Thumbelina

"I'm leaving my girlfriend," the rosy cheeked boy whispered in my ear during a lovey-dovey musical scene--obviously trying to replicate Disney--from the movie, Thumbelina.

I droop my mouth in an exaggerated look of shock. "Why?"

 "For you."

I usually don't make good first impressions, but today goes to show that unfortunate circumstances can change.

"You're small like Thumbelina," he smiles at me with those deep-set baby blue eyes of his. I know that his now ex-"girlfriend" was the woman who worked as the office secretary...who was also old enough to be his grandma. I get it, he's hitting the stage now where he's becoming more attracted to younger women. Who are also around his height.

I had only known this new boy for four hours before he told me I was his new girlfriend. Who did this guy think he was, trying to win me over with these expedient compliments? But boy, I have to admit--he sure knew how to sweep a girl off her feet.

Flattery soon hazed my judgment. I couldn't hold any of this new-found knowledge in anymore. I needed to tell everyone thes words of admiration that this boy had just revealed to me.

"...so he told me he's leaving Pam for me," my face beams as my dry, chapped lips curl naturally into smile formation.

"Oh, well that's interesting," my boss enlightened me.

"Oh...?" I acknowledge, as I try to make the carpet clutter-free of Legos.

"Because today he told me that I was his new girlfriend." I didn't think it was supposed to start raining until tomorrow, but this snippet of news from my boss sure dampened my parade. She continued, "Yeah, these were his exact words: I'm leaving my girlfriend for you." She said this as she scrubbed markers from the wall. How could she act as if this was a typical thing to be told?

"Oooooooh," was all I managed to muster. "B-b-but that's exactly what he told me!" I exclaimed with a genuine look of shock plastering my face, I'm sure.

"Then he said..." my boss remarked as she had one of the other eight year olds go over and blow his nose, "since we're boyfriend and girlfriend now, we need to go hot-tubbing." She continued to make the classroom more presentable for the baby shower that was scheduled to be held in her honor in half and hour.

My life of perfection, if only for 20 minutes, came to a halt. My man, at the grand age of eight, is already wanting to hot-tub with another woman (married, nonetheless) whose first child is due next month.

There's a fairy in this story. Here's a hint: it's not me...or Thumbelina.

Fairy tales don't really exist...but fairies do.

Fortune Faded

Today's lunch at the elementary school was orange chicken. You know what that means...fortune cookies, of course, since you get fortune cookies with all Chinese food (yeah...I GUESS cafeteria Chinese food counts). Check out this fortune to an eight year old boy:

...with your teddy bear, kid, with your teddy bear.

The Boy Who Cried...Not Wolf, But...Just Plain Cried

In the public school system the people are represented by two separate groups, yet equally important groups. The faculty who teach the students and the students who learn from the teachers. This is their story. *Cue Law and Order introduction music*

Once upon a time there was a little third grader whose name shall not be revealed here. During the warm months, he liked to play outside at recess; swing on swings, run around (well, more like stagger around), and throw rubber from the playground pit at other kids.

Once upon a time there was a dame whose name shall be revealed here: Shannon. She worked at an elementary school with the boy who shall not be named. All the kids in Miss Shannon's class loved her. Loved, loved, loved...except when Shannon gave them instructions that they did not want to complete...which was most of the time...

During the colder months (such as now), the boy whose name shall not be revealed would do anything in his power to not go outside to recess. Often, to get out of playing outside, he would say, "Teacher, I need bathroom." Fair enough. Being the nice teacher that Miss Shannon is, she would take this little boy to the bathroom. But, this little boy was not being very nice, you see. For he was just saying he needed to go to the bathroom so that he wouldn't have to go outside. When Miss Shannon would take him to the bathroom, he would just go stand in a stall. Sometimes, even, when he didn't feel like putting in the effort needed to walk to the stall, he would just sit on the bathroom floor.

This was not very considerate to Miss Shannon. She had other children she needed to tend to and did not want to spend her valuable time waiting in the hall while the little boy pretended to "go". If she were to wait for him to actually "go", she could've been waiting in the hall for hours. This is why it was nice very nice of the little boy to lie to her.

Miss Shannon and her coworkers were getting tired of taking the boy (whose name shall not be revealed) to the bathroom. They all noticed that the only time he would say he needed the bathroom was when it was time to go outside. So, Shannon and her coworkers made a pact--that if the boy whose name isn't mentioned (here) says he needs to use the bathroom right before/during recess, then they shouldn't give in to him. After all, why should he have everything catered to him while the other kids are obeying?

~--------~--~--~--------~

Today was a cold kind of day. You can guess what that means. As Shannon and her coworker took the kids out to recess for them to PLAY and let their energy out, along comes the little boy. Holding his crotch. "Teacher, I need bathroom." Shannon looked to her coworker and commented on how the boy has not tried this tactic for at least three days. Her coworker responds with how he mostly only does it on cloudy days. Shannon and her coworker look at each other, amused, that this little boy thinks that after all this time, he doesn't realize that Shannon and her coworker have caught on to his mischievousness. "He must think we're really stupid," they snicker to each other. "No, go play, [the boy's name here]". Then the little boy started to cry...like every other time he's been told no in his all-too-similar-schemes. Miss Shannon and her coworker ignore him. Eventually he goes back to the playground and does whatever it is that he likes to do.

Two minutes later, he comes back to Miss Shannon and her coworker. This time, though, there's a subtle difference in his appearance. His pants are soaked. Front and back, up and down his tiny legs. Shannon and her coworker look at each other in disbelief. "Maybe he slid down a wet slide or sat in a puddle..." Shannon says in denial. Shannon checks the playground. Yes, the slide is wet, but not as wet as the boy's pants. Shannon and her coworker exchange glances with I can't believe he was telling the truth. Shannon and her coworker also exchanged laughs. Not evil laughs, you see, because Shannon and her coworker are nice to children. More like, laughing at the irony.

But most of all, they were laughing, because when the boy came up to them with his soaked pants in the cold of November, he was happy. He didn't even care that his pants were wet. All he cared about was that the sky had just released a tiny amount of snowflakes onto the playground. "Teacher, it's snowing," he said with a beaming smile. Now that's a true statement.

Moral of the story: Don't cry wolf. You will most likely end up in a tangle of webs (I guess wolves and spiders are somehow intertwined??)...or your own soiled clothes.

Okay, Shannon wasn't really laughing the most that the boy didn't have a care in the world in wet pants--most of all, she was really laughing at the fact that just a few minutes before "the incident", she and her coworker were talking to each other about how this boy must think they're really dumb. Well, if he didn't really think they were dumb before, now he reeeeeaaaaalllllllly must think they're dumb.

...and isn't it funny that he was so excited when it started to snow? Make up your mind, kid. You shouldn't want to stay inside when it's a bit chilly outside and then when you're outside get excited over snow. The irony of it all!

Catwoman

Halloween was just around the corner and I needed a costume for work on Friday. It was the end of work on Thursday and as I was walking a student to the bus, I asked him, "What should I be for Halloween?"

"You could be a princess...or...angel...or...Batman's girlfriend." I only have three options according to this kid, huh? And they're all sweet things...

Later that night I went a saw a play called Hotel Frankenstein, and ended up coming home late. Still with no costume idea for the next morning. Then...voila! It hit me. I won't be Batman's girlfriend as the kid suggested, but I will be the "kind of the antithesis of bats"--Catwoman. Think about it, I love cats, and I'm (kind of) a woman. Perfect!

So, at about midnight I was running around finding things to piece together to create my costume.

The next morning, at about 7, after putting my costume on and looking ready for Halloween fun at work, I go in to show my grandma my costume. She says to me, "You look beautiful!" Thanks, Grams, that's exactly what I was going for in my Catwoman costume.

I arrive at work at 8:04 AM. Four minutes late. Dang it. But it was worth it because I had to wake up earlier than usual to get ready for the Halloween party that we'll be having at work all day. As I walk into the classroom, my boss says, "Now, I have to ask, who are you supposed to be?" Isn't it obvious?...or was she making a joke? I don't know.

The day moves on. Adults at the school are complimenting me on my outfit. I don't think the kids quite understood who I was, but I don't blame them, because how would they know who Catwoman is? They're still young.

After work I head on over to a stake bowling activity. In my Catwoman costume. My mom warned me to change before I went because there could be guys there, and how am I supposed to attract guys in that outfit? Mom, are you telling me that Halle Berry looked better as Catwoman than I do? Fine, okay, anybody would look better than me as Catwoman. But...I thought I was being creative...because looking around, no other girl was dressed as Catwoman. This tells me that 1) either I'm really creative, or 2) other girls, for some reason, would not want to dress as a woman in cat attire.

I think the reason other people were not dressed in the same outfit as me was for both reasons, actually. I'm just really creative...because I was the REAL cat woman. Who wants to even pretend to be a REAL cat woman when you can be some girl who wears cat ears and a tail and gets into trouble? I was representing all the REAL cat women out there in the real world. The ones who strive to give cats good lives. The ones who care more about their cats than they do themselves. The ones who have names for all 37 of their cats and who can tell you each individual cat's favorite meal. Let's give a round of applause, for these are the true cat heroes. I will be joining these women (if I'm lucky enough to be accepted into their clan) so I was actually dressed as myself in 25 years--wearing a pink bathrobe, my glasses, curlers in hair, bright blue eyeshadow, rosy red cheeks, bright pink lipstick, lines drawn on my face for wrinkles, bright orange Halloween cat socks, and leopard-printed slippers. Not to mention, I had cat stuffed animals hanging out of my robe's pockets.

*This is the reason why my grandma told me I looked beautiful--because I was dressed as HER (I was using her makeup and robe). Grams also likes cats.

*This is the reason why my boss asked who I was--because I pretty much look like that everyday at work and she couldn't decipher whether I was really dressed for Halloween or not.

*This is the reason why I couldn't attract guys in my outfit--because why would they want someone who wears slippers in public?

Well, folks, let me say: I was kind of dressed up. Kind of myself. But I don't think Halle Berry could play the part of Catwoman quite as well as I can.

The Shining...Uh, I Mean the Shiner

Two days ago, I received what I thought would now be a shiner. Fortunately, it didn't turn into a black eye. Unfortunately, for the past two days it hurt as though I had a black eye. Fortunately, it doesn't hurt now. Unfortunately, I still have a little tiny bruise. Fortunately, I can cover it up with makeup. Unfortunately, I'm basically out of cover-up makeup. Fortunately, I don't have a hot date this week where I would be self-conscious about the teeny tiny bruise on my face. Unfortunately, I don't have a hot date this week...or for the next five years.



Oh, I guess you're wondering HOW, exactly, I received what I thought would now be a shiner.
Listed below are the options. There may seem to be more than one right answer, but there isn't. Choose the one answer that seems most correct.

A. I walked into a pole.

B. I got into a brawl with some gangstas because they said that I shouldn't be dissing Like a G6...so, they threw a shoe at me and it hit me in the eye. And it hurt. Really bad.

C. I was going to give someone a high-five but we missed each other's hands and their hand consequently hit me in the face. I hit them in the stomach.

D. I was at work with a new student to our class who has a hard time with transition. She's still in the transition phase, actually, from moving to a new school. She has lots of temper tantrums and is really stubborn. So, when it came time for her to come my table to work on her letter sounds, she was in a bad mood since it was work time. She does not like work time. She likes play time. And right before coming to my table it was play time, so this was a very hard transition for her to make. She was wanting to get out of her chair and roll on the floor and scream and cry. I sat directly behind her, pinning her chair between my chair and the table. Did I ever think that this little girl could be strong? Not really. But she was a fast little bugger. And, a strong little bugger, I might add (she must have lots of experience doing what she did to me) because out of nowhere. WHAM! Right smack in my face is the back of her head. Where did this girl learn to headbutt? So not cool. So unexpected. So painful. Luckily, I was wearing my glasses so they may have blocked the blow to my eye. I'm also lucky she didn't break my glasses, because glasses are expensive to replace! Then, after her whacking to my face, she rubs the back of her head as if she's hurt. Hmm...maybe if it hurts you shouldn't do it. Just my opinion. Anyways, to sum up this choice: D. I was headbutted by a second grade girl.

And the answer is *drum roll, please*

A! If you said A you're correct! You just won an invisible over-the-internet-hug-by-a-stranger. Aren't you glad you played this game?

Okay, okaaaaay, sorry. A is not the most correct answer. That would seem to be the most probable answer to me, but alas, the most correct answer is D (I hope that answer wasn't too obvious).

All I can say is that it's too bad this whole incident didn't happen before picture day. The tiny bruise I have on my face would have made my picture all the more beautiful. And then I would have on record that I have actually been in a fight. Well, I didn't fight back or anything, but I could say I've been attacked...but I would just leave out the fact that it was by a 40 pound second grade girl. Those little facts don't really matter that much, anyway. Right? Right.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...?

I worked at a movie theater many, many moons ago. Around seven years ago, though, one night I was put on podium. For those of you who don't speak theater language, this means that my job for that night was to be the greeter and ticket ripper who greets and then conducts the customers to their appropriate screen.

It's horrible to be put on podium. So repetitive. So, when a guy walked into the complex and asked me if I knew where a mirror was, I was glad to have a change of pace and was able to direct someone to the bathroom instead of theaters, of which I was sick of saying Blah Blah is in theater xyz to your right.

Our conversation went something like this:

The dude: Do you know where a mirror is?
Me: Yeah, in the bathroom...
The dude: Okay, thanks.

Thrilling, right? I told him to go ahead and go to the bathroom (since, obviously, that's where mirrors usually are). The guy headed for the bathroom. For a few seconds, I just asked myself how this dude could not know where a mirror would be. Strange people in this world, I tell ya. Then, I moved on in my train of thought and continued with my Blah Blah is going to be in theater zyx to your lefts.

A couple of minutes later, the mirror guy approaches me (again!). What can I expect from him now? Where could he find toilet paper?

The dude: A mirror's not in there. You mean, you didn't see that whole wall that was plastered with your reflection?
Me: Okay...I'm pretty sure a mirror's in there.
The dude: No, I checked and didn't see him in there. Oh great, this guy is giving the mirrors genders and naming them? Geez.
Me: Him?
The dude: Yeah, you know, a mirror.

----------------------Long pause----------------------

Me: Umm...oooooooh. You're talking about Amir! Oh, yeah, I think he's working concessions tonight.

Alas, the mirror dude just wanted to see Amir (which is conventiently prounounced like a mirror). It just made so much more sense! Who's the dumb one now, Shannon? Why don't I just go take a look in the mirror...which is in the bathroom. (That's also where toilet paper is kept, for your information).

Movin' On Up

Children learn at an early age to express their creativity in unique ways--sometimes resulting in graffiti. Take a look at the drawing below which I discovered on the playground at the school I work at. This child is clearly learning to graffiti for the first time, since the drawing is done in sidewalk chalk. Tsk. Tsk. I admire the child for wanting to share his love of lollipops, but that face is kind of a creepy one, which made me not enjoy the Lollipop Licker wording as much.


Now, we fast forward through this child's life a few years and he's progressed. No longer is he drawing on playgrounds, but rather, he is now expressing his need to beautify the city by writing on street signs. I took the featured picture below in Stratford-upon-Avon, England last year (I must admit that this picture is my favorite from all the pictures I took in the United Kingdom).

This child who has gone from drawing lollipops to writing Hammer Time has moved up in more ways than one:

1: The child can now reach higher things than the playground stairs. He can now reach tall street signs to express his thoughts.
2. The child no longer is drawing a gremlin-looking thing who loves to lick lollipops.
3. The child actually used song lyrics to promote his graffiti, which I find hilarious...since it's an American song (on an English stop sign) from the early '90s.
4. The child made me laugh with his whole STOP Hammer Time stunt, because it was so unexpected for me to find next to Shakespeare's burial site in 2009.
5. The child has left behind chalk and gone for permanency, thus leaving behind his mark for all to enjoy...unless, of course, the street sign gets taken down.
6. The child has moved all the way from Utah to a city in England that is best known as Shakespeare's birthplace and burial site.

Despite this child's creativity, he does have one downfall. No, it's not the fact that he is drawing on public property. No, it is not the fact that it's irreverent to write on a stop sign that is right next to the Holy Trinity Church where Shakespeare was buried. No, it's not the fact that Hammer Time is not written in a straight line but starts moving in the upper right position. The downfall of this child is that I never see any good graffiti around here, in Utah...oh wait, four years ago I saw a stop sign that said STOP (obviously) and then underneath, it said Bush. Somebody actually wrote STOP Bush...in Utah!

But, no one can beat the STOP Hammer Time sign because:

I've toured around the world, from London to the Bay.

It's "Hammer, go Hammer, MC Hammer, yo, Hammer"

and the rest can go and play.

U Can't Touch This

***I don't support graffiti, but if you're going to do it anyways, then you might as well make it entertaining for those who have to see it everyday.

Picture Day

Tomorrow is picture day. Great. I haven't had a "picture day" since high school. It's been so long that I've forgotten what I'm supposed to do. Just sit there and look pretty? Well, as you can see from these two pictures I've posted, I AM quite the looker. But I find it strange that the only person who comments on just how beautiful I am is Grandma--hey, and she wasn't even wearing her glasses when she said that. I must really have knocked her spectacles off with my incredibly good looks.

I work at an elementary school, right? So, staff gets a free packet of pictures...of themselves. What the heck am I supposed to do with pictures of myself?? Despite what you may think, I'm not the type to frame a picture of myself and set it on the nightstand next to my bed so that it's the last thing I see before I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. One can only view so much beauty during the day, so I need a break from my flawless face, just to keep me grounded...that's why I will not frame a picture of myself and put it next to MY bed. But, there is a guest room in our home and I think I will frame this old picture of me (the one where I'm wearing a super stylish hat) and put it next to that bed. I'm sure this picture would give the guests pleasant dreams.

Now, as to what to do with the pictures I take tomorrow--of course, my coworkers are helpful--both of them told me to hand out my pictures to guys. Umm...yeah...fantastic idea! My response to that? "Okay. On the back of the picture it'll say Hi, I'm Single. Nice to meet you." And just by seeing my beautiful face the guys will be like, How in the world is this gorgeous woman still single? Oh, and in fine print her picture says "Best country line dancer"? I CANNOT pass her up!

I hope my picture tomorrow turns out as stunning out these two. But, I'm just not sure I can top these pictures--I had a brilliant smile, good hair, and my body is not in an awkward position...at all. I'm just not sure I will be able to pull that off again. Wish me luck that I can look as good tomorrow as I did in these. It would mean a lot. Hey, maybe I'll even send you one of my pictures for supporting me (I am going to have like, 50, so I could even send one to your grandma). Wouldn't you just love that? And I know the perfect place for it: on your nightstand. That way you could have a natural night light--from the glow that I radiate--my picture would just brighten your day or night.