a career where I'm continuing to be paid crap just doesn't appeal to me. I'm money-hungry, greedy, and materialistic. Pretty much the only thing keeping me from dropping out of the MIT program is my greediness of wanting a Master's degree.

I'm going blind...

My vision is all blurry in my right eye and I can't really see. It's really annoying.

Diaper Smell

I finally got a chance to wash and vacuum my car this weekend, which for pretty much the past five months had been in dire need of cleaning. In order to complete my "Extreme Makeover: '99 Pontiac Edition," I bought a cute new air freshner for my car in the shape of a palm tree marketed as carrying the blissfully tropical aroma of a tantalizing "Hawaiian Breeze." I unwittingly hung the palm tree from my rearview mirror, and in moments my car boasted the fragrance not of a sweet tropical breeze, but rather of a brand new diaper. Granted, at least it didn't smell like a poopy diaper. Although when I handpicked my Hawaiian Breeze air freshner, I hadn't exactly been expecting my car to turn into a baby buggy. Who knew that Hawaii smelled like a pack of freshly opened Pampers?

"Kids say the darndest things!"

Today I spent the day at the middle school where I'm going to be doing my student teaching. There was a school dance this afternoon and my cooperating teacher and I were hanging out in a classroom keeping an eye on the kids who weren't allowed to attend (due to behavior, etc.). I was talking to one of the boys, and he asked me if I really liked Star Wars. I asked him what made him wonder that, and he replied, "Because you sound like a Star Wars lady." I, in turn, responded, "Well, no one's ever told me that before."

I don't know what a "Star Wars lady" is or why I apparently sound like one...

My 3-hour visit to the ER...

OK, let me preface this post by saying that I'm alive and well, so no worries. But my unprecedented visit to the ER is yet another testament to the complete recklessness and extreme idiocy of the M. clan...

Yesterday at work, I was in the process of setting up for a birthday party. I picked up a bag of plastic forks, and, recognizing that I'm completely incompetent at tearing open plastic bags, I had the bright idea of using the serrated cake spatula that was sitting on the table to quickly open the bag of forks. Well, in my frenzied haste to get things rolling, I apparently misjudged the nearly fatal potential of my instrument of choice. The spatula was not only sharp enough to slice through the top of a plastic bag of forks, it also sliced through my finger. My first thought was, "Don't let the parents and the kids see." So I whispered to my co-worker that I had cut my finger and then ran to the bathroom, dripping blood on the sink. I knew right away that it was deep, because 1) It hurt like hell, and 2) I'd never cut myself like that before. I felt like the biggest idiot of all time, because it was completely idiotic and entirely my fault. And to top it off, there are only two people who work on Sundays at my job, so there was basically no way I could leave. So I slapped a bunch of band-aids on my finger and had to suck it up, put on a smile, and do the birthday parties.

When I got off work five hours later, I went straight to my family's house and my mom confirmed that I most likely needed stitches. So we went to the ER and ended up having to wait there for about three hours. Three hours for two measly stitches because I'm an idiot. Lesson learned.

Maybe I should keep on gaining weight...

On Sunday I'm running the Love 'Em or Leave 'Em 5K in honor of Valentine's Day. I've been pretty gung-ho about my running since the Nike+ serendipitously fell into my hands right around my birthday (alright, it really wasn't serendipitous at all, it was actually a gift), so you'd think I'd be making some good progress. I hope so, but I guess we'll find out for sure on Sunday. Anyway, some of these 5K races have a Clydesdale division, which is supposed to be for heavier people. And here is the completely depressing/inspiring part: in order to be in the female Clydesdale division, you have to weigh 140 pounds or more. Depressing: I fit into the "hefty woman" category. Inspiring: if I actually entered a race that had a Clydesdale division, maybe I'd have a chance of winning. But I seriously don't get this weight requirement thing. What if you're like 5'8'' and weigh 140 pounds? Then you're perfectly slender. And I'm not saying I couldn't stand to lose a little extra chub, but seriously... these weight requirements are ridiculous! Isn't the average American woman 5'4'' and 145 pounds, or something like that? If they want to really make things fair, they'd do a body fact percentage thing and then place people into divisions accordingly. I just can't decide whether to be offended or elated that my body doesn't fit the archetypal "runner's build."

My eye

So I think I have pink eye or something. Yesterday I attributed my mediocre American Idol Karaoke Revolution performance to blurry vision, and when I was taking my contacts out last night, I realized that my right eye was bloodshot and pink. I had trouble sleeping last night because my eye hurt, and all day today it's been watering incessantly. I went to Target and got some homeopathic pink eye drops, so I hope they work. It sucks because I can't see very well with my glasses and my eye is in pain and I look like I'm crying. Since the beginning of the school year/the start of my new job, I've been feeling more under the weather and have been afflicted with the weirdest crap-- it's gotta be my constant exposure to little kid germs, middle school kid germs, and grown-up germs. This better come to a stop soon, though, or I'm seriously going to reconsider becoming a teacher...

Hmmm....

I currently have $8.37 in my checking account. That's not cool. Not cool at all.

Exhausted

School and work and life is exhausting.

This is how I know...

...that I'm a loser. Both Netflix and WaMu are temporarily unavailable for their weekly scheduled maintenance. That's what I get for trying to update my queue and check my bank statement at 11:30 on a Saturday night. I'm lame.

It's snow-time!

So, apparently it's supposed to snow again tonight, and then melt late tomorrow morning. All this snow and ice makes me feel like Seattle actually does have more than one season...

Wacky weather

2006 concluded with record rainfall for the month of November, a snowstorm, and a memorable windstorm that knocked out power in the greater Seattle area for days (weeks in some places). And 2007 is off to a bang with a treacherous icestorm. Our governor has declared two states of emergency, and kids have missed more school around here than they have in over a decade, which they might not even have to make up this year if the school districts are granted waivers. Otherwise kids will be going to school until July.

And then there's lucky old me, who keeps getting out of school and/or work for various weather-related catastrophes. Missing school is always awesome, no matter how old you are. Missing work is pretty cool too, although it'd be even better if I still got paid for my hours missed...

Very scary dream

You know when you're sleeping at a strange place and you have really bizarre dreams? Well, the other night I was baby-sitting for a little girl and I spent the night at her house. I was kind of in this weird intermediary stage of sleep throughout the whole night, and I kept having those dreams about normal, everyday-type stuff where you really feel like you're awake-- you know, like you've overslept and you're running late, those kind of dreams. Anyway, I was drifting in and out of my quasi-slumber when I had this completely terrifying dream that there was a dark figure standing over me, strangling me in my sleep, and I awoke to his hands around my neck, choking me as I gasped for air. It was so disturbing that needless to say the remainder of my night I bounced in and out of a very restless sleep.

Crime scene?

My apartment building's storage room is terrifying. It's a large, dark room in the basement of the building that smells like must and wet cardboard. The main sprinkler valve is in this room, and the ceilings are so low there's this perpetual optical illusion that you're going to bash your head on the maze of pipes above, even though I personally still have a few measly inches of clearance before taking a blow to the top of my noggin. There are rows and rows of storage units about the size of a refrigerator constructed from what looks like leftover boxes from tenants moving in and out and the rusty, metal gridlocked door of a prison cell. The dying, fluorescent lights illuminate only pockets of the labyrinth of storage units, and upon stepping into the storage room, you're forced to endure the omnipresent fear that you might find yourself suddenly and without warning enveloped in complete and utter darkness if the minutes on the energy-conscious timer for the lights run out. The exit sign in the corner of the room glows ominous, offering more of a foreboding feeling instead of a sense of relief, and though I have been too fearful to further explore that part of the storage room, I am yet to be convinced that the exit sign does, in fact, lead to a viable escape route.

If R.L. Stine is still writing crappy teen horror fiction, then this storage room offers the perfect setting for an attempted murder/kidnapping/stalker-confrontation scene of a Fear Street book. Maybe I'll send him my description.

Donkey Lips

I was flipping through the channels tonight and I came across a god-awful Lifetime movie with Donkey Lips in it. Wait-- that was redundant, wasn't it?

I'm a glutton

I can't stop eating Christmas cookies. I can't stop eating dinner. I can't stop eating in general. I swear, every time I go home I gain at least five pounds because food is so good and so abundant-- and I'm not the one cooking it. It's funny because I'm one of those people who typically has an inordinate amount of self-control. But when it comes to food and eating, it's a different story entirely. Some of the time it's perfectly legitimate that I have a big appetite, which I am (obviously) more than happy to indulge. But most of the time, I just eat. Honestly, I'm surprised I can even run at all. I guess if people didn't unnecessarily stuff themselves during the holidays, than there'd be no reason for New Year's resolutions.

So much time, so little to do

This is the longest break from work/school I've had since...well, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure since when. Having time off is great, and I'm actually not doing too bad in terms of my big "to do" list. I rearranged my bedroom, finished watching Melrose Place, worked on my story, and am almost done with season two of The Office (which wasn't even on my list, so I think I should get bonus points). I've read a little, run a little, but mostly, I've been watching inordinate amounts of TV and eating Christmas cookies. I finished my Christmas shopping, including filling my cat's stocking with goodies (kitty treats, a toy, and a new collar). Of course, Hector's been having enough fun as it is tearing bows off presents under our tree and eating curling ribbon.

Blackout in Seattle

The recent windstorm in western Washington brought one of the biggest power outages ever. As a result, the place I work at STILL doesn't have power, so I didn't have to work today! The upside: I didn't have to work today; the downside: no money (which I especially need right now for the holidays).


In lighter news, my cat tried on my bra today.

Bad day

I know I shouldn't really complain, because everyone has bad days and people tend to have much worse days than mine, but yesterday I was in such a foul mood. Hector knocked my glass of water off my nightstand, I stepped in a big puddle, and Comcast sent me a cheap Christmas card-- and Michael's cheating on Jane (Melrose Place, but still, it's emotionally taxing). But today has been much better. Cassie and I have been baking Christmas cookies all day, and our apartment smells like chocolate and peanut butter. Yum!

Making progress...

OK, well I'm not quite as lazy as I thought. I guess I'm still on my super-energy post-final high. I actually completely cleaned and rearranged my bedroom immediately following my last post, and, in addition, ran five and a half miles and watched several episodes of Melrose, so I guess I'm not doing too bad. But I'll crash pretty soon, I'm sure of that. On Monday Cassie and I are headed to Portland for some good ol' tax-free Christmas shopping! Oh, and today we took Hector to see Santa Claus at Petsmart. I even bought him a kitty stocking, too. I just couldn't resist-- it's our first Christmas together, so I've gotta make it special.

I'm done!

I'm officially done with fall quarter! The final exam was a piece of cake, so no worries there. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do with myself these next few blissful weeks of no school and minimal work. Here are some of the things on my list (besides all the obvious holiday-related things):
1) Clean and rearrange my bedroom-- it'll be a good project to keep me busy and put up a pretense that I'm being productive
2) Work on my story
3) Finish watching the first season of Melrose Place
4) Possibly re-watch the first season of Veronica Mars
5) Run five times a week
6) Finish reading The Historian (which I highly recommend)
7) Lose five pounds (one final attempt before the real resolutions)
8) Create my teaching placement profile and work on my resume (double yuck)

In reality, the only things I'll probably actually accomplish off this list are the ones that involve watching TV. But hey, at least it's a start.

The end is near...

The end of school, that is. Tomorrow is my last day. We're having a "group oral final," which is pretty much the fakest (is that a word?) test I'll ever take. Basically we were given a sheet of questions and had to watch a 20-minute eighth grade social studies lesson to analyze it for various teaching stuff. Each group of students (4 to a group) has to privately meet with our two professors and they'll randomly ask each of us a couple questions off the sheet. It's supposed to be a cooperative learning activity, which means that we "sink or swim" together. What a nice mentality. I'm not too worried, though, if only because I've reached the point where I don't care anymore and nothing else will fit in my brain. On the plus side, I don't feel like total crap anymore and I wasn't sick with what I thought I had, so I guess that's comforting. Anyway, there's too much fun stuff coming up with the holidays and everything to not be feeling well.

The Shield of Invincibility is weakening...

As depressing as this is to admit, I fear that I am no longer as "unbreakable" as I'd originally thought. I've been feeling pretty under the weather for awhile now, which really sucks for several reasons: 1) I NEVER get sick. I've never missed a day of work for any job ever, and pretty much from eighth grade on I've had perfect attendance in school (including college, where the only time I missed three days of class was when I went down to LA to my brother's graduation). Of course, this is not necessarily something to be proud of, because it probably reflects my obsessive personality more than it does my invicibility, but in all honesty I really am a pretty healthy girl. 2) I hate feeling 75%. It's like, I'm not sick enough to have a legitimate excuse not to do things, but I feel like crap. I can deal with brief, intense physical pain more than I can deal with feeling semi-crappy for weeks. 3) I hate going to the doctor. I don't go to the doctor often enough to even have a regular physician, and I always feel like they're going to think I'm exaggerating my problem or am going to label me a hypochondriac because I'm a fan of self-diagnosis. That being said, I'm not deathly ill or anything, but I know that when I, a girl who's capable of eating twice her body weight in food, lose my appetite, something's gotta be up.

Frozen shut

After finally deciding to venture outside this afternoon in the frigid 26 degree Seattle air, I headed to my car to hop in and drive to Greenlake to go for a little winter run. Much to my dismay, I found that my car doors were frozen shut-- at nearly one o'clock in the afternoon! I eventually pried the passenger door open (with a genuine fear of breaking the handle off), and was able to let my car warm up for a little while I scraped layers of ice off of my windshield. The funny thing was, none of the other cars around me had snow on them-- I guess they hadn't been parked there for 24 hours like I had. Anyway, notwithstanding frozen car doors, today was perfect. There was absolutely no traffic because of all the school closures, and hardly anyone was at Greenlake. It's so strange seeing a little bit of snow on the ground and the sun shining-- both are incredibly rare sights in Seattle.

Snow!!!

There is snow on the streets of Seattle!

iPod Nano + Nike+= Awesome

This mathematical equation looks deceivingly complicated, but allow me to take a few minutes to plug (no pun intended) my latest and greatest tech toy (compliments of Nick). The Nike+ is possibly one of the coolest and most ingenious inventions ever. There's a small sensor that goes on your shoe, and a receiver that hooks into your iPod. The Nike+ measures the distance you run, calories burned, and pace you're running at. It stores your workout info and then automatically uploads it to the Nike+ website, where you can create goals for yourself and track your progress. It's the best running tool I've ever used. Of course, it sucks that my treadmill is busted, and that it's been pouring nonstop for the past 22 days (no exaggeration), but screw it, I don't care. I've been running outside in the freezing cold pouring rain all for the love of Nike+. And it feels pretty damn good.

Running...out of steam

Yesterday evening I was running on my treadmill when all of a sudden it stopped. The display system went blank and my treadmill just quit on me. I checked the outlet, the cords, the circuit, everything-- but to no avail. So now I am without a (working) machine, and coincidentally, without any convenient means of running. It sucks. I'm doing a race next month and I was really hoping to log in some good running time. I bought my treadmill almost a year ago exactly. It's been a good, reliable friend, and now it's abandoned me. Needless to say I'm not a happy camper. I think I'm going to run outside, just to spite it.

3rd Place

I took third place in my division at the karate tournament. I was only a tenth of a point away from second place... oh, well, maybe next time. Karate tournaments have got to be the most poorly organized sporting events of all time. I arrived at the gym where the tournament was held at 8:30 in the morning. Opening ceremonies were a half hour late, and of course there was an "unprecedented number of participants" this year, so the kids ended up going way over time. To make a long story short, I didn't end up performing my kata until well after 5pm. I was at the tournament TEN HOURS!?! Anyone who's ever competed in anything knows how adrenalin works, so you can imagine what an adrenalin roller-coaster I was on the whole day by having to wait for nearly nine hours to perform! But I won't complain too much, because I'm pretty darn proud of my trophy.

"You're the best around, nothing's gonna ever keep you down..."

These are the lyrics to the infamous quintessential-80s inspirational song playing at the end of The Karate Kid, and these are, coincidentally, the words that have been replaying themselves on a continuous loop in my mind for the past week. Yup, you guessed it-- it's tournament time, baby, and on Saturday, I'm performing my kata (choreographed fight) live and in style. I'm excited because I know for sure that there's at least one other competitor in my division (another woman from the dojo where I train, who'll probably kick my butt 'cause she's better than me). That being said, if we're the only two competing, at least I'll get silver. But don't worry, I'm always aiming for the gold deep down. I'm thinking of bringing a boom box and busting out the 80s victory songs to get me pumped, but in reality I'll probably just be feeling like I'm going to throw up the whole time I'll be so nervous with anticipation.

I couldn't help myself

I just had to change my template again. I've been searching for just the right look for my blog, experimenting and playing around with different banners and color schemes. I'm going for "understated simplicity with a touch of bold elegance." I don't know how anyone can sit and stare at a computer screen all day-- my eyes and back are killing me after only a couple hours! But I guess you get used to it.

I've been in this really tech-crazy mood lately, and I blame it on school. For one of my classes we're working on this big tech portfolio, where we have to create a few webpages and an iMovie. And I have to admit, though I've been a PC-user all my life, I'm having a bit of a Mac attack right now. There's something just so aesthetically-pleasing about Macs-- they're big and colorful and there's a ton of cool editing/photo/movie-type stuff you can do on them. But I really hate all that "Apple-Q-Apple-Control-Shift" crap. I mean, in reality, it's great if you know all the shortcuts, but I don't, so right now they're just getting on my nerves.

Something I've been pondering...

I've been doing my new part-time gig for about two months now. (For those of you who don't know, I work at a little kids gymnastics place-- I teach classes to pre-schoolers and do birthday parties). The gym I work at definitely caters to the upper middle-class, and though we have predominantly white patrons, we also boast a fair number of Indian, Asian, European, and Brazilian families. But anyway, demographics aside, I've been thining a lot lately about Americans' perspective on and relationship with food and eating versus that of other cultures', and here's what I've found interesting. First of all, there are rarely obsese or overweight non-American patrons (and I'm referring specifically to the adults I see when I lead birthday parties). Not that we have a lot of fat, white Americans, but if there is an overweight parent, chances are he/she is American. But I think one of the most interesting things I've noticed while working at the gym is how the foreign families (and women, in particular) nearly always indulge at the birthday parties. They readily eat pizza and cake and come armed with enough food to feed an army. And these women are beautiful-- tall and svelte with picture-perfect figures (not to mention the fact that they've all given birth at least once). At the American parties, the parents often laugh and shake their heads when I offer them a piece of cake, as if to say, "Why would I want cake?"-- it's not like it's a party or anything, right? I think that these trends are indicative of precisely why obesity is so endemic in our society. We have this lofty notion in our heads that by pereptually dieting and forgoing a slice of chocolate cake at a kid's birthday celebration and then returning home later that evening to bust open a pack of Snackwells and eat fat free cookies loaded with sugar and preservatives that we're the ones who are healthy. But that's a completely ridiculous mentality. The foreign parties I've seen know what a birthday party is. They recognize that it's a time to have fun, to relax, and to partake in the goodness of sweets and junk food without reservation or fear. They know that it's far worse to consistently deprive one's self of tempting treats. And yet these people, who eat like there's no tomorrow without a care in the world, are somehow the ones who are healthier. But to me, it makes sense. Our bodies aren't stupid-- they tell us what they need. If we're feeling a little calcium deficient, we crave milk or yogurt. If we're feeling a little sweets deficient, we crave a piece of chocolate cake. These are cravings that we should give in to. They only become dangerous when we give in on a regular basis, and don't exercise common sense or eat in moderation. I think it's a much healthier attitude to know when there's reason to celebrate, and to go with it. By making birthdays such a big and special event, many cultures have succeeded in simultaneously making everything that goes along with a birthday a big event-- including the food. And that's what's missing in our culture-- what's a piece of high-calorie chocolate cake when you've got a "healthy" box of Weight Watchers ice cream cones in your freezer at home?

SAD

I'm beginning to seriously think that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. Despite the fact that my three favorite days of the year occur in the autumn/winter months (Halloween, my birthday, and Christmas), this time of year just makes me feel so blah. With decreasing temperatures and shorter days, I am slowly becoming more and more moody. I hate it. I just wish I could be happy. Sometimes I think I just think too much. Sigh.

My cat has fleas

How is this possible? Hector is a completely indoor cat. The closest he's been to outside in the past three months is feeling the cold air permeating the window pane. Without going into too much detail, since I am thoroughly creeped out by bugs of all sorts and sizes, Hector has been given his flea medicine and I sincerely hope that it works... I've already let him know that he can only get by on looks and charm for so long...

Happy Halloween!

My favorite holiday... today on campus I saw someone dressed as a giant Pikachu.

Allow me to explain...

Many of you have heard me declare, time and time again, that I'm not ever getting married, nor do I have any desire to. And then I'm confronted with a barrage of skepticism and sarcasm, ranging from the unfathomable, "What?! You don't want to get married?" to the dismissive, "Oh, you'll get married some day." And this is what I have to say in response:

First of all, marriage is a completely cultural institution. Are humans even naturally monogamous? Do we truly just seek one mate for the rest our lives? Well, those of you who have taken a few psych or anthropology courses know that there is persuasive evidence that suggests that in terms of parental investment, it makes perfect sense for a woman to be with only one man for the rest of her life. Since it is the traditional male duty to physically and financially care for his partner and their offspring, the woman can thus ensure that she and her children are provided for, and so it makes biological sense for her to have one partner for the duration of her life. But look at it from the male biological perspective: if the ultimate goal of humanity is to reproduce, then men should theoretically be with as many partners as they can, sowing their seed far and wide. Times have changed, though, and women are fully capable of providing for themselves, and so this sense of dependency is greatly diminished (sorry, boys). You could, of course, argue that humans are much more complex than their simple, biological urges, and that monogamy is a manifestation of the human capacity to love.

That being said, love is multidimensional, it's amorphous, and it's dynamic-- one's relationship with love comes in a variety of forms, as do the people and things that we, as individuals, love and are loved by. So let me pose this question: why, then, does romantic love have to be the only source of lifetime fulfillment? Why can't family, friends, and community take that place? I believe that if you have a strong support system, you can lead a perfectly fulfilling life sans spouses.

What my defense boils down to is not some oversung feminist rant about the virtues of being a woman (though I could just as easily supply this if requested)-- rather, my sentiments toward marriage can be summed up as such: I don't need a life partner to make me happy. As long as I have a strong support system consisting of my family and friends, I don't see the need to commit myself to someone for the rest of my life. To me, marriage is not about "till death do us part." At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I see the very act of marriage as a form of death-- a slow demise of one's individuality and one's sense of self. The concept of interdependence has never really appealed to me. I'm not saying that people who get married are weak, or that every married couple morphs into a single identity (a la TomKat and Brangelina), but many do. Maybe this sounds selfish, but I could never abandon my goals or my dreams simply to conform to the expectation that I should commit my soul to someone for the rest of my life. I'm not scared of dying alone, or even of being lonely-- I have a much deeper fear of time running out to accomplish everything that I want to. And that, my friends, is why you will never see a ring on my finger.

Winning...

...feels awesome. Due to my marginal victory over Nick at the Dawg Dash 5K, I officially am off the hook for a weekend-long Lord of the Rings movie marathon. Nick, on the other hand, has to watch two full seasons of Veronica Mars, with no other Netflix rentals until he's done. Ah, victory is sweet-- even if it's only in the form of a 25-second lead.

Check out the results.

Teacher Marisa

So I'm in a ninth grade Language Arts class this week, and tomorrow I get to teach my first lesson! I'm doing a quick review of the parts of speech through a Mad Lib and then dividing the class into groups so they can come up with a quick commercial to advertise a mysterious object that they will randomly select from a bag. In their commercial, they're required to correctly use as many vocab words as they can. It should be fun (I hope). We'll see how it goes tomorrow...

Blog Banners

Just to give credit where it's due, thanks to Nick for creating my previous blog banner and thanks to my little sis Hannie for creating my current blog banner. They either really love me (or my blog) or have too much time on their hands (I'm guessing it's the latter).

Back to High School Part II

This week I'm back at another high school-- except this time, instead of just sitting in the back of the classroom observing everything the teacher does and taking copious notes, I'll actually be involved in more of a teacher role. And, I get to teach my first lesson this week! I won't find out what the lesson will be about until I talk with my supervising teacher, and I don't even know what grade classroom I'm in-- but I guess tomorrow I'll find out everything. The weirdest thing about all this is being called "Miss." That's definitely gonna require some getting used to.

Somethin' smells funky...

There are certain common courtesies you come to expect once you reach adulthood, and in particular within the walls of a campus building at an expensive private university. Could someone please tell me, then, why the women's bathroom on the third floor of the College of Education constantly smells like a giant turd? Assuming that it is predominantly adult females who use the bathroom, and a relatively small number of them at that, why must a perenially disgusting, I-just-took-a-crap-and-stunk-up-the-whole-damn-bathroom odor infiltrate the entire restroom? And who the hell is taking a dump at 9:30 in the morning? I'm paying $30,000 for tuition-- I don't think I'm asking too much for $1.50 of that sum to go toward the purchase of a Glade scented oil plug-in, or a bottle of Febreze.

Making whoopee across the way

On Friday night, directly across from my apartment complex, I walked past a foggy, steamed up car and saw only the shadowy silhouettes of two people totally going at it. It was highly reminiscent of the infamous scene in Titanic, where Rose and Jack get it on in the back of a car somwhere in the bowels of the ship and Leo, all trembling and sweaty, reaches up to make a handprint on the fogged up window.

V-Mars by the numbers

"Wow, Marisa, you must be pretty busy with school and homework."

Well, to some extent...but I can't honestly say that my free time has been entirely devoted to furthering my education. Here's a look at what I've been up to when I'm not in class:

Veronica Mars: I watched a total of 44 episodes in 31 days, or, in other words, two full seasons in one month. That averages out to about 1.5 episodes a day, or approximately 66 minutes of solid V-Mars time. I spent, on average, 15% of my total waking hours watching the show. This does not include the amount of time spent re-watching favorite scenes, staring at images paused on the TV, and daydreaming/thinking about the show.

Multiple intelligences (or lack thereof)

Earlier this week, in my educational psych class, we took a little survey in order to figure out which of Gardner's "8 multiple intelligences" we showed strength in. I found that I'm very linguistically and musically-inclined, but I have essentially no bodily-kinesthetic or spatial intelligence. My defecits were further corroborated by the fact that I melted my contact lens in a puddle of hot water in the sink yesterday morning after accidentally dropping it, and then later that afternoon spastically flailing my arm and hitting a pillow which consequently tipped over a full glass of water, splattering it onto the floor. I repeat: no bodily-kinesthetic or spatial intelligence.

I guess I do live in the city

I know Seattle isn't the biggest city, but occasionally I have those moments where I am reminded that yes, I do in fact live downtown. Case in point: the other day I was leaving for school when, as soon as I stepped out the front door of my apartment building, saw that the street was roped off with police tape. Apparently there'd been a bomb threat at the abortion clinic across the street from my place. Great...

Do I look like I smoke? No, seriously...

Within the past week I have been approached twice and asked if I had a cigarette. Honestly, do I look like I smoke? I'm personally a little offended. Though in all fairness, I'm also mildly encouraged that I at least look like I'm old enough to buy cigarettes.

Yes, Mr. Cashier, those Superman fruit snacks are for my five-year-old

I went grocery shopping earlier this evening (which I absolutely detest, in spite of my undying love for food and eating in general, because I find it to be too overwhelming and stressful). Anyway, as I was approaching the checkout line, I glanced into my shopping cart and took a quick inventory of my food. Here's what I saw: a box of Fruit-by-the-Foot, two boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups (Berry Blast flavor, no less), a Spider-Man box of Kraft macaroni and cheese, a box of GoGurt with a big picture of Shaggy and Scooby-Doo on it, and some Froot Loops (family-size, I think). What the heck is this? Is this what I seriously eat? I think all that was missing from my shopping cart was a pack of Pampers and a Dora the Explorer coloring book.

Blog o' Boredom

First of all, let me just apologize for two things: 1. My obscene lack of posts as of late, and, 2. My excruciatingly boring posts. What happened to the clever, witty, gut-wrenchingly hilarious anecdotes and editorials, you may ask? Apparently the advent of school has unforgivingly soaked up every last ounce of creative juices flowing within me, leaving me dry and...well, kind of blah. OK, you want the truth? Well, here it is: 'Veronica Mars' has me totally and completely hooked. I am absolutely consumed by the show, and I block out three hours a day to watch 4-episode discs, and then when I'm in class, I sit and daydream about all the possibilities...OK, mostly I just think about Veronica and Logan and how I want them to hook up again. I'm halfway through season two, so don't give me any spoilers if you've got the inside scoop. I can't wait until I'm completely caught up with the show, so then I can check out all the fan sites. I've been avoiding them right now because I don't want to accidentally come across any secrets that haven't been revealed yet. But anyway, back to my boring blog. It will get more interesting and funny, I promise (even if it has to become an entirely fictional blog). So hang in there, my avid fans (I guess that means you, Mom and Dad!). Oh, and by the way, I don't hate men (only the majority of them).

Arts Retreat

Tomorrow I have to go on an "arts retreat" with my cohort where we will stay overnight at a lodge about thirty miles away. We're going to be making "culture boxes"...didn't we do that in the third grade? And isn't "culture box" really just another name for "diorama"? Needless to say, I'm not excited.

Violence IS the answer

For one of my classes, I'm reading a book called Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls. It's all about girls "bullying" each other by destroying reputations and ruining lives through rumors, gossiping, the "silent treatment," and all sorts of other insidious, manipulative methods. And sadly, it's all very true. Girls can be malicious, and what's so scary is that we're so sneaky about it. But you know who we have to blame for these problems? Our messed up, socially catastrophic, completely hypocritical, piece of crap patriarchal society that oppresses women to such a point that they're not even allowed to tell each other when they're angry! Call me extreme, call me a feminist, call me wrong (even though I'm right), but the truth of the matter is, girls are socially conditioned not to express their emotions. Think about it: if guys have a problem, what do they do? Yell at each other or throw a couple punches and then everything's cool. Of course, I'm obviously oversimplifying here, but this illustrates the basic difference between girls versus boys in terms of same-sex social interactions. And this is what is complete crap and makes me wish that I were a lesbian or a member of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's all-female society in Herland: the power differential between men and women. Don't tell me how far women have come, and how we're closing the gap and all that crap-- it's not true. Women have barely had the right to vote, for God's sake! But anyway, here's what is so completely frustrating. Men say women have all the power, blah blah blah. But let's examine what type of power we actually have: sexual. Every ounce of "power" a woman has over a man stems from something sexual. Is it possible to be a woman and have nonsexual power? Maybe if you're a body-builder or filthy rich, but these are exceptions and aren't the norm, and they come with their own set of stereotypes and societally-imposed dichotomies. The more money and the higher up a woman is on the job ladder, the less likely she is to be married. Why is that? Why are men scared of women being more successful than them? Because their role as "provider" is challenged? It's such a complete load of crap. Because we are physically "inferior" and emotional, we are seen as weaker. Well who the hell decided that not being as strong and having feelings makes someone weak? In order for women to succeed in the male-dominated corporate world, they have to become stoic, or at the very least "in control" of their emotions. This patriarchal "formula for success" requires women to have to take on traditionally masculine qualities and then where does that get us? To the top, maybe, but then we are seen as prudish, intimidating, undesirable. It's not fair. Women should be able to get married and have kids AND be at the top of their careers without having to tolerate the patriarchal B.S. that makes us less desirable and less likely to find a mate. When I make it to the top of whatever that may be, I can't wait to hire an all male staff and pay them 75% of what they should be earning for their positions. And if I'm angry, I'm not gonna keep it all bottled up inside like this insidious girl bullying crap-- I'm gonna slug someone right in the face, and then they can tell me how intimidating I am.

Boys. Sigh.

Yesterday was my last day at the high school for my field observation. After one of the senior elective classes, a kid walks up to me and says, "Hey, can you do me a favor?". Naturally, I'm a little suspicious, so I ask him what he needs. He replies, "Can you wink at my friend, Brian?". Hmmmm, let me think...no! Like I really need to get slapped with a sexual harrassment lawsuit my second week in a classroom! So I tell him no and he offers me five bucks, which in all honesty was somewhat tempting. Boys are so silly.

Playing teacher, new personal lows, my latest obsession, and being a morbidly obese gymnast

I feel so guilty for not having posted very much lately. So, here are a few random things I've been dying to talk about. (Not that putting them in a bulleted list really makes up for a lack of posts, but whatever):

• Becoming a teacher: Thursday is my last official day of my "field observations" out in good ol' Mukilteo (which is a solid 23-mile commute from my apartment). I've been waking up at 5:30 in the morning, which is definitely taking its toll on me. I don't know how the heck those kids get to school by 7:20 every day. It makes no sense why their school starts so early, especially considering that teenagers require the most hours of sleep. But anyway... tomorrow I get to "shadow" a sophomore from one of the honors English classes, so that should be pretty interesting.

• Iron Girl 5K: On Sunday my mom and I ran the Iron Girl 5K, and I set a new record-- I got my slowest time ever! I'm attempting to cheer myself up about it by laughing, but the truth is I'm pretty disappointed. I guess mostly still mad at myself for getting so gung-ho after my previous race in July that I launched into a massive running campaign and ended up killing my calf, setting myself back a month. But I learned my lesson (well, at least I hope I did), so this time around I'm going to give my legs the proper rest and then step it up a few notches.

• Veronica Mars: Cassie and I are completely obsessed with it. I absolutely love the show. We're halfway through the first season, and we've got two more discs coming via Netflix tomorrow. On Saturday afternoon, after I got home from work, I was so exhausted that I sat down on the couch and watched seven straight episodes of Veronica Mars, moving only to get more food. I think I might be an addict.

• My new job: My new part-time gig is working as a gymnastics instructor. Those of you who know me would find this funny for several reasons:

1) I don't know how to do gymnastics. I can do a somersault and a cartwheel. That's it.
2) I'm about a foot too tall and fifty pounds too heavy to be a gymnast (and I'm not that tall or that fat).

High school all over again

Today was day two of my field observation at a high school located 22 miles north of where I live. So for the next seven days I have to wake up at the buttcrack of dawn (bonus points if you got the reference): 5:30am. It sucks. I have to go to bed at 9:30 if I want 8 hours of sleep. I feel like I'm five or something. But anyway, this is how the field observation works: I'm assigned to a teacher and I basically sit in the back of her classroom and take copious notes about everything she does. I've got a field handbook that has tons of assignments in it-- interviews with staff and students, and lots of observations to take and write about. I'm actually really excited for it, but it's pretty overwhelming at the same time. It just feels so strange being in a high school. And this place is huge-- 3 stories with several separate buildings, including an annex, a pool, and a greenhouse. 2200 students go here! That's 1,000 mores students than my high school had (granted we were only a 10-12 school). My teacher had me introduce myself to her classes, and I had to refer to myself as a Ms.! That was probably one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever. I honestly felt like I was assuming a fake identity. We'll see how it goes tomorrow... for now I've gotta catch some much-needed shut-eye so I don't fall asleep in class like the kids...

Can you believe this?

Spousal rape was legal until the end of the 1970s. How messed up is that? And who the heck rapes their wife/husband, anyway?

Pluto officially demoted

So, I'm sure by now everyone's heard that Pluto's been demoted to "dwarf planet" status rather than full-fledged planet. My thoughts-- why not? Pluto's only been a planet since 1930, so it's not like we're undoing years of history or anything. Plus, I think changing Pluto's planetary status helps to make the important point that our definitions of things are not set in stone-- they change and evolve over time, as should the ways in which we think about our world. Maybe my head's just spinning with everything that we've been discussing in my education class, but I think it's relevant to this issue.

Back to the books

After one year away from school, here I am, back in the classroom. Yup, I just couldn't get enough of reading and doing homework...no, I'm being serious (well, kind of). I can't believe in another year I'll be a teacher! I'm of course excited to plan lessons and organize a classroom, but, and I'm being perfectly honest here, one of the things I'm most looking forward to is my "career wardrobe." Now, and my mom can totally vouch for this, ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted to wear businesswoman clothes. I think they appeal to me because of the power and prestige associated with them, but I've had a thing for tailored blazers, crisp button-down shirts, and classy pants suits since I was really little. I know teachers aren't necessarily required or expected to be decked out in full business regalia, but as soon as I have a job next year I'm going on a major shopping spree: we're talking classic pumps, pencil skirts, cardigans, the works-- and of course, the wardrobe piece I'm most excited for: the blazer. Not a frumpy, masculine jacket with boxy shoulders, but a slim, fitted one. I can't wait. I might even wear my hair in a bun, just to complete the look.

My last day at work

My last official day at work was Friday, so now I'm no longer a working-class daycare employee. It was so funny trying to explain to the kids that I'm going back to school and am not going to be their teacher anymore. They just looked at me with big blank smiles on their faces and chirped, "Bye!". Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting from two-year-olds...I guess I envisioned a very sentimental goodbye-- a prolonged hug, a misty-eyed farewell-- something more emotional. But of course, it's probably best for the kids if they don't even really understand that I'm not coming back. I think goodbyes are so awkward. I hate the finality of them, and the pressure to say everything that you're thinking and feeling at that moment. It's just too uncomfortable. There are too many mixed feelings involved with goodbyes to actually attempt to verbalize everything. But, my aversion for farewells aside, I'm gonna miss those kids too damn much.

9-11 (the phone number, not the date)

So today I made my first 9-11 call. Here's the story: At the daycare I work at, we take the kids on daily walks through the city (to Pioneer Square, Pike Place Market, the waterfront, etc.). We use a long rope that the kids hold onto as they walk so we're able to keep track of them as well as keep them safe. Well, today we decided to head over to the stadiums for our morning walk. I was leading the rope, followed by 12 toddlers and one of my co-teachers. My other co-teacher was walking alongside the kids. Often times we have to stop while we're walking to remind the children not to touch anything, pick up weird crap off the ground, hit each other, etc. I felt a slight pull on the rope and turned to see what was going on. I noticed that it looked like Logan's coat was caught on a water pipe coming out of the wall. I leaned forward to help him and realized that he'd put his hand inside the pipe! He started crying and saying, "Ow, ow, ow!". One of my co-teachers knelt down to help him, but said that she couldn't get his hand out. At that point my mind was instanteously flooded with the worst possible scenarios, and I couldn't help but envision his little finger turning purple and falling off, or some jagged piece of rusty metal slicing into his hand. I was about to give it a try and my co-teacher said, "No, don't pull it!". At that moment a woman approached us and asked if we needed help. She worked inside the modern bath fixture store that we were stopped in front of and returned with a bottle of lotion and some q-tips, but I had already grabbed our cell phone and called 9-11. After attempting to explain the ridiculous situation to the 9-11 operator, my co-teachers and the woman managed to get Logan's hand unstuck, so they didn't end up sending anyone over. Logan escaped for the most part unscathed, with the exception of a little bruise and a scratch on one of his fingers. I'm just thankful that (1) Logan was OK, and (2) I was able to somehow channel my mom (who'd be the only person not panicking if a meteor blew up half the earth) and remain pretty calm. And I'm guess I should also be pretty grateful that my phone call to 9-11 wasn't triggered by some bloody, guts-oozing out life-threatening situation. Then I would have panicked.

Quitting my job

It's hard to believe that this is my last week at work...of course, I've got pretty mixed feelings about everything. I'm happy to be starting a new chapter in my life and I'm really looking forward to school, but I'm going to miss all the kids so much. It's sad to think that I'm such an important part of their lives now, but in a few months they'll barely even remember me...but I guess that's a lot of what working with kids is all about-- making a difference in their lives and knowing that you were responsible for it, whether they remember or not. And not to be too corny or anything, but that's enough to make me happy.

Parallel Parking

Yesterday I not only got an amazing parking spot right in front of my apartment building, but I managed to parallel park my car on the first try-- and I'm talking solid, driver's ed-style- promotional-video parallel parking. The speed, the angle, the distance from the curb; it was amazing. Words can't even describe the feeling of satisfaction I felt upon achieving unparalleled perfection (forgive the pun). I think that parking job was just the boost of confidence that I've been craving all week. But hey, you gotta take it where you can get it, right?

My near-death experience (and another embarrassing moment)

My friend Cassie and I went for a walk on Broadway today to go explore our new neighborhood. As we were walking down the sidewalk, I was checking out the restaurants along the street when all of a sudden my foot tripped on a dip in the sidewalk and I went plunging headfirst toward a metal chain and a table and chairs. It was absolutely terrifying, and probably the most entertaining sight that all 25 people who were either eating at the restaurant or walking down the sidewalk saw this afternoon. I never felt so unable to catch my balance before; it was truly scary. But I'm not gonna lie, it was also completely hilarious.

And here's another kind of embarrassing moment: Cassie and I were leaving Safeco Field yesterday and heading down the street when we passed by a slightly intoxicated group of young men. One of them looked at me and shouted, "Who wears short shorts? You do!" and pointed directly at me. It wasn't necessarily an insult, but it wasn't a compliment either. And I certainly was not trying to draw attention to my legs (which obviously are not that special). And I swear my shorts aren't that short. I just have kind of a big butt, so I guess that makes them ride up a little higher. But now I feel kind of inappropriate, so I don't know if I should wear shorts anymore.

Sleeping, eating, running

So right now I'm finishing up week 3 of my 8-week intermediate 5K running plan. This week I'm supposed to do a test-run 5K, so I'm hoping to notice some results in my speed-- hopefully I'll have shaved some seconds off my mile time. Switching to morning runs has really helped encourage me to stick to my plan. Even though waking up a little earlier during the week kind of sucks, I just feel so much better if I run first thing and then have the rest of my day to relax or do whatever. But I do miss my outdoor runs at Greenlake, so I'll definitely have to go explore Volunteer Park and see if there are some trails there to run on.

An unauthorized hole

Last night, as I was getting into bed, I somehow managed to rip a hole right in the crotch of my pajamas. I'm still not entirely sure how it happened, or what it means...

The challenges of being 4...

Here's an incident that occurred yesterday between two of the pre-schoolers at my daycare...

Me: What happened, Gavin?

Gavin: (crying and sobbing so hard he can barely talk) Connor told me that silver dollars aren't really *sob* silver!

If only my tears were reduced to such simplicity!

My new pad

Cassie and I have officially moved into our new apartment! Renting a U-Haul and moving all my crap is something that I hope to God I never have to do again. My arms are still killing me from all the heavy lifting-- I still can't believe how Nick and I managed to move my treadmill down three flights of stairs by ourselves. I think it was sheer willpower (well, on my part at least-- on Nick's it was probably actual strength). And of course, the move would not have been possible without the help of some very key players: Nick, Cassie, Cassie's dad, and my mom (who made a surprise plate appearance in the bottom of the seventh). Thank you all so much! I'm eternally indebted to you guys.

What I've learned from being an adult

It's still so hard to believe that in a month I'll officially be back in school. I'm really excited since I've missed school a lot this year, which I know sounds kind of lame and hypocritical, especially considering that the whole time I was in school I couldn't wait to be done and get out into the "real world." But what I've learned about the real world is that it's not all it's cracked up to be. Working 40 hours a week actually pretty much sucks. No matter what, there's just not enough time in the day to do stuff, and it's especially difficult trying to find time to hang out with friends. My social anxieties and extreme introversion only compound the problem. When you require a certain amount of alone time each day (my specific formula is for every one hour I spend with people, I need two hours to "recharge" by myself), you don't necessarily feel like hanging out when you get home from work. Typically I get home around 6:30 every day. Say I decide to go out to dinner and a movie with friends, and I end up getting back to my apartment around 10:00. I've just spent three and a half hours hanging out. Using my formula, that means I require SEVEN hours of being alone in order to recharge-- and no, sleeping doesn't count. So if I want to maintain my sanity, I'd have to go to bed at 5:00 in the morning!! It's true, sometimes I can cut back on my alone time and be OK. But then I run the risk of hibernation, in which I am forced to hole myself up for days, sometimes even weeks (though unfortunately this is often not possible), without hanging out with anyone. And then, and only then, can I successfully re-enter the realm of humanity without having completely snapped. And to all my friends, thanks for putting up with me and all of my neuroticism-- I don't know why you guys put up with me, but I'm definitely grateful that you do.

Moving

Any way you cut it, moving's a bitch. Packing and unpacking are a pain, and of course the worst part is making countless trips back and forth and up and down multiple staircases, trying to load up your car or truck or whatever. What could possibly make this process even more unbearable? 90+ degrees of sweltering, cloudless, sweaty Pacific northwest heat beating down on you at all hours of the day-- of course, I really shouldn't be complaining yet-- right now all I'm doing is packing in this nauseating heat. I can't even fathom actually attempting to physically move boxes...the forecast says it's supposed to drop to the low seventies by next weekend, so I'll keep my fingers crossed-- otherwise I truly might not make it.

Obsessions

The problem with me (well, maybe I should re-phrase: one of the problems with me) is that I get completely obsessed with things-- not necessarily in a creepy, psychotic way, but in an "all-consuming" sense. I guess the thing is that once I get really into something, whether it be running or moving to my new apartment, I honestly find it extremely difficult to think about anything else. I think of my obsessions as being almost akin to a state of mania, in which I'm basically on a manic high during these times. I think that I actually exhibit manic symptoms when I'm so consumed: difficulty with eating and sleeping, a feeling of invicibility, etc. (Of course, I experience these symptoms to a much lesser degree than someone who actually suffers from bipolar disorder-- at least I hope I do!). But I'd be willing to bet a fair amount of money that a CT scan of my brain would corroborate the assertion that my obsessiveness produces manic-like symptoms. Looking on the bright side of my exhausting states of complete obsession, at least I'm more productive than usual!

The Race

Well, I ran the 5K yesterday and didn't quite meet my goal of under 25 minutes. I ran it in 25:31, so I was close. I did, however, manage to knock 16 seconds off my pace time from my previous race in May. My mom and I are planning on running the IronGirl in September, so that gives me exactly 8 weeks to train for my next race. I found this "Intermediate 5K Training" plan online, and I decided that's what I'm going to do. As long as moving to a new apartment doesn't screw up my schedule and knock me off balance like it did at the end of last summer. But I don't think I'll let that happen again this time (at least I hope I'm smart enough to learn from my past mistakes). Running = happiness, and if I truly want to be happy I'll have to figure out a way to fit it into my schedule, no matter how busy I am. Plus, what it really boils down to is that I'm just too damn competitive to settle for anything less than the best.

Another race

Tomorrow I'm running another 5K. The last race I did I averaged 8:30 miles, so I'm hoping to knock off at least 30 seconds a mile for this one, especially if the course is flat (which I really hope it is, especially since I've been a little lax about my incline workouts). So my goal is under 25 minutes...and by the end of this summer I hope I'm back to last year's race times (which unfortunately might not happen until I lose my 10 pounds of extra "muscle").

Got pride? Apparently not some people.

On my way home from karate tonight I saw a couple standing on a street corner with a sign that read, "Just married w/ baby on the way. Need money to keep our hotel. God bless you." Hmmm, looks like you should've thought of that before you had a shotgun wedding and got yourselves knocked up. Sorry if it sounds harsh, but I find it incredibly insulting when people are standing on the street begging for things. Don't these people have any self-respect? I wouldn't care how poor or desperate I was, I would seriously rather do the most thankless, menial servitude on earth than sacrifice my pride and dignity by pathetically standing on a street corner trying to guilt people into giving me their hard-earned money.

All-Star Game

Surprise, surprise, the AL won AGAIN, making them unbeatable for the past ten years. Ichiro had his first All-Star strike-out and went 0-3, but the AL still came out on top. At least the NL kind of acted like they considered winning for awhile...

Where's the punchline?

Maybe my expectations are too high for popsicle jokes, but I'm pretty sure this doesn't even classify as a joke:

Q: What did the bug say when someone stepped on him?

A: Nothing-- bugs can't talk!

Huh?! I ate my popsicle at top speed only to reveal this lame excuse for a joke? I want my money back...

Grossed out (part II)

OK, so there are a lot of things that are completely disgusting, but the taste of sour milk has got to be near the top of the list. Yesterday morning I woke up and went into my kitchen, with the entirely reasonable goal of preparing myself a simple bowl of cereal. I poured my Special K into a bowl, and even decided to slice some strawberries to make my breakfast more closely resemble the picture on the box (which definitely shows fresh fruit as opposed to dehydrated fruit, despite the actual contents of the cereal box). Anyway, I knew I didn't have very much milk left, so I poured it into my bowl and it was just enough for my cereal. I unwittingly plunged my spoon into the picturesque Special K that looked so appealing it could have replaced the photo on the cereal box or been pictured in a commercial, took a bite, and to my utter shock and horror, my innocent and unsuspecting palate was met with the stupefying and bitterly repulsive taste of sour, putrid, vomit-inducing, completely rancid milk. Needless to say, my taste buds are still recovering.

Birth Order

I've always been pretty fascinated with birth order, I think mostly because there are five kids in my family and the labels "oldest," "middle," and "youngest" aren't as clear-cut as a family of say, three kids. Despite the fact that I'm technically a middle child, which is kind of lame to begin with because then that means two of my other sisters are middle children as well, I've always felt more like an oldest child, primarily because I'm kind of bossy and am super responsible. But on the other side I'm also kind of attention-starved (in my family, that is, not in other areas of life), so I feel like I'm actually "a middle child with first-born tendencies." I took a "birth order personality quiz" and it labeled me a "first-born," so I guess my self-analysis is pretty accurate (well, at least as far as psychoanalysis and online quizzes go). What I also find really interesting is how birth order affects people's compatibility. Supposedly my parents are one of the "worst love matches" in terms of birth order compatibility. Hmmm.

Pedophile Quiz

Can you spot the pervs from the other various criminals? Find out.

Everything's finally falling into place

Well, it looks like everything is finally falling into place. The last year has definitely had its ups and downs, and now that it's summer and I'm in a perpetual state of mania thanks to (1) extended daylight hours, and (2) warm weather, I feel fairly certain that I do in fact suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. This past winter totally sucked and I was pretty down most of the time. But it's hard not to hole yourself up when you're kind of an introverted hermit anyway and you live alone. Now that I'm preparing yet again for stressful life transitions, I'm hoping that this doesn't launch me into another mild depression. In just a few weeks I'll be moving into a new apartment with my BFF Cassie (not to be confused with my littlest sister Cassie, although our lease technically begins on Lil' Sis Cassie's b-day-- how's that for confusing?) over in Capitol Hill. While I am super-stoked to move to Capitol Hill and once again unite the dynamic duo, I am not looking forward to the actual move. I've got such a crapload of large, heavy pieces of bulky furniture in my current apartment that the thought of moving a couch, a bed, a dresser, and a treadmill makes me sick to my stomach. But oh, well. I guess it's a small price to pay for living with one of my favorite people and saving roughly $200 a month on rent...which I will definitely need to save since I am now officially going to grad school in the fall! My head has been spinning for the past month. I'm just hoping everything works out.

Grossed out

I know that on my blog (and hell, probably in everyday life, too) I come across as kind of gross since I always seem to be talking about poop or farts or things that smell or young co-workers that I find attractive, but I swear that I'm actually only 50% gross and 50% trying to be funny. That being said, I take comfort in knowing that there are some people in the world who are still grosser than I am. For example, today I was walking down the street and saw a couple completely making out. And maybe if I were in a different mood I'd have found it somewhat romantic, or maybe if I hadn't only two days prior had to steer my little sisters out of the path of an ill-disposed of used condom plastered to the scorching asphalt of a K-Mart parking lot I'd have found the kissing at the very least more stomachable (for lack of a better word), but instead it was just kind of...icky. To me, it's simple: Making out in private=fun. People making out on screen=romantic. Hearing gossip about friends making out=entertaining. Watching people who demonstrate absolutely no respect for the boundaries of public displays of affection=gross. Finding a used condom melted to the pavement in a K-Mart parking lot=entirely repulsive and morbidly intriguing.

Mother Marisa?

Last night I had a dream that I had a baby and then forgot to feed it. I think this is a sign that I'm definitely not ready for motherhood (not that I was seriously considering it).

I'm a perv

Yesterday at work my supervisor briefly introduced me to a new co-worker, and to my surprise and joy, it was a guy! (As you can probably imagine, childcare is not the most popular field among males. In fact, there are only two men who work at my center, one of whom is very flaming gay). Anyway, based off of the fleeting introduction, I thought to myself, this guy's kind of hot. Well, I show up at work today and read the green light (our employee memo sheet, basically), and find out the "hot guy" is only 16!?! So now I feel like a complete pedophile, which is not a good feeling to have, especially when you work with children. But I think the thing that really creeps me out the most about the whole situation is that I'm SIX years older than this kid! I mean, my littlest sister, who's ten years younger than me, is closer in age to this kid than I am! How messed up is that? I think I need to go repent tonight...

The life of a social neurotic

It's no big secret that my home harbors a clan of social neurotics. Ask any member of my family and he/she will indeed concur with me. Of course, on generous days, I prefer to think of myself as "idiosyncratic" or "endearingly eccentric." But then I remember that to be endearing you have to be cute and lovable, which I'm not. Which brings me to my current predicament of attempting to remedy my neuroticism. In all truthfulness, over the past few years in particular, I've been working especially hard to "cure" myself of all my various phobias, hang-ups, and neurotic tendencies. I think I've actually made considerable progress. But the thing that sucks the most about being a social neurotic is that simple, insignificant things that are supposed to be fun turn into huge ordeals. The source of my social dysfunction, I believe, stems from two major psychological and biological flaws that I have: an extremely introverted personality and a ridiculously good memory, especially for people, conversations, and obscure details. Let me provide two examples of the social pandemonium that has ensued from said flaws. Being introverted requires me to actually plan out time where I'm all by myself and doing nothing. If I'm not alone for a certain amount of time a day, then it makes it impossible for me to plan out fun activities with friends, because the whole time I can't help but stress about when I'm going to be alone to "recharge." This, of course, will probably be an ongoing struggle throughout my life. Secondly, my super-memory almost haunts me at times and makes me seem like a creep to people. You might think it sounds cool to never forget a face or a brief, insignificant encounter with a total stranger, or to have a running catalog of everyone's birthday you've ever known in your head, but let me be the first to say, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Sure, remembering important dates certainly has its benefits, but couple this ability with social neuroticism and you suddenly morph into a weirdo. How am I supposed to explain to people I barely know why I know their birthdays? And what about everyone I inadvertently run into and end up avoiding because I don't want to say "hi" since I'm not sure if they remember me? Since I don't know what it's like to have a "normal" memory, I don't know if people are supposed to be remembering me, or if I'm simply too unmemorable to be remembered...thus I'm either perpetually anxious or secretly offended by these insidious encounters with people I "know."
My hope is that one day I'll be considered "endearingly eccentric," but I guess for now I have to settle for being simply kind of annoying and kind of weird.

Lake Chelan vacation pics

The three bathing beauties...OK, well

maybe only two, but I was too lazy

to cut myself out of the picture.

Giddyup! My dad thought he looked

like Clint Eastwood once he was

saddled up...my mom begged to differ.

Relaxing in the hot tub.

More "potty talk"

Another bathroom conversation with one of my toddlers...

(Amelia and Owen are sitting on adjacent potties)

Amelia (to me): Does Owen have a 'gina?

Me: (Contemplating how much information to divulge)

Amelia: Does Owen have a 'gina?

Me: *Sigh.* No, he doesn't have one.

Note: I contemplated on whether to correct Amelia on her pronunciation of "vagina" or respond with a simple, "Owen has a penis," which would undoubtedly result in even more questions.

A night of entertaining violence...

Now that I have a blog, I might as well use it to plug my dojo (=karate place, for all you non-martial artists out there). This Saturday, June 24th, my karate buddies will be performing a half-time show for the Rat City Roller Girls. There will be a kata performance and board-breaking, so it should be pretty cool-- not to mention the fact that you get to watch girls kick each others' butts on skates!

A conversation that occurred between two of my toddlers today...

(Logan and Huxley are sitting next to one another on adjacent potties)

Huxley: I need--

Logan: Soy sauce?

Huxley: No.

Who doesn't need soy sauce when they're sitting on the toilet?

Rude awakening

I don't think it's asking too much to be able to sleep in on the weekends. Why, then, did an old, senile man feel the irrepressible need to cackle outside my window for a good 15 minutes this morning, wrenching me awake from a pleasant slumber? Was his uproarious laughter really that necessary, and was what he was laughing at really that damn funny?

Sunglasses

I've had it up to here with sunglasses. No more $8-10 pairs for me. On my last two pairs of department store shades, the screws fell out. And once you lose a sunglass screw, as far as I'm concerned, it's not worth the effort of scouring the ground with a magnifying glass to find it or to attempt to screw it back in without an itty bitty screwdriver (which I don't have, anyway). But my most recent pair is what really set me off. Unbeknownst to me at the time of my unwitting purchase, this pair of very stylish but moderately inexpensive sunglasses ($20 on sale for $14) possessed an obscene number of screws. As luck would have it, all 42 (a slight exaggeration, really) of the screws loosened on my brand new glasses and a microscopic washer that I'm still not convinced is entirely visible to the naked eye fell out and alas, adios new shades. It was good while it lasted. To make matters worse, the untimely demise of my sunglasses occurred in the midst of my vacation in sunny eastern Washington. But in some ways, I have only myself to blame. First of all, it's a no-no to buy glasses with nosepieces-- more screws=more opportunities for sunglasses to fall apart. Also, I should have known they were on the verge of total destruction when I put my sunglasses on and looked in the mirror, and they were completely lopsided on my face. That's what I get for trying to be cool. Anyway, my frustration led me to finally give in a couple days ago and buy a pair of Fossil sunglasses-- not necessarily the most expensive pair of shades a gal can buy, but a significant upgrade from my previous el cheapo purchases. They were 25% off, so at least that assuaged my feelings of guilt with splurging on a $30 pair of sunglasses that wasn't an entirely pressing neccesity. This pair of sunglasses only has two screws, both of which were sufficiently tightened upon the time of purchase. Stylish, yet much more practical-- I'm hoping this pair survives the summer being inevitably smushed in my purse or crammed in my car somewhere. Then again, who knows? It is Seattle. Maybe I won't even need them, anyway.

Ahhhh, relaxation.

Let me just say, now that I'm a slave to the 40-hour work week, I'll never take vacations for granted again. Having this week off has been pure, unadulterated bliss. I've had time to relax, time to run, time to actually get stuff done, and time to sit around thinking about how I'm not at work (arguably my favorite pastime as of late). Of course, if my time off dragged on much longer, I know I'd eventually get bored, but taking a vacation has reminded me how much I miss having summers off, and subsequently, how much teaching would be the perfect career (at least at this time in my life) for me. I know everyone says that teachers don't make much money, why would you wanna be around kids all day, you don't really get the summers off and blah blah blah, but frankly, I don't give a damn. People seem to forget that I'm barely earning above the poverty line, so if I make even close to 40 grand a year, which is essentially double my current annual income, I'll feel rich. Besides, what I'm really doing is trying to figure out how to make money, do something enjoyable and rewarding, and have enough time to travel and write a novel. If teaching allows me to do that, than I don't care how much money I make-- as long as I can go on my weekly Target shopping sprees and eat out at a notch-above-mediocre restaurant occasionally. If I'm leading a moderately happy life working at a daycare and getting paid crap right now, imagine how euphoric I'll be when I'm a teacher!

What I learned from the Discovery Channel today...

Female opossums have parallel vaginas and male opposums have (and this is a direct quote) "two-pronged members." That must make for some interesting mating rituals...

The Top Three Reasons to Live Alone:

1. Walking around half-dressed. It really helps when you're trying to do multiple things at once-- like getting ready to take a shower while preparing a meal. It works, it really does.

2. Eating peanut butter straight out of the jar for dinner four nights in a row. It's an addiction-- one that I no longer have to hide behind closed doors.

3. Making random sounds just to fill the silence. Every so often I feel an overwhelming urge to spontaneously burst out with either a maniacal laugh or a Tourette's Syndrome-type comment. Now I don't have to deal with awkward explanations or weird stares.