Exhausted

So I have been working more hours lately, which is a good thing because I need moolah. The bad thing is that I have been absolutely exhausted. I forgot what it was like to work full-time (or closer to it, as is my case) and to come home and feel like all you wanna do is go to bed. After I get home, I make dinner, sit on the couch and eat it, watch TV or play Dr. Mario with the fan blowing directly on me, get up and get a snack, and then repeat the process a seemingly infinite number of times until I eventually drag myself off the couch to take out my contacts and brush my teeth and collapse into bed. And then the entire process is repeated the next day. But I have to admit, despite my extreme exhaustion, it's felt good working more. I think I'm a happier person in general when I'm busier (but not too busy!) because then I have less time to brood. And I brood a lot in my spare time.

Crazy Town

I know it's been, like, an eternity since I've posted on my blog, but things have been ridiculously crazy-busy these past couple months, primarily for the following three reasons:

1) My family moved.
2) I'm moving at the end of the month.
3) I'm working a lot more hours.
*I've been playing insane amounts of Dr. Mario. (I put an asterisk for this one because I didn't want to move the cursor up to the top of the page to change "three reasons" to "four reasons." And yes-- I am that lazy.)

So anyway, aside from having almost 500 wins online in Dr. Mario and cracking the top 900 players in the world (not that I'm bragging or anything), I have been busy stressing out over money, work, and my living situation. Things are starting to come together, though (finally!). I signed a lease today, so I have officially secured a dwelling for another year... as long as I can continue to cough up the rent. I can't wait until I publish a book and don't have to worry about money or a traditional job. I've been writing a lot more lately, and my goal is to finish the story that I'm working on by the end of '08. And then I will probably ask everybody I know to read it so I can get feedback and revise it until I think it's good enough to show to a literary agent. Does that sound ridiculous? Sometimes I worry that I sound like a little kid with some over-ambitious dream that will never be realized. The problem/good thing about me is that for some strange reason, I really, really believe in myself. Like almost too much. Like I'm so certain that I will publish a book--nay, multiple books--and that I will sell tons of copies. And it's not in an arrogant way, because I don't think I'm the most talented writer in the world or anything even close to that. It's just that I don't give up easily. We'll see, I guess. Hopefully these crazy schemes of mine will pay off eventually, and my dream will come true.

Couldn't've said it better myself

This quote from Entertainment Weekly pretty much sums up my thoughts on the latest Incredible Hulk movie:

"Five years ago, Universal spent $137 million on Ang Lee's Hulk movie and it grossed $132 million...Am I missing something? No one wanted to see the Hulk the first time around. And I'll play Jimmy the Greek here and predict that no one will want to see this one, either, regardless of how much capital-A acting Edward Norton brings to it."

I need a new activity

I have too much pent-up energy, and I miss competition and camaraderie...I need a new sport/activity to participate in. I've been researching rugby and roller derby, but as aggressive as I can be, these sports seem a little too violent, even for me. Now I'm thinking maybe I'll look into rock climbing or crew. All I know is that I need something new and challenging and athletic, and then I think I'll feel better.

My next frivolous purchase

I just found out that the animated Wizard of Oz Saturday morning cartoon series from 1990 is available on DVD. When I was a kid I used to love this show-- in fact, I used to love Saturday morning cartoons in general. I remember purposely waking up early on Saturdays just to watch TV. Now that's devotion.

I DID IT!!!

Last Sunday I ran the Kirkland Half-Marathon. The night before the race, I went to bed at 9:30 to ensure that I'd get my full eight hours of sleep (I really can't function with anything less than eight hours, especially if I'm running 13.1 miles the next day). I woke up the next morning well-rested but nervous. Anyway, I'll cut to the good stuff. My first goal was just to finish the rest without dying. My second goal was to finish the rest and run the whole time. My third goal was to finish the race in 2 hr 11 min, which averages out to 10-minute splits. I am happy and proud to say that I accomplished all three of my goals. I won't say what my time was, not because I'm not proud of it, but because for me, this race wasn't about speed-- it was about distance and stamina, and seeing what my body was capable of (now that I know what it's capable of, I should probably start holding myself to higher athletic standards...maybe a marathon is in my future after all).

Here's a play-by-play of how the whole thing went down, including the good (the downhill leg), the bad (the hills of horror), and the ugly (the salt deposits plastered to my face after the race from dried sweat):

The first couple miles were a piece of cake. They went by really fast, and I took a nice, slow pace. Around mile 3, there was gigantic, terrifying hill that seemed to go on forever. I tried to take my dad's advice to not lean forward as I ran up the hill (apparently most runners have an inclination to do that, at the sacrifice of good form and speed). After successfully conquering the hill, the course flattened out and I was able to speed up. As I approached mile 6, I heard the sound of music wafting through the air in the distance. Just as I recognized "Chariots of Fire," I caught sight of a guy with an electric guitar, an amp, and a giant speaker standing on the corner of the street, rocking out for all of us runners. It was awesome. The next two or three miles were all downhill, so I got a little excited and sped up. I was still feeling pretty good around mile 9, until I realized that I still was over a 5K away from finishing. By this point the ground leveled out again and the surface was flat. Soon, however, I encountered more hills (whoever planned this course was positively diabolical), and I had to use every last ounce of willpower and endurance I had to plod my way up the hills of hell. After successfully conquering one hill around mile 11, I was positive there couldn't possibly be any more-- but I was wrong. Around mile 12 there was another hill, and by the time I reached the top, there was some guy cheering for me who called out my bib number and told me to keep going. Naturally, not wanting to disappoint the one anonymous fan that I had, I kept running (if not also because that was what I'd been doing the past nearly two hours). The rest of the course was flat, and I briefly considered stopping at mile 13 when there was only one-tenth of a mile to go and calling it good. But of course I didn't. So I finished the race. I still don't have any plans of running a marathon in the near future, but I could definitely see myself doing a half again. It was fun. And even though I was completely starving by the time the race was over and my legs felt like Jell-O and I was soaked in sweat and there were blisters on my toes, it was worth it.

Race photos. (Keep in mind these were taken with about .2 miles left to go in the race...)

Doom's day

Tomorrow is the Half-Marathon (cue dramatic/scary/celebratory music). I can't believe it's almost here. The race starts at 7:30am, so I'm going to have to wake up around 6, which kind of sucks (correction: which really sucks). I could barely sleep last night I was so nervous, and I've felt on the verge of puking the whole morning. Why, you may wonder, am I so anxious for a race that I chose to participate in and that holds no repercussions whatsoever whether I win, lose, fail, or succeed? The answer to that, my friends, is simple: it's what I do best-- not running, mind you, but being nervous/anxious/nauseous (what can I say, it runs in the family). So there. I am an anticipatory ball of nerves and anxiety. On the bright side, though, if I can channel this anticipation into adrenaline, then I may still have a chance at success.

On a completely unrelated note, why are the Mariners so awful?

Here's an equation for you: cost of living in Seattle + my income= :(

Now don't get me wrong: I love Seattle. I love it so much that in fact I am often times blind to its flaws. For example, the fact that Seattle is apparently so cool, it's virtually not affordable to live here. Unless you work for Microsoft. Or Google. Which I don't.

Anyway, I'm planning on moving out of my current abode this summer, and will be looking for a new apartamento for just me. But living alone is not an easy thing to do in this city. I've been obsessively hunting for apartments for months, primarily just to see what's out there and to give myself some assurance that I won't be homeless. But I have to be perfectly honest-- it might be time for me to start getting acquainted with cardboard boxes and the amiable hobo who waves to me off of the 65th Steet exit. Hector used to be a stray cat, so maybe he can show me the ropes of life on the street. At any rate, here's case-in-point for why I may soon be homeless: back in the day when I was still in baccalaureate bliss, I lived alone. Some of you may remember my apartment as that quaint yet surprisingly pleasant little abode nestled in the drug and prostitution district of Seattle (in all fairness, I only got solicited once for sex, and that was by a female hooker). That former home, my friends, is now renting for $925 a month-- a staggering increase of nearly $200 in less than three years! And I don't have the feeling that that complex has undergone any significant renovations since I've lived there to adequately account for the steep increase...

On the flip side, my life of leisure may soon be drawing to a close (or an almost-close), which means more moolah. And I definitely need more moolah, because I am waist-deep in student loans. Funny how I have an advanced degree now but chose the least lucrative career path possible with a Master's. Essentially if I worked for one year straight, and spent absolutely zero dollars, I could re-pay all my loans. But alas...

Compliment, insult, or moderately offensive pick-up line? You decide.

One of the things I hate most on this earth is grocery shopping. Which is completely counterintuitive because I love to eat. I absolutely can't stand, however, the process of picking out food (how am I supposed to know what I'm going to want for dinner five days from now?), carrying my groceries up to my apartment (the circulation on my wrists has been cut off countless times as a result of the plastic bags cutting into my flesh), and putting everything away (there's never enough space in our freezer). What does this all mean? That I only make it to the grocery store on average every two weeks, and when I do go, I look like I'm buying enough food to feed a small army.

Case in point: I was making my bi-weekly grocery shopping trip to Safeway two days ago, and when I got to the checkout, the cashier who was ringing me up had this smirk on his face. My first thought was, crap, did I buy Care Bears fruit snacks again and get laughed at? (Believe me, I've done it. And believe me, I've been laughed at-- albeit in a good-natured manner, but still...) Finally the cashier looked at me and said, "Someone has a healthy appetite." And he didn't mean "healthy" in the traditional sense. To his credit, though, he didn't say it in a mean or judgmental tone, but how was I supposed to respond? I just said, "Yup, I like to eat and I hate grocery shopping." The good thing is, I'm not offended by people commenting on my appetite. The other good thing is that that guy will probably forget who I am by the time I'm back at Safeway again (in about another two weeks or so...)

Happy anniversary, Hectorini!

I am a softy when it comes to my cat. I don't mean to be, but I can't help it. He's just too darn cute. Cute, but destructive. My couch is clawed up. My desk chair is virtually destroyed (not to mention covered in a bed of cat hair that seems to be permanently ingrained in the upholstery).

Those things are bad, but manageable, considering my couch is a worthless piece of crap from Ikea (home of the official post-baccalaureate "rite of passage" cheap furniture and kitchen essentials). What really sucks is that Hector has clawed up some of the carpet in my apartment...which is not as easily replaceable, considering I don't own my apartment.

Anyway, Hector and I recently celebrated our two-year anniversary. We hung out and watched TV together, like we usually do every night. There were a few extra snuggles, but that was pretty much it. While I was debating what to get Hector for our special day, my thoughts settled on an idea that I'd researched a few months ago: Soft Paws. They're these little plastic nail caps that you glue onto your kitty's nails, so when they scratch they don't harm your furniture, carpet, etc. I figured I have nothing to lose (except my $300 security deposit for my apartment), so I ordered them online. They have yet to arrive, but I'm pretty excited to try them out. I have no idea how the heck I'm going to hold Hector down long enough to give him his "manicure," but I'll figure it out. Soft Paws could indeed be my savior...or a waste of 20 bucks. Either way, like I said before, I have nothing to lose...except $320.

Lance Armstrong congratulated me

Yesterday I ran 9 miles. It was my longest run in my career of being a runner. And when I was done, Lance Armstrong congratulated me on my Nike+ iPod. He said (and this is a direct quote), "Congratulations. That was your longest workout yet."

I know I've said this before but I'll say it again: I think I'm a better distance runner. It seems like most of the time the first 3 or 4 miles are the hardest, and then after that, I'm in the zone. Of course, this does not necessarily mean that I'll be running and/or winning marathons any time soon, but just that I'm a little more Energizer Bunny than speedy hare (although I guess she did lose to the tortoise, but that's another story). After this week, I only have three weeks of training left, and then it's the HALF-MARATHON! Crazy. I hope I can do it. And I hope the hills don't kill me. I just want to finish, and say that I ran the whole time...and then collapse at the end of the race and take a month off from running. And eat a gianormous breakfast to celebrate.

Half-Marathon Training Update

I'm officially registered for the half-marathon, so there's no turning back now! I've still been training, but last week I got kind of sidetracked because I was in LA for a few days-- sunny, beautiful, eternally summer LA. Fear not, because my time spent in SoCal was equally productive--I spent an ample amount of time brawling, Smash-style. So while I wasn't able to complete my 7-mile speedwork run, I was able to put my chef hat on and fry up a few friends in a giant cauldron. But anyway, I'm up to 8 miles, and my training plan has me only running up to 10 miles (apparently my adrenaline will lead me the last 3.1 miles of the race). Five more weeks and counting!

A first... (plus running)

Today, as I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-5, I officially made myself car sick for the first time. The sun was hitting me at precise the right nausea-inducing angle, and I kept braking too fast. Needless to say my tummy was not happy...

In lighter news, my half-marathon training is going pretty well. I'm almost finished with week four of my customized Runner's World training plan, and it's been pretty good. Last weekend I ran 7 miles, which is the furthest (farthest? I have an English degree but still don't know) distance I have run. I'm actually pretty excited for next week, when I will get to experience the joy (and probably pain, too) of running 8 miles. I have seven weeks and counting till the Half-Marathon.

Now I'm off to go get my hair cut short. Then I'm going to dye it darker. I probably should just shave my head, because 75% of the time I'm just really annoyed with having hair on my head, and I'm not particularly attached to it, anyway. If I don't like it, it'll grow back, and I've become increasingly fond of hats, so whatever. We'll see.

Week One

I (more or less) successfully completed week one of my half-marathon training.
2/25: easy 2-mile run at 10:00 min pace
2/28: 5-mile tempo run; I was supposed to do a one-mile warm-up and cool-down with the middle 3 miles run at a 9:03 pace, but I think I started off a little too fast-- lost steam in the second and third mile and had to slow down a little; finished in just under 48 min.
3/1: 6-mile easy run; according to my training plan, I was supposed to run this at a 10:38 pace, but I felt really, really good, so I ended up running it a little faster, at about a 9:47 pace

Total distance: 13 mi
Total time: 126 min

Run, run, run, as far as you can!

Last week, my dad and I saw Spirit of the Marathon, an incredible documentary chronicling various runners training for the Chicago marathon. Needless to say, I felt very inspired after watching the film, and it got me thinking...how far can I run? I've been doing 5K (3.1 miles) races for a couple years now, and last October I branched out and ran a 10K. Anyway, I've come to the decision that I need to take advantage of my life of poverty and leisure (which may not be so leisurely very much longer since I really am becoming quite poor). So therefore I have decided to train for a half-marathon (13.1 miles). The weather has been beautiful in Seattle the past couple weeks, and with Daylight Saving Time and spring just around the corner, it's the perfect time to train. I have 11 weeks to whip my butt into shape for the race-- wish me luck!

In between your lettuce leaf lunch and celery stick dinner...

So I just saw a commercial advertising gum as a "5 calorie snack." I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Since when...

...did Dante's Peak become an American Movie Classic?

Life in the fast lane

I came to a realization about myself today: I like moving fast. And I totally don't mean this in a creepy or sexual way. I think it has to do with efficiency. And competition. I like finding the quickest way to get places and I'm obsessed with "expediting the process"-- the process of what, you may ask? To which I reply, the process of anything-- making dinner, returning Netflix movies, writing notes for work-- whatever it is, I want to get it done fast. But my need for speed doesn't stop there-- it continues with my love for moving fast. I mean, we're talking raw, kinetic energy. I like to run fast. I like to walk fast. Sometimes I like to drive fast. But when I was sitting in orchestra today, playing my violin, I realized that I love sixteenth notes, and I love (attempting) to play them as fast as I can. Which leads me to two possible conclusions: I'm either ridiculously efficient, or insanely competitive. You decide.

Miss America

When I was a kid, I used to love watching beauty pageants with my mom and sisters. It was always a big event, and we loved "oohing" and "ahhing" over the evening gowns and analyzing the judges' scoring. Miss America was always my favorite because it's the only pageant that has a talent competition. But let's be honest, here: over the past several years, beauty pageants have gone waaaay down-- in nearly every aspect. I watched the 2008 Miss America pageant Saturday night, and I couldn't believe the crappy production value. First of all, the pageant was on TLC: The Learning Channel. Why the hell was a beauty pageant on The Learning Channel? Secondly, it was hosted by a pudgy Tom Cruise look-alike, who had about the same amount of charisma as the real Cruise. There was sub-par choreography (which actually is pretty typical of pageants), at least three less than beautiful women with disturbingly wide-set eyes, and about five pregnancy test commercials narrated by an ominous man's voice talking about a different experience with "peeing on a stick." The whole thing was creepy, crappy, and unsettling. What happened to the good ol' days of Tony Danza-caliber hosts and real talent, not just a thin, wispy rendition of "Over the Rainbow" that would make Judy Garland turn over in her grave? Frankly, I'm offended.

Free stuff

Last night I was reading Cosmopolitan, and I saw an ad for a free sample of Dove shampoo and conditioner. Never one to turn down a free thing, I hopped online and filled out a form to get my free sample. Naturally, that got me wondering...what other free stuff could I find on the Internet? I found a blog that gave me a couple leads to more promotional offers, and before I know it I should have not only shampoo and conditioner arriving in 4-8 weeks, but also samples of Gwen Stefani's new perfume, Aquafresh toothpaste, Maybelline foundation, Aquaphor lotion, and a Schick razor. My goal was to see if I could go a month without buying any toiletries-- I'm still looking for free soap and deodorant samples...

2008 Resolutions

Well, this marks my first official post of the New Year. I finally got around to writing my resolutions. I'm pretty pleased with my goals for 2008. I don't know when I started formally writing resolutions, but it seems like over the years I've become more and more goal-oriented and focused on self-improvement (probably because there's a lot about myself I could improve-- starting with my neurotic personality). I also think it's because I'm competitive. And a perfectionist. But I guess that pretty much describes everyone in my family (and many of my friends, too). Anyway, I feel like I've done a better job of making resolutions that encompass more areas of my life. For example, one of my resolutions is to recycle more...I discovered that for some reason, I actually really care about the environment. I hate being wasteful, so I'm trying to make a concerted effort to stop being lazy about rinsing out containers and other things that could easily be recycled. I also try to stay away from quantifying my goals too much. I like leaving a certain degree of open-endedness on some of them-- like another of my resolutions, which is to go on an independent adventure. Of course, what I define as an "adventure" is completely up to me. I'm also really hoping that my writing becomes more of a priority this year, and that I really buckle down and work hard.

I'm a klutz

On Friday I sprained my ankle at work. I was demonstrating a gymnastics station for the kids, and I was climbing up this mat when I lost my balance and began to fall. I landed on uneven footing below, and I felt a snap in my ankle as soon as my foot hit the ground and rolled outward. I wanted to swear or start crying, but of course I couldn't, since I was surrounded my kids. Over the years I've had several work-related injuries: burned fingers, stitches, and now a twisted ankle (hey, at least I've got variety, right?). I know you're supposed to fill out paperwork and tell your boss when you get hurt on-site, but I've felt like such an idiot about each of these instances that I've always had somewhat of a pride issue when it comes to admitting that I was clumsy and reckless enough to sustain "fill-in-the-blank" injury. Anyway, I think my ankle is OK, it's just a little swollen. I'm mostly mad because I can't run. I think I'll try tomorrow despite my better judgment, just to see if it hurts. My motto has always been "Sickness is a state-of-mind," and I've successfully ignored several occasions where I have been injured or ill, only to find that my symptoms have indeed miraculously "disappeared." After all, no pain, no gain, right?

Apparently I'm awesome

Two days ago I parallel-parked my car...on the left side of a one-way street. I'm that good.

Close call

It seems that my streak of bad luck with parking tickets may finally be coming to an end. As many of you may recall, this summer I received three parking tickets in quick succession, and successfully argued my way out of one and a half of them. It seemed I had an uncanny knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, over the past four months, I have developed a sort of parking paranoia, and, as a result, have been hyper-sensitive to everything regarding proper parking-- including re-parking my car countless times to ensure that I am the requisite distance away from driveways and curbs. My parallel parking skills reign supreme now, as I parallel park my car roughly 2-3 times a day. Anyway, in the midst of my resolute attempts to win back the meter maids through karmic parking powers from beyond, it completely slipped my mind that I had parked in a metered spot last night and was supposed to wake up and move my car by 8am. As it turned out, I forgot to set my alarm and woke up at 9:30 this morning. I stumbled outside bleary-eyed and half-asleep, praying that I wouldn't see the familiar white envelope tucked under my windshield wiper. My months of parking paranoia must have paid off and transformed my luck-- there was no ticket on my car, and not a meter maid in sight.

Warning: Plantar warts story to follow

So it's not much of a secret, but I have warts on the bottom of my foot. One wart, which appeared on the underside of my toe approximately 1 1/2 years ago, finally spread to the bottom of my foot about 6 months ago. I know it seems kind of ridiculous and probably pretty disgusting that I've had two warts on the bottom of my foot for a long time now, but the truth of the matter is, they never bothered me or really caused me any problems, so I just kind of assumed that eventually they'd go away. I figured it was a let-the-virus-run-its-course-type scenario. Well, apparently, if you don't get rid of warts, they continue to spread. After several months of feeble over-the-counter wart treatment, I decided to just go to the doctor and have them frozen off. After briefly examining my viral foot, my doctor proceeded to inform me that I have not two but five warts on my foot! The moral of the story is, take care of warts right away. They might not seem like a big deal, and they may not even bug you, but they will slowly spread over your body, and if you are curious to see what that looks like, do a Google image search for plantar warts and you will be forever scarred-- I know I am. Plus, now I have to go back to the doctor in a couple weeks to get my "buddies" taken care of that have been on my foot the longest. That's what I get for doing too many extracurricular activities and jobs that require me to be barefoot.

MP3 time and a Mulder/Scully dream

And by "MP3" I don't mean music...I'm talking about Melrose Place season 3, which I received as a birthday present. It's the perfect Tuesday night activity when there's nothing else on TV to watch...and I guess it's the perfect writers strike activity as well, since who knows when the heck I'll be able to watch all of my beloved shows again after they disappear off the air. I already miss The Office, and I preemptively miss Heroes, too. At any rate, at least I've got Melrose and the second season of Supernatural to watch. And I'll probably re-watch Veronica Mars at some point. The most fantastic thing about Melrose Place is that there are 30 episodes-- 30! Back when TV shows were actually on for the duration of an entire school year, and didn't take ample and abundant hiatuses to interrupt the flow of the storyline. I wish I could say that MP3 will provide me with several weeks of viewing pleasure, but the reality is that I will probably end up watching season 3 in its entirety by the end of this extended weekend.

Speaking of TV shows, the other night I had a dream about Mulder and Scully. I can't really remember the details, except that Scully was out of the picture for a little while and it was just me and Fox--er, Mulder. I miss the X-files. I can't wait until the movie comes out. I hope there's a really inappropriate sex scene between Mulder and Scully-- and no, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

I've officially reached an all-time low/high

Today I started work at 5:15pm...and ended at 8pm. Thus is the life that I lead now.

Egghead

A few days ago, I was walking toward my car (parked on the street a block away from my apartment building) when I noticed what appeared to be an unusually large amount of bird crap splattered on the passenger side of my windshield. Upon closer inspection of the inordinate splatter-span of the alleged bird doo-doo haphazardly splashed on my car, I realized that it wasn't avian fecal matter at all, but rather the yolk of an egg smeared across my windshield, congealed in unsightly globules of goo, complete with egg shards protruding from the hardened yolk that tainted the window and top of my car.

I was egged-- without warning, without cause, and, seemingly, without intent to harm.

Interesting and disturbing fact

I just learned this on TLC: 25 million operations occur in the U.S. each year; of those 25 million surgeries, 1 in 15,000 people will have a surgical tool left inside them.

Apparently I'm a lot cooler than I used to be...

Last week, a woman approached me as I was walking to my car. She told me that she really liked the way I "put myself together" and that I looked "very nice." (For the record, I was wearing a knee-length black skirt, black tights with this funky flower pattern on them, a purple shirt, a black cardigan, and heels). I thought, what a nice compliment, and then she added that she was a fashion designer. I couldn't help but think that if she only saw how I dressed on other days, she'd probably take back her compliment.

It's almost Halloween!

Tomorrow is Halloween, one of my favorite holidays of the year (Christmas, of course, being my other favorite).

I guess that's pretty much all I wanted to point out.

Night of the Living Dead

In lieu of Halloween, I decided to watch the 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead. I've always been a big proponent of the original being the best, and this instance is no different. I'm not really sure what the value is in taking a movie that was originally made in black and white, keeping basically the same exact script, maintaining the same corny acting, and then putting everything in color. NOTLD wasn't originally a movie that required special effects or a big budget-- so if they're not really "modernizing" anything, so to speak, then what the heck was the point in remaking it only 22 years later? Just so we could see red blood? And this is not, by any means, a knock against zombie movies-- they happen to be my favorite horror sub-genre, followed closely by vampire flicks (Fright Night is one of my all-time faves).

Embarrassing moment

I am one of those unfortunate people who ultimately ends up embarrassing herself more frequently than the average person. Today (or technically yesterday, I suppose, since it's almost 1am), I had just finished a tutoring session with a student. The dad was waiting by the door and I stood up to go and introduce myself to him. Instead of making a graceful introduction, I stood up, catching my foot in the chair I had been sitting in, tripped over my foot and stumbled several feet across the room, flailing my arms in the air, and knocked the chair to the ground, stopping myself before landing flat on my face. What a great first impression. I attempted to regain as much composure as I could, shook the dad's hand, and told him that I was trying to make a grand entrance. I think he felt sorry for me. Hopefully he doesn't think I'm an incompetent tutor just because I have under-developed gross motor skills.

Steppin' it up a notch

I ran the Dawg Dash today, and instead of doing my usual 5K, I was overcome by a burning desire to run the 10K race. So I did. 6.2 miles. I made it. I ran all 6. 2 miles, and my goal was to break 60 minutes, which would have been averaging just under 10 minutes a mile. I shattered my goal and ran the 10K in 54:49. I'm happy. I think I might dabble in running longer distances my next few races. I feel like I ultimately end up pacing myself better when I'm running more than three miles-- maybe because my runner's high doesn't really kick in until around mile four, and at that point I just keep on running...like a machine-- not necessarily the fastest or most efficient machine, but a machine nonetheless. Anyway, it felt good to challenge myself and run a longer distance. Maybe there will be a marathon in my future after all...but I probably shouldn't get too far ahead of myself.

Just another face in the crowd...

I get a lot of people telling me that I look like someone they know... it kind of bugs me because it make me feel common and not special. Like today, for instance, when I was walking toward my work, a guy approached me and asked if I worked at the Mac store. When I told him no, he said I looked like a girl he had met there.

Do other people get that a lot, or is it just me? I'm not saying that it's a super-frequent occurrence that someone tells me that I look like someone they know, but it seems to happen often enough.

Funny bum

I parked far away from work today because I didn't wanna have to pay to park (which I've been doing the past few days). While I was walking down the sketchy part of the street to my car, a bum sitting on the sidewalk looked up at me and asked, "Will you love me forever?"

Needless to say, I was at a loss for words.

Turd on my bed

Contrary to what you may be thinking upon reading the subject heading of this particular post, I did not, in fact, poop in my bed. Last night, when I was getting ready to go to sleep, I was struck with an all-too-familiar pungent and repulsive odor: cat crap. Now my dear little Hector has a knack of taking a huge dump right before I go to sleep every night (I think this is due in large part to the fact that I typically clean his litter box in the evening, and he likes to "test out" the fresh litter). At any rate, the smell seemed to be even more pervasive than usual, and I groped my way to my bed, gasping and choking for air. I climbed into my bed and realized that the crap odor seemed to have grown in strength and intensity. Then I saw it-- out of the corner of my eye, on the edge of my bed, lay a perfect blemish on my blue floral sheets: a cat turd. I shrieked in surprise, jumped off of my bed, and reprimanded Hector, who stared up at me from the floor, wide-eyed and innocent, as if to ask, "Who, me?".

200 smackeroos!

I just found $200 in my piggy bank...this makes me very happy.

There's something about having actual $100 bills in a piggy bank that makes me less likely to spend it...I think that money feels fake online, like I'm not really spending anything. Maybe I should just cash out my savings account and hoard it in my bedroom-- I might be less inclined to spend it that way.

Orchestra

Yesterday was my first official rehearsal with the orchestra that I joined. It was so much fun-- I haven't played in an orchestra since junior year of high school, and I forgot how hard it is to try and play your part while listening to everyone else play their part, too. The orchestra is a pretty goofy hodge-podge of people, but I think that that's its charm. I sounded hideously awful, and I was out of tune and off-rhythm the entire rehearsal, but it felt so good to be playing my violin again that I really didn't care. The orchestra meets once a week for 12 weeks, and our concert is in mid-December, where we will be performing three songs, one of which, ironically enough, is a Bach concerto that I played as a duet with a friend in high school at one of our concerts. I still have the first half of the song memorized, so that one shouldn't be too bad. I just need to get back in the groove...

Tony Danza

Hopefully this will be the first and only time that I ever devote an entire blog entry to Tony Danza, but this is just too funny to resist. Right now I'm watching this ridiculous (is there any other kind?) Lifetime movie starring Tony Danza, and he plays a southern hick father of three with multiple personality disorder who murders his oldest daughter. This movie is incredibly disturbing for two reasons: 1) Tony Danza as a deranged murderer? Creepy ; 2) Tony Micelli with a southern Italian accent? Even creepier.

Right after this movie is another made-for-TV feature starring Joanna Kearns...I guess it's "return of the 80s sitcom parents night."

And the verdict is...

I ended up getting one of my parking tickets cut in half (I did a "mitigation by mail" and sent in a statement explaining the circumstances) and one of them dismissed (I went downtown to the Municipal Court and defended myself in person). So instead of having to pay $76 in parking tickets, I only have to pay $20. Needless to say I am very happy with the results. My faith in the justice system has been restored, and at least I know that while the meter maids are completely ruthless, the magistrates have some sense of compassion.

The simple life

Not the show, of course, but my life. Right now it's simple. And simple is good. I get to stay up late, then I get to sleep in. I get to lounge around in my pajamas, watch TV, go for a run, do some "On Demand" exercises courtesy of Comcast digital cable (I've been promised thinner thighs, firmer buns, and flatter abs in 7 days), then take a leisurely shower, spend an unnecessary amount of time straightening my hair and primping, and then go to work. Things are good right now, and I'm really enjoying this whole part-time thing. Of course, ideally, I'd like to fit in some writing some time between the hair-straightening and eight-minute abs, since having more time to write was kind of a major factor in my whole decision to work part-time.

I'm also finding time for extracurricular activities, too. I think being around students all the time now has made me reminisce on the days of being more of a "Jack of all trades"-type-- dabbling in sports here, music there... so anyway, I recently decided that I really missed playing the violin, bought all new strings for mine, and then signed up to play in a local all-ages community orchestra. I get into these phases where I get really bored with myself, and I have to do something that is interesting and independent. I think it's a self-defense mechanism to prevent me from becoming a completely reclusive hermit. The orchestra starts in a week and a half, and rehearsals will be once a week for an hour. I just hope that I'm not too rusty to try and pull this off. Before a couple days ago, I hadn't played my violin in over a year. But I'm hoping that weekly rehearsals will encourage me to practice and play more consistently. Oh, I forgot to mention one more thing: it's called the Ravenna Second String Orchestra (because it's for intermediate-level musicians). Isn't that the cutest name?

I know, I know...

OK, I know it's been, like, forever since I've updated my blog, so here's the Reader's Digest version of the past month:

Disneyland: Absolutely awesome. Without a doubt the most fun I had all summer (sorry Nickelby!). We experienced a potentially-fatal run on the Matterhorn when they took our cart aside and muttered some cryptic comment about a problem with the brakes. Of course, they didn't give us anytime to re-think our decision to go on the ride, so we were at the mercy of Mickey Mouse...thankfully, we survived.

Butte, Montana: Went to visit the boy while he was away on business. Highlights include road-tripping to Yellowstone National Park, where we saw elk, bison (I was particularly fond of one that I nicknamed "Fluffyhead," because, alas, his head was exceptionally fluffy), and a wolf; stopping at a chintzy, run-down water park in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho (where I bruised my back and my elbow on a waterslide that I'm not entirely sure met safety regulations-- but it was worth it); and of course, facing the omnipresent danger of being burned alive in the blink of an eye due to the rampant wildfires raging through the state of Montana.

Not Teaching: As many of you know by now, despite the fact that I recently graduated with a Master's in Teaching and my Washington state teacher's certification, I have decided not to pursue classroom teaching this year. Instead, I accepted a job with a tutoring agency: the pay is good, the hours are good, the location is good, and, if I'm ever going to give myself a fair shot at writing, I have to give myself a chance. So I've decided to pursue my real dream, which is (and has been since 3rd grade), to be an author. By day I'm a tutor, by night I moonlight as a writer. And I'm still doing my gymnastics b-day party gig on the weekend, because, damn it, I love little kids and I love birthday parties. So that's that.

Parking Tickets: I invite you to reflect on a previous blog entry that I wrote approximately a month ago, where I proceeded to rant in a lengthy, irate fashion (an accurate reflection of my deep-seeded rage, which is far-reaching in scope and intensity) about two parking tickets (received on consecutive days, no less) that I felt were unjust, unreasonable, and unfounded. Well, the streak continues, and on Tuesday of this week I received my third parking ticket. I'm beginning to wonder if the meter maids of the city of Seattle secretly planted a tracking device in me...

Disneyland!

In one week I will be at Disneyland, the happiest place on earth. I'm counting down the days!

I'm probably going to jail...

...because I'm going to adamantly, if not violently, refuse to pay the TWO parking tickets that I got on two consecutive days.

Ticket #1: Thursday morning, 8:44am. I arrive home late Wednesday night and park in a metered spot because there are no zone spots available in my neighborhood (which are reserved for residents and which there is a serious, almost offensive, shortage of. Anyway, I run downstairs in my pajamas at 8:45 Thursday morning to go move my car and hopefully find a zone spot. I'm still groggy and half-asleep, and I probably look like one of the hobos who frequents our street in the wee morning hours. I see the meter maid car parked in front of mine, and I run to my car to go and move it before I get a ticket. Too late. The meter maid is busy ticketing the car directly two spots behind mine. I pick up the ticket and hold it out to her, pleading, and say, "Please, is there anything you can do?" She looks at me and replies mechanically, "Sorry, the ticket's already been written." $35. $35 for 45 minutes. I am basically in tears as I go to move my car. And this lady is particularly ruthless. I see her all the time in my neighborhood, whipping out her stupid little machine, issuing tickets left and right like it's her god-given duty on this earth.

...and it gets even better (or worse)....

Ticket #2: Friday, 5:14pm. I go to the U-District Friday afternoon to meet with my new employer and fill out some paperwork (more about that later). I park in a metered spot, PAY the meter, and assume that I'll probably be out of there within an hour, but give myself 10 extra minutes just in case. I head back to my car right around 5:30, make brief conversation with a confused old Asian man who is a real estate agent but is asking me about a parking lot across the street, and hop in my car and drive off. About ten minutes later I notice a white piece of paper gently flapping in the summer breeze on the righthand side of my windshield. My eyes take a minute to focus, and I feel like I'm seeing a phantom. You've got to be kidding me, I think to myself. But the ticket remains stuck under my windshield wiper, taunting me as I'm willing it to just blow away in the wind and claim ignorance to the whole pathetically unfortunate fiasco. When I finally arrive at Safeway, I rip the ticket out from under my windshield wipers and open the envelope. The meter I paid for expired at 5:12pm, and the ticket was issued at 5:14pm. Two minutes! Two freakin' minutes!?! And this is on a Friday afternoon, when the damn parking meters are all turned off at 6pm anyway. Another $35 ticket. For two minutes. What the hell is wrong with the city of Seattle? Aren't there more important things to do than ticket innocent people?

One thing is for sure, though: I am sure as hell not paying these parking tickets. I would seriously, I swear to God, rather spend a night in jail than pay these tickets. $70 f-ing dollars!?! That's unreal. Sorry, city of Seattle, you can all just suck it on this one. Because I'm not coughing up $70 for a combined total of 46 minutes of unpaid parking. Especially when 44 of them don't even count because there aren't enough damn zone spots available in the first place. Maybe if we didn't vote against the monorail or had a reliable, actually useful public transportation system none of this crap would have happened. If I could use an Unforgivable Curse on meter maids, I would. And I'd do it with no regrets. But alas, how is a Muggle to fight a Death Eater?

HP7

I can't believe I'm reading the last Harry Potter book. It's completely crazy. I'm so deathly afraid of inadvertently finding out how the book ends that I'm sheltering myself as much as possible from the outside world-- and I'm doing minimal surfing of the Net, which means no blog-reading until I'm done with Harry.

I truly can't believe it's the last book...OK, enough talk about Harry...time to go read!

Alright, I admit it...

...I'm bored. I've been done with school for almost 6 days now, and I'm getting pretty bored. And I've worked three of these six days, too, so that's saying something right there. I think the problem is that it's just really difficult to transition from being insanely busy with barely enough time to sleep to having absolutely nothing to do. Here's what I've done these past few days in my abundant free time:
-applied for jobs
-run 13 miles (not all at once, so don't get too excited)
-surfed the net
-watched three "On Demand" episodes of "The Facts of Life" (embarrassing but true)
-cleaned the apartment

Ruminations

I can't believe it. I'm done. I'm actually finished with school. No more papers, no more homework, no more projects and portfolios... You know when you finish something big and you feel like you're expecting, I don't know, fireworks or something? But then nothing really happens and everything's just sort of anticlimactic? Well, that's how I feel right now. It's weird when something really important in your life occurs and you come home to an empty apartment-- well, almost empty, except for your lazy cat sprawled out across the floor, sleeping the afternoon away. I feel kind of naked without school, like it was protecting me from having to be a "real" adult. And now I have to venture back out into the great unknown and find a job and live a life. I kind of just want to be a student forever.

Waiting to exhale

Three days left of school...I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

"Little engine that could" references aside, the one bright spot in my week is seeing Harry Potter tomorrow at the Imax. I can't wait. Unfortunately, between now and Friday I have a buttload of work to do. Now that I've actually reduced myself to typing the word "buttload," I'm really beginning to question my graduate-level education...

You gotta love city livin'

This past weekend I went to Pike Place Market and then to a little park by the waterfront. Everyone was just hanging out, lounging around on the park benches and grassy hills, when, out of nowhere, this totally random black guy saunters by, a boom box hoisted on his shoulder and the "Ghostbusters" theme song blaring from the speakers. It was great.

I guess I don't really have anything interesting to say...

so I'll just leave it at that.

My elective

Today was the first day of one of my elective classes, which is a seminar in writing instruction. In order to be able to teach kids how to write, we ourselves have to go through the process-- or so claimed my professor. Naturally, I was very excited when she told us this, because that means some fun creative writing assignments for us. Anyway, we read a prose poem in class and then began to write our own. We went around the room and shared our poems, and then talked about what lines/parts stood out to us. Someone in the class said they really liked my descriptions and couldn't understand some of the words that I used. Then my professor said, "That's we call an 'elevated level of diction.'" So that made me happy...I guess. Although at this point, I feel like the majority of grad students probably have an "elevated level of diction." But I'll just pretend for a moment that I'm extra-special.

Griffey returns!

Last night I went to the Mariners/Reds game, and it was the first time that Ken Griffey, Jr. had been back in Seattle since he left the team eight years ago. Pretty hard to believe he's been gone for so long. The M's got totally blown out 16-1, but the fact that Griffey was there made it all worthwhile. They even sold retro Mariners T-shirts with "Griffey" on the back. It's just so bizarre to compare the two most dramatically different homecomings for two former Mariner superstars: Griffey was welcomed with open arms like a true hero, and A-Rod was booed and had money thrown at him. My eyes teared up when Griffey referred to Seattle as "home." I only wish that A-Rod could have felt the same way...

Boo.

Not like "boo-hoo, I'm crying," not like "boo, you're scared," not like "boo, you suck," just boo. Plain and simple.

School again

So I have four weeks of class, starting tomorrow, and then I'm completely done. It's so weird to think about being back in the classroom as a student...I've still got about 10 more short stories to grade for my seventh-graders, so technically I'm still not totally done with my student-teaching experience yet. But at least I'll be able to drop by the school and visit my students this week, so that will be nice. I miss them. On my last day of teaching, they gave me a yearbook that they had all pooled together and bought for me and then passed it around and signed it. It was really sweet.

My week off

It's been so nice having this week off...no school, no work, no nothing. It's been a productive week, though, regardless of the fact that I haven't been working or teaching. I went to the dentist, took Hector to the vet (he got a clean bill of health and lots of compliments), got my hair done, and still have had time to run, grade papers, and read. It makes you realize that there really are enough hours in the day to do everything-- if you don't have a job or anything tying you down.

Graduation!

Yesterday was my graduation for my MIT (Master in Teaching, not Massachusetts Institute of Technology) program. Even though my program doesn't technically end until mid-July, my cohort got to participate in the ceremony anyway. Graduation was pretty nice, and the weather held out for me despite the forecast, which called for cloudy skies and showers.

To celebrate being officially "unofficially" done with my program, I had a big BBQ with family and friends and then sang karaoke at a gay bar last night. It was awesome.

Losing weight=running faster

I just read in my latest edition of Runner's World that for every pound of weight you lose, you shave two seconds off a mile. So that means that the reason I haven't been able to PR in two years is the extra pounds I've packed on. That kind of makes me angry, but kind of encourages me to know that I'm technically probably still as fast as I was when I raced my best times, only there's a little extra thigh and belly holding me back. Unfortunately, I've been eating complete crap lately, so I'm only getting slower. Theoretically, if I lost 20 pounds I'd be able to shave 4 minutes off my 5K time! That's pretty crazy. But I don't want to lose 20 pounds, because then I would actually look like a runner (no offense to people with traditional "runner's bodies," I'm just not really into the super-lean build. I don't think it would suit me). I kind of like being a "thicker" runner-- I think it throws off my competition and gives me a leg up (haha, no pun intended).

My last week of student-teaching

I can't believe that this is my last week of student-teaching! It's so weird. I'm really going to miss my students. I had them do online evaluations of me today, and some of their responses are hilarious. I'll have to post them later this week. Right now I'm totally swamped with grading. My students' final drafts of their short stories were due on Friday, so I'm rushing to get everything graded by the end of this week. I found a story that I wrote in seventh grade and I'm posting it on our class blog so my students can see it. While they're busy writing about real life situations like rape and war and friendship drama, they can read a story that I wrote about a selfish warlock. We're worlds apart, these kids and me, but I can't help loving them all the same.

I saw the saddest thing today...

...an overturned jar of Skippy creamy peanut butter, spilling out onto the sidewalk and melting in the 85-degree heat. Poor PB! :(

"Houston, we have a weekend."

God bless Memorial Day! I actually have two full days off-- no work, no teaching, no nothing! It's my first two consecutive days off in six weeks. I planned on just kicking back and relaxing, but now I realize there's a ton of other crap that needs to get done, like cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, laundry, grocery shopping, washing my car... all that stuff that no one ever has time for during the week. Not to mention a few papers to grade and some lesson planning for next week. But I still plan on watching an inordinate amount of TV, running a few miles, and reading The Time Traveler's Wife, which I'm completely enthralled with right now.

I'm too tired to go grocery shopping...

I've eaten cereal for dinner every night this week. I hate grocery shopping. I'm running out of food but I can't bear the thought of going to Safeway.

I just ate...

...two giant bowls of cereal and 1/3 jar of peanut butter. This is how starving I am when I get home from teaching. Now I have to wait till it digests so I can go run it off this evening...

Things that make me happy right now...

1) Peanut butter
2) Running
3) Kids
4) Melrose Place season two
5) Extended daylight hours
6) My laptop

Sigh (again).

I did a crappy job teaching today and my pants keep falling down. What more could go wrong in the world?

I can't remember...

I'm pretty sure a student asked me something really funny today, but for the life of me I can't remember... It's driving me nuts...

Anyway, when I think of it I'll post it-- if I ever remember it, and if it was actually funny. Maybe I'm just delusional.

Sigh.

The weekend goes by too fast. I'm not ready for Monday.

I'm pretty sure I'm manic...

The thing that sucks about being manic-depressive (which I have not actually been formally diagnosed to have, but I'm pretty sure I'm at least mildly bipolar) is that when you're depressed you're really down in the dumps. The thing that's great about being manic-depressive is when you're happy, nothing can bring you down.

Right now I'm in a state of pure mania. I don't know why. I just had a lot of fun teaching today and I decided that I'm creative and awesome and all my lesson plans kick butt. It's a good feeling. And the fact that tomorrow is Friday helps. I don't even care that I have to work this weekend. The one drawback to being in a completely manic state is that I start to get in a really social, planning mood, and then I plan things and don't stick to them because when the time actually rolls around for me to do them, I'm in a foul mood again.

OK, maybe I'm not actually bipolar. But I'm definitely the moodiest person.

Nah, I'm bipolar.

My first couple days as an official full-time student teacher

I started my creative writing unit today with my students. I showed them The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode with "The Raven," and then we read Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart." I think it went over pretty well. Teaching is really fun, and so far it hasn't been too stressful, but I know things will get crazier once the kids start turning in homework and I have to actually grade stuff. But for now I'm liking it...I just had a realization this weekend that I'm around kids every single day-- during the week at school and on the weekends at work. And then I come home to Hector, who is basically a kid anyway (or at least he needs as much attention as a child). People think because I love kids so much that I should have kids of my own-- but this is precisely why I don't want kids-- being around them 6 1/2 hours a day is one thing, but being around them 24/7 is a whole other deal. Plus I have anger management issues.

The job search continues...

I had another school district interview today, and it went pretty well. I really hope that I get a job soon so I can have some peace of mind over the summer.

Happy birthday, Hector!

Today is my kitty's birthday! Well, technically it's our one-year anniversary together. Since he was a stray, I decided his birthday is the day that I adopted him (which is coincidentally Earth Day as well as my grandpa's birthday). I can't believe I've had Hector for a year! In honor of his birthday, here are some of the highlights of the past year we've spent together:

-Hector attempting to eat a poster hanging on my bedroom wall in the middle of the night (which unfortunately has become a habitual routine)
-Hector climbing into my kitchen sink at my old apartment
-Hector sitting on my lap for the two-hour duration of the Leo version of Romeo and Juliet the very first night I got him
...and the number one most memorable Hector moment...
waking up to the smell of crap one morning last spring, realizing that there was a brown smear on my pillow only inches from my face, and seeing Hector standing on my bed, a dingleberry stuck to his fur.

Happy birthday, Hector of Troy! I love you!

Round 2

Well, I guess I didn't suck up my interview as much as I thought I did, because they called me back today to schedule a second interview. I can't even describe how wonderful it would be to have a job all lined up for the fall...

Interview

I had my first school district interview today. I think I totally bombed it. I rambled on and on in an inarticulate fashion and didn't even answer anything they asked me. I don't know if I'll ever get a job...

On the other side of the coin, my field supervisor came to observe me teaching for the first time and told me that I displayed self-confidence and had "great poise" and a very "pleasant teaching style." You can tell he doesn't really know me...

My new love

I got a new computer as a pre-graduation present. It's beautiful. It's an HP Pavilion laptop and I love it so much that I slept with it next to my bed last night... but then Hector knocked over my glass of water and I almost had a panic attack. But fortunately no droplet of water touched my beloved possession, or else it would have been all over for the kitty.

For your enjoyment...

The best picture ever.

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.