The Black Hole

wooops.

I got sucked into the vortex of parent-teacher interviews, grade 8 novels and new art supplies. Help! I've fallen into full-time work and I can't get paid for it.

Oh well.

Best week at school - aside from the fact that I spent 50 part-time hours there.

We had a car smash fundraiser and it was amazing. So fun.

Who knew taking a sledge-hammer to a vehicle could be SO cathartic.

I understand now why they overplay that Carrie Underwood song so much - she was really onto something.

If you want to destroy my sweater

How could I have forgotten about these guys? This morning started with white breath wafting from my lips and a cloak of darkness and fog following me all the way to my frosted Sunfire, Sheila. After scraping her I climbed into my car and shivered while I waited for her to warm up.
And then, there they were, my old friends in chauchy button up shirts and old man pants singing about sweaters. How can you possible not love these dorky little men who sing songs called The Sweater Song or Tired of Sex? And write lyrics like:
I wish I could get my head out of the sand
'Cause I think we'd make a good team
And you would keep my fingernails clean
But that's just a stupid dream that I won't realize
'Cause I can't even look in your eyes without shaking, and I ain't faking
I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon
I'm a lot like you so please, hello, I'm here, I'm waitingI think
I'd be good for you and you'd be good for me

You had me at hello Weezer. Not to mention you are good for me, and I am good for you.
(And I realize this is not from the blue album, but that's hardly the point since it was a mixed CD - this is them at their cutest and dorkiest and most loveable.)

Revised Edition

After thinking about my last post, I've revised my thankfulness plan.
I don't want to be so bratty.
I'm thankful that there are geese on the river that meet in secret communion to negotiate travel plans.
I love that you can only hear them if you are right next to the water.
I'm thankful that I can see my breath outside, but it's not too cold to sit on a bench and watch city lights reflecting off the shiny, fallen leaves.
I love that I get to hang out with awesome kids every day.
I love that I am learning a lot and that I have ripe tomatoes on my counter.
I'm thankful for the warm bed I am about to crawl into and a loving family and good friends that would kick my ass if I needed it.
I'm thankful that my mom's cancer seems to have disappeared and that whatever happens to my Oma is in my God's hands, not mine.
I'm thankful that I got to relax all weekend and that I had one last nap outside in the sunshine...even if my feet and nose were frozen.

Thankful

It's kind of bizarre that I can eat so much food in one sitting that I cannot move and feel like if someone even mentions the word pizza I would hurl for the sheer amount of pressure that puts on my brain.
It doesn't say much for self-control in the face of turkey n' trimmings, but it certainly makes a girl think a bit about what a strange kind of place allows for this kind of gluttony while others starve.
What can I do to feel less responsible? How can I give enough away? It sure doesn't feel like enough just to give thanks.

AA Brothers Chinese Food

There are a few unfortunate manifestations of the language barrier. Having lived in a country where I could barely speak the language, I know some of the awkward nuances, shocking ramifications of mispronunciation and the unwillingness of people to laugh when they think you're incapable of speaking their language.
I remember all too well the accidental "ass tray" in lieu of "ash tray"; the inappropriate invitation I unknowingly gave to club full of Frankfurters from the DJ booth; not to mention countless other confusions over cuckoo clocks and their inner functions.
England was hardly better. You'd be surprised how many awkward things one can say when the word "pants" suddenly means "panties". Dump a glass of water and suddenly everyone thinks you've peed yourself.
So, it's with a heavy heart that I drove past the "AA Brothers Chinese Food" restaurant sign today. Did no one have the courtesy to tell them what they're claiming? Unless they are in fact AA Brothers. In which case, it puts a whole new spin on 'anonymous'.

How to Meet a Good Man at a G'N'R Tribute Band

As a young, single female who has suddenly found herself craving books and wine and her couch on weekends, I've noticed myself in fewer and fewer situations wearing lipstick and a good pair of heels. So how is a girl supposed to meet any decent men while lounging in her own living room? Not that I've ever been one to go on "the prowl", but it seemed this past weekend's adventures proved great fodder for contemplation and analysis. Grasping at straws you say? Good men and Guns 'n Roses? Well, why not?
How would you know if you'd found 'the one'?
I guess the first thing a girl needs to do is ask herself a few questions:
1. Do I like a man with feathered hair that is longer, shinier and better maintained than mine?
2. Do I like a man in tighter, smaller jeans than me which show explicit and irrefutable evidence of a tighter, smaller derriere?
3. Do I like a man who sings in a high pitched, Axel Rose-esque voice while headbanging his long, blond locks into the paralyzer of the woman with matching hair in front of him?
4. Am I okay with the fact that when this man begins to bald and his gut rolls out over his skin-tight jeans, I will still have to stand beside him in the grocery store check-out?

If you answered 'yes' to the above questions, chances are you are a perfect candidate for finding a good man at this unconventional venue. If you answered 'no' to any of the above questions it's possible that Guns 'n Roses, maybe Metallica, Aerosmith, Def Lepard, Led Zepplin, and other classic rock tribute bands might not be the place to find your soul mate.
In which case ensure you have:
1. your best friend
2. your dancing shoes.
3. and an appreciation for the lost art of truly rocking out.

Wrong

I thought I was okay with cancer and death for a minute.
I'm not.
I think it's just finally been put out of the front page of my life news for a few months and so I had time to breathe and sober up and call a friend.
My grandma had a stroke and there it is again...the threat of death. It hangs in shadows and lungs and steals your breath and your comprehension and dreams.
For the record, in case it seemed different, I am not okay with any of it: cancer, blood clots, strokes, chemo, radiation, blood transfusions, death.
I just forgot for a little while how terrified it makes me.