I Fully Support Corporal Punishment

I just watched The Bank of Hollywood, that show where people ask famous millionaires for money. They just gave a woman over $4,000 to buy shoes. Shoes. Um, excuse me, I could use four grand and I would do more than buy shoes thank you very much. I mean, I’d buy shoes, just reasonably priced ones and then donate the rest to world peace. Can you just write “World Peace” on a check and then toss it in the mail? Probably.


My work just recently cut my hours. Just like everyone else, they are trying to make every penny count and that has luckily had little effect on me in the past…but now…mucho effecto.

Which means I’m going to have to start substitute teaching again. Boo. I really hated that. Right after I got my credential and was all gung-ho about teaching I started to sub and very quickly realized I hate children. Kidding. That’s a gross exaggeration. I don’t hate kids. Kids are great. It’s just that trying to control a different group of them in a classroom setting day after day can take a toll on one’s mental well-being.

I wanted to preserve the well-being of my mental so I stopped submitting myself to the torture that is the public school system and now, after 7 glorious months, I have to return.

I imagine myself, in uncomfortable teacher-clothes, marching up to the school office at some ungodly hour like 8:30 and asking the disheveled secretary for a key to the classroom. Then I walk, slowly, to the multiple lines of children on the playground trying to figure out which class is mine for the day. I see a nice, straight row with smiling faces and the look of academia written all over them and pray they are mine. No. It’s the kids in the crooked line, chewing gum, pulling hair, and participating in general acts of tomfoolery. I’m all for tomfoolery but only with people who are of legal drinking age.

I try to be the cool sub, the strict sub, the nice sub. The whatever sub that keeps them from destroying the classroom and setting me or anything I own on fire.

The funny thing is, my rookie mistake: I actually try to teach these kids something. I have actually gone hoarse (no joke) trying to convey some sort of knowledge in my short time as their temporary teacher.

Why do I do this? I should know better. I tortured subs as a child. I switched name tags thinking it would be hilarious if the sub called me Amanda all day but then I forget after about 30 minutes in which the sub calls out “Amanda” twelve or so times before I get elbowed in the side and go, “Ow! Oh…here!”

I like to teach. I think knowledge is wonderful. Teaching, an art. Learning, a treasure. Let’s just say if I could be a fan of “The Pursuit of Knowledge” on Facebook I would totally click that button! But trying to do it in one day with kids I don’t know (or like very much) is just plain torture.

When I think of hell I picture florescent lighting and the smell of dry-erase markers.

(picture stolen from here)

-Age

Now THAT is a Long Way Down

It’s as if I’m at the top of a roller coaster. It’s highest point. I can see the entire amusement park that is my life down below from the kiddy-filled Dumbo ride to the Tunnel of Love. The last “click” has sounded and I am now at that moment when the ride seems to stop altogether, if only for a fraction of a second, before racing at much too high a speed down, down, down. My hair will whip around, the skin on my face start to peel back in a freakish grin, my stomach doing summersaults, and a long, loud scream scraping through my throat.

In a little over a week’s time, I turn 26. The latter half of my twenties. The, “Oh, hey! The big 3-0’s comin’ up soon!” The barely hanging on to my mid-twenties. The “Holy Crap. When did this happen?”

Why does 26 sound so much older than 25? Is it just me?

Not that my…gulp…late twenties won’t be awesome. I’m sure it’s going to be great, full of adventure and blah, blah, blah. I can’t summon up the energy to think about that now. I’m too busy freaking out!

Though I know I’m on the “right path” and all, there is still a part of me that feels I should have checked some more things of the List of Life by now. Shouldn’t I be married or at least close (I am not even remotely close)? Maybe even have a kid or two? Shouldn’t I be full of 5-year, 10-year, 20-year plans and overflowing personal calendars/organizers/agendas? Shouldn’t I have my own place for crying out loud (not like a room where I get to cry however loud I want, that was just an expression), 26 being way too old to still have roommates (who aren’t even really roommates cuz it’s their house and I’m just renting a room)?

Birthdays. Boo. Too much forced self-reflection. Why can’t I just rip open my gifts, drink too much, and be done with it?

Life really does seem like a roller coaster sometimes. You wait in line for hours and when you finally get on the ride, pull the safety bar down (have the amusement park employee double check it cuz, really, it’s better to be safe than dead on the pavement having been tossed out mid-loop), before you know it, the ride’s over. The trick is to make sure you’re waiting in line with people you really like and when those opportunities in life come along in which “hopping on” and “holding on for dear life” are necessary, make the absolute most out of them.

I hope to do just that so when I talk about turning 96, it’ll just be me rambling again about all the wonderful memories I’ve created… “Remember that one time, when we were waiting in line for the log ride, and Amanda translated Nelly’s ‘Pimp Juice’ into white-people-talk? She called it ‘Man Milk’. And remember the time when we were waiting in line for Splash Mountain and Colleen sang ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ and said, ‘sit right there in that chair right there’ while pointing at an imaginary chair and people around us started to get kinda freaked out? And remember when…”

-Age

What Did I Tell You About Yuppers?

Things I Like:

• Awkward pauses between people who are not me
• Puppies, not dogs, just puppies (I think dogs should have a life expectancy of about 6 months)
• Impressionism (the art kind, not people who can do impressions)
• Sunshine & daisies – together or apart
• Flattering (usually slightly blurry) pictures of me
• Unflattering pictures of people who always look way too pretty
• Italian soccer
• Italian soccer players
• The Italian language
• Just basically anything Italian
• A good deal
• Unique tattoos (not the brightly colored ones though)
• Getting lost in a good book
• Baby smiles
• Dwight
• Sitting around a campfire (mmmm, s’mores)
• Your mom

Things I Don’t Like:

• Pretentious lists about people’s likes and dislikes as if anyone cares
• People who do that “sexy squint” every time they look in a mirror
• People who think they’re too cool to laugh at something funny
• People who complain a lot
• People with excessive cleavage – put those away (yes, a little jealousy is involved there)
• A book that gives the impression that it might get good but never does
• Golf, for obvious reasons
• When my computer acts up but the second I show someone the weird thing it’s doing, it works perfectly.
• Those “head to toe” guys – slowly and shamelessly takin’ in the whole thing when a girl walks by – ew – I guess I coulda just saved time and wrote “douchebags”
• When I get all cozy in bed and then realize I forgot something downstairs
• Axe-murderers

-Age

Get This Thing Off!

I went to Ross recently and bought some clothes because I was in desperate need (every pair of jeans I owned had holes in them – though, to be fair, some I purchased that way). When I got home to admire my new bounty (girls do that), I realized that the stupid little grey plastic security thingy was still attached to a sweatshirt like one of those little baby koalas to it’s mothers back. And I hear that if you try to pry it off yourself, ink will spray everywhere. What! So, it’s just ruined for everyone? Criminals need to be warm too, ya know!

Not saying that I’m a criminal or anything. I paid for that sweatshirt. I have the receipt right…wait, I just had it…Oh, here it…no. Crap.

So I take it back to the store to have the little thingy that’s clinging to the sweatshirt like some sort of strange, ugly bug removed, my friends, Amanda and Charlie, coming along for moral support (and the fact that they never – and I mean NEVER – pass up an opportunity to go bargain shopping). Right when I walk in the door the alarm goes off. Huh, that’s funny, I don’t remember an alarm going off when I left the store with this stupid baby koala attached to my sweatshirt like a Sea Beast wrapping it’s tentacles around an unsuspecting ship. Whoever invented that Anti-Theft Device should be killed. Too much?

I explain myself to the Sales Lady and she refers me to Security.

Perfect.

So then strolls over a man wearing a navy blue bomber jacket with a thin black mustache (I immediately began to fear for the girl he tied to the railroad tracks) and a look of “seriousness usually associated with unabridged dictionaries and old gorillas.” (Pessl, 2006)

“What seems to be the problem, young lady?”

“H-Hello, Sir. Well, it seems as though…I was just wondering if…Can you take this off, please?”

“Do you have the receipt?”

“Uh, well, no, but that’s only cuz I threw it away. But I totally bought this sweatshirt. I was with my mom and, um, we were shopping, and then, uh, we paid for it with…money. Promise.”

Let’s just say it took some serious persuasion, mostly on Amanda's part (I think there may have been some bribery involved at one point but, due to post-traumatic stress on my part, I can't exactly remember) before Bruce Willis allowed the Sales Lady to disengage the ink-bomb that was attached to my sweatshirt.

But then we decided to stay and go shopping. NOT my idea.

He already suspects (if only in the back of his mind) that I am a thief. Not only that, but a thief whose gotten away with her thievery in his store. So, of course, I assume he is watching me like a hawk, ready to swoop down and pull the multi-colored glass rooster (original value $49.99 - now marked down to $7.50!) out of my jacket pocket. Hey, how’d that get in there?

Have you ever noticed that when someone suspects you of something, you can’t help but confirm their fears by acting suspicious? Even if you’re completely innocent. You can feel you’re being watched and you begin to think of all the things you shouldn’t do to attract unnecessary attention and then, for whatever reason, that’s all you seem to be able to do.

Looking over my shoulder a bunch would seem suspicious. So, naturally, I do that. Watching people from the corner of my eye only to quickly look away when they notice is probably a bad idea. Check. Putting my hands in my pocket and out again repeatedly would seem strange. Done and done. Looking at the security camera entirely too many times may not be wise. And…Action!

I was so paranoid and aware of my every action that I started to feel unnatural. Robotic. Nothing looks less casual than trying really hard to appear casual. I couldn’t wait to leave. I started sweating, I think. When we did finally leave, I made an attempt to seem as unbulky as possible, streamlining my coat so there was no way that anything was hidden underneath it or in the pockets.

As we passed under the florescent lighting into the cool night air and I was finally free, I noticed the security guard outside smoking a cigarette and chatting up some chick.

Sigh.



-Age

I'll Miss This Place...

Here's some pictures I took recently in the Lovely Land of Beaumont (and surrounding areas):


We have a Shetland Pony Farm just down the road...jealous? This one was my favorite.


Adrienne and the Jenkins' Folk Band posing next to their groovy tour bus.




Is that a giant? No, it's a teeny-tiny mini car!


















I don't know Ted, but apparently he's yummy...



-Age

The Eyes are a Window to the Soul...Or Something Like That

I’m a bit awkward. I’m not talking cute, endearing kinda awkward though I also wouldn’t consider myself one of those weirdoes that doesn’t understand the line where eye-contact becomes full on staring. I don’t just blush with adorable, sweet pink cheeks (more like a tomato-red occasionally bordering on magenta). But I don’t nervously clear my throat in the middle of my words either. I do fumble over words more often than I’d like, sometimes allowing full sentences to just drop off cuz I can’t get the syllables to work for me and I stop caring. Though, at the same time, I’ve never told people I barely know personal or inappropriate information about myself as if I were talking about the weather and then actually wait for a response (yes, I know people like that).

What I’m trying to say, rather inarticulately, is that I’m averagely awkward. I get all blushy at strange moments and sometimes feel this “fight or flight” response. Though, for me, it could just be called “flight.” I don’t actually flee, but I want to. This usually occurs when I feel sort of trapped. Like behind my desk at work. Someone will ask me a personal question or wink at me in that way that only “winkers” can and I get all, I don’t know, uncomfortable. I’m not sure why this happens and I can’t begin to explain it but I’ve pretty much always been that way.



The thing is, the thing I can’t stand is, my physical reaction to my uncomfortableness. What’s the deal with blushing, huh? Why’s the whole world have to know that I feel like the A-cup in a wet t-shirt contest? Or shaky hands? That’s not easy to hide. I mean, at least I don’t have a facial-tic or something terrible like that but the shake from my hands does sometimes travel up to my voice. UGH! I hate all of those things and refuse to embrace them as an unavoidable part of being me.

I don’t often have that wide range of reactions. I mostly get that steady creep of heat that starts at the base of my neck and travels up to the top of my head. The shakiness is often reserved for public speaking and good-looking guys that decide to speak or smile in my general direction. That sucks.

I wouldn’t mind feeling that strange sense of panic if I could just keep it a secret, you know?

It would be nice to know some sort of trick to help in these situations. Some kind of secret phrase or word or action that suddenly makes me feel in control of myself. There has to be something, right?

What if it’s as simple as a smile? That seems possible. When you feel uncomfortable, smile.

It’ll have to be something big though. No closed-mouth, toothless grin but a full-on beam. People love it when you beam at them. A smile that’s not just around the mouth but the whole face. An eye-incorporating smile that seems to send arrows of happiness through the air and straight to the other person’s soul. How could I possibly feel uncomfortable while sending happy love arrows through my eyeballs. That doesn’t sound as pretty in writing as it does in my head.

Happy eyeball arrows to you all, in a non-creepy kinda way.



-Age

Blessings Abound

With the latest crisis in Haiti, I’ve been thinking about my life and how blessed I really am. The Bible says that the Lord will not give us more than we can handle. I live a pretty unproblematic, simple life in Sunny Southern California with amazing friends and family that will always take care of me so I think…God must not think I can handle very much. This line of thinking helps to keep me humble and to be a Counter of Blessings. Literally:

Blessing #1:
I work at a daycare and one of the parents works for the Department of Public Health. She set me up with an appointment to get my booster shots for my Peace Corps physical without having to pay! It would have cost over $100 otherwise!

Blessing #2:
My dentist (James Jesse DDS) offered to give me a check-up, make copies of my x-rays, and fill out the Peace Corps paperwork for free! Free!

Blessing #3:
My best friends are letting me rent a room for $300 less a month than I was paying before so I can save $$$. Plus, they’re awesome and living with them is going to be a lot of fun!

Blessing #4:
I just had some espresso frozen yogurt.

Thank you, Lord, for loving me so much. He loves you too.

Here's a list of ways you can help with the crisis in Haiti (via It's Unbeweavable): HERE!

Tell me about the different ways you've been blessed lately. Leave it in the comment section.



-Age

Doctors, Dentists, and Prince Charming

So, the next step in this Peace Corps process is to complete a physical and dental examination. They sent me a medical packet listing all of the things I need to have completed by a doctor/dentist and turn in as soon as possible. It’s all pretty basic. Like a really in-depth physical. But the booster shots…

I have to get like nine different shots! Holy Crap! And I’m thinking of doing this all in one visit. Just, boom, get it done. But now I’m wondering if I even have enough skin on my body to get that many shots. What if I were to get them all on one arm and the next day my arm falls off? I think that can happen.

Or what if I spread them out and than it looks like I’ve been attacked in my sleep by needle-yielding gnomes? I just gave myself the chills. I’m definitely checking under my bed tonight for any sign of gnomes. I’ll look for yarn. I'm pretty sure they like to knit things. I also think they use chewing tobacco so I’ll look for spittoons as well. Man, I really hope there’s not a spittoon under my bed.

Maybe I’m over-exaggerating. It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten a shot. Maybe there’s not even a mark. I don’t know. But I sorta feel like I’m five years old again, just about to get those pre-Kindergarten shots, old enough to know they suck and yet too young to do anything about it. Just sitting and waiting for the inevitable torture that my mom and this strange man in a long white jacket plan to inflict on me. Punks.

My mom’s not coming with me this time. Kinda wish she would.

There are other aspects of the physical exam part that I am REALLY not looking forward to but I’ll spare you all the details. Can I just say, “ew.” Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.

I also have really terrible insurance. Basically, if I get in a really bad car accident, my head falls off and the doctor’s have to re-attach it, I’ll be covered. Beyond that, nada. So I really gotta make this visit go a long way. It’ll be a long, looooonnnnnnggggg day.

And I’ve only been to the dentist once in the past six years (to get my wisdom teeth pulled so my teeth would stop getting all smooshed) and during my check-up they said, “You seem to take excellent care of your teeth, no cavities.” I’ve never had a cavity. Perfect teeth. Who says you have to go to the dentist every six months? Just brush ‘em!

No dental insurance anymore whatsoever. This is the reason I have decided not to take up boxing or hockey. Okay, not the only reason.

Basically, I’m really hoping to pull the, “I’m joining the Peace Corps cuz I’m awesome so I was sorta hoping you would do all of this for free” card (smiling oh, so sweetly).

If that doesn’t work, I’ll just marry some Eastern European prince and he’ll pay for all my medical bills in rubies and diamonds. But only the old, dirty one’s that he was planning to throw out anyway.



-Age

A Combination of Things

So, silly me, I decided to start a second blog because the first, this one, had such a specific focus and I didn't want to deviate from that. Well, now, just forget all that! I plan to combine them and have a wonderfully strange and confusing hybrid. Like those Liger things that may or may not be real. Seriously, are they real?

I'm not entirely sure how to do that. Something about importing and exporting past blog posts. I barely passed economics so I'm pretty sure that I'm gonna do this wrong. Does inflation effect blog posting? I really don't know.

Anyway, as I plan to inform all interested on my doings with the Peace Corps, as well as including quirky anecdotes about my daily life as an exceptional receptionist/friend/daughter/baby-holder/roommate/church-going/single/non-smoker person, I just thought why not put it all in one place. A nice mesh of all things inconsiquential and most likely misspelled...I may have just misspelled misspelled. Don't you see? You get irony here as well! What could be better? Oh. A lot of things. I see. Well, in that case, only read this when you're at work and your boss is out of the office and nothing cool is on youtube. I'll try my best to entertain. And if that doesn't work, GO BACK TO WORK YOU LAZY BUM! Jeez!

No, but really. I love you. Don't forget that. I would kiss you square on the lips if you were here. Well, no. I wouldn't do that cuz I'm a lady...and the swine flu. But I'll blow a kiss in the general direction of all of your lips right now. You don't really care do you? I'm just rambling now. Alright.

Well, I'm still the Age of Reason and I still love you.



-Age

Holy Moly, I'm Going to the Peace Corps!!!

Lately I’ve been feeling a bit lost. I even started a blog based on my “not so sure what the heck I’m doing”-ness but recently I’ve been given a push in the right direction. A shove I think would actually be more accurate. My prayers have been answered and the Lord told me, not so subtly, what He has planned.

Growing up, I always wanted to move somewhere that was far away and extremely different from what I knew and loved. I was excited by the adventure, by the opportunity to grow, and I wanted to fall in love with something, whether it be the new places I would visit, the people I would meet, or my old home that I was given the opportunity to fully appreciate through my travels. New York was at the top of my list in my late teens. Italy is the country I tried desperately to gain access to in my early twenties. And when I recently finished college and received my teaching credential, I considered something far more extreme.

In early December of this crazy year, I started my Peace Corps application. I thought, “what a great opportunity to experience all of the things I’ve been craving while at the same time helping others and making a much needed difference in this world.” The more I learned about the program the more I wanted to join. After completing the surprisingly lengthy application process, I was almost immediately contacted by my recruiter to come to LA for an interview and informative seminar. I started to get excited…and a little nervous. OK. A lot nervous.

Before my interview, I told my dad about my plans. I expected him to point out all of the cons but what I was not expecting was for him to ignore all of the pros I tossed into the conversation. Basically, he was adamant about me not going. This was a bit of a let down and I started to quickly doubt myself and my choice. Don’t get me wrong, my dad has my best interests at heart and I know that the thought of my leaving for 27 months wasn’t too thrilling. Luckily, I have amazing friends.

I use words like amazing and spectacular and awesome far too often so when the time comes for those words to actually mean something, they fall flat. I cannot express in words the depth of my friend’s love for me and my love for them. I am literally awed by them, surprisingly touched by their compassion, forever bonded to them and there’s pretty much nothing they can do about it.



They quickly rallied behind me: picking me up, dusting me off, and filling me with so much encouragement I could have burst. They would miss me but that was a small price to pay for the ultimate benefit of such an amazing experience. The Lord has truly blessed me with a balance of friends and family that I sometimes feel I don’t deserve, though I’ll try to.

Anyway, it usually takes 9-12 months from the time you turn in your application to the time you get on a plane and depart for your destination. That’s if you get accepted. I was so sure I would be waiting months to hear anything after my interview if I did get accepted. What I was not expecting was for my recruiter, Lindsay, to whip a piece of paper off her desk and inform me that a spot was available and she wanted me to take it. I would be leaving in 5 months. Uhhhhhhh…….

I may have started hyperventilating after the meeting. She basically told me all that I needed to do, as quickly as possible, in order to receive my golden ticket and fly to…wait for it…EASTERN EUROPE in a few months.



I quickly found my Peace Corps map and looked up the countries we serve in that area of the world. I’d never even heard of some. Did you know there was a country called Moldova? Azerbaijan? Me either. But I could be potentially spending more than two years living there!

The next few months will be a whirlwind but I plan to keep updating this constantly changing blog of mine to keep those interested well informed. Your encouragement and support, opinions and advice through this blog will make my day! Will make my 27 months actually! Love you all, big and small. (I wasn’t calling any of you fat, I just got carried away)

Blame it on the Office Equipment

Remember that scene in Office Space where they take the copy machine and smash it to pieces with a baseball bat while gangsta music plays in the background? That scene was hilarious because, while most of us don’t relate to beating the crap out of an actual person in the middle of a vacant field and leaving them for dead, most of us can identify with the desire to take, let’s say, a shredder out back and shooting it between it’s crooked little teeth. (If you actually are in the mafia and do relate to baseball bat beatings and fitting people with cement shoes or whatever, know that I was really sad when James Caan got all shot up in that one movie)



Reaching my fingers into the machine (without unplugging it first cuz I like to live on the wild-side) and prying out, piece by stupid piece, all the little zig-zag strips of paper that keep clogging the dang thing - not my favorite job. Especially when I’m stooped over at an awkward angle, my not so insubstantial butt in the air, trying to suppress a stream of expletives when a man comes up behind me who has to clear his throat to get my attention (after standing there for who knows how long!) and I have to pull myself together and act like I’m not embarrassed so I can say, “Oh. Hello. How can I help you?” It’s moments like this when I think, “Huh, I have not come quite as far as I thought I would at age 25. I was so certain I would have an army of minions to do these menial tasks for me by now.” Turns out I am a minion. I don’t even know what that means.

Google Dictionary definition of a minion:

min•ion (mĭn'yən)
n.
1. An obsequious follower or dependent; a sycophant.

Ahem. I’m not proud of this next part but it was necessary as my vocabulary isn’t what it never was.

obsequious [uh b-see-kwee-uh s]
–adjective
1. characterized by or showing servile complaisance or deference.

sycophant [sik-uh-fuh nt, -fant, sahy-kuh-]
–noun
1. a self-seeking, servile flatterer; fawning parasite.

A fawning parasite? That can’t be right.

No, no. I simply have yet to reach my full potential. I blame the shredder.

My Future as a Bootlegger

It all started in High School. Back then, I was just a social drinker. I might have a few drinks at parties or when I went out with friends. That didn’t last long. I then began to drink alone, when I felt the need. I would even make special trips to the store if it was unavailable at home. It didn’t really matter what time of day; morning, noon, night, it was all the same to me. Now, my addiction is something I try to hide even from the friends I started drinking with in the first place. I think about it all the time. The sleek silver can, the sweet yet stinging taste, the boundless energy I receive just a few short minutes after consumption. Diet Coke. How does anyone live without it?

I cannot make it through the day without caffeine, my drug of choice. But I do not consider myself hindered by this addiction. I like to think of Diet Coke as a friend and, like many people, I rely on our friendship to make it through the daily grind. In the life of an on-the-go American it can help with the most common of obstacles. Tired? Diet Coke. Headache? Diet Coke? A three hour meeting on the history of boring by Mr. Boss Man? My old companion, Diet Coke.

I’ll never forget the first time. I was at the beach, it was hot, and I was rather parched. I opened the lid of the ice chest and was instantly blinded by a bright reflecting light. As I looked down, I did not see the neon of the lemon-lime drinks I had grown accustomed to, but the shining silver of my first Diet Coke. The moment the bubbles hit my nose I knew this was no ordinary soda. Once the sharp sweetness hit the back of my throat I no longer had to wander through the world of your average, caffeine deprived beverages. I was home.



I have gone an entire day without Diet Coke. The consequences were far from pretty. I can become extremely grumpy. Snapping at family and friends at the slightest provocation is a common occurrence when I am going through caffeine withdrawals. The lack of Diet Coke causes me to become lethargic as well, I lose all focus without my daily fix. Not to mention the headaches. Those who are addicted to caffeine often suffer from nagging headaches that can last for days and I am no exception. Don’t you see why I need Diet Coke?

If you want more proof, if you are still not convinced that I am merely a victim of this very real addiction then please listen to what my friends, “The Researchers,” have to say, “Caffeine is the most popular and widely consumed drug in the world.” This means I’m not the only one, a comforting thought. But I fear that the recent use of the word “drug” when referring to caffeine will lead to one disastrous outcome: caffeine prohibition. If this were to take place, my future as a bootlegger would be sealed.