Stop making me hate people I love, please.

First it was Rosie O'Donnell.
Then it was Tom Cruise.

Now, with Mel Gibson, I'm putting my foot down.

I don't want to know anything more about these people other than that they are enjoyable to watch on my favorite movies and programs. I don't care if Rosie O'Donnell is an angry lesbian and she's rude to adults and won't give them autographs. I don't care if Tom Cruise is a crazy Scientologist weirdo who wouldn't allow his wife to scream during labor. I don't CARE if Mel Gibson beats his wife, how many children he has, or if he's racist.

What I care about is, did they entertain me in the media form for which I plunked down my hard-earned cash and provide me with the escape, amusement, knowledge, or whatever I was requesting at the time.

That sound harsh, I know. I SHOULD care if Mel Gibson is a violent bigot. And I do--to one level--the same level with which I read about abusers in the paper and think "man, I really wish they wouldn't do that." The difference is, I'm not emotionally tied to those folks in the paper. Rosie, Mel, Tom and I all shared a lot of good memories together (and other celebrities too...I'll just use these three as examples), and the most upsetting part of this whole situation with Mel Gibson is that I can't ever watch a movie with him in it without feeling a) guilty that I'm supporting him, or b) thinking about his violent outbursts.

Do I blame him? Sure. But, the fact is, if he is a violent bigot, he probably always has been. And Hollywood (and all of us) have supported him smiling and nodding the whole way through. But now, because the media has this compelling need to tell me every disgusting detail about every single person who has ever crossed the threshold of Hollywood, now I can't just simply enjoy those celebrities. Mel Gibson shouldn't beat his wife. He shouldn't threaten to hit her with a baseball bat. BUT, we live in an age where there is zero privacy--and that's not okay. A private argument between two people--however combative it may get-- does not need to end up on CNN. Even if it's Mel Gibson. Even if it's Tom Cruise freaking out. Even if it's Heath Ledger screaming at a grip. We all have moments when we lose our shit. And this attitude that the DJ on KDWB knows jack about Mel Gibson's personal life because he heard a snippet of an illegally recorded phone conversation is complete BS. And yes, they are (and should be) held to a higher standard--I teach high schoolers who look up to these celebrities and no one wants the celebs to be good role models more than me. But, the media has to play fair. They have to give people a chance to make mistakes, to pay for them, to listen to all sides before condemnation.

And, you may say, "just don't watch/listen to it." Believe me, I've tried. I can't turn left in my own bathroom without hearing some trash about some celebrity or another.

So, though I turn it off whenever I can, I'm sad that I can't watch 'Signs' and that tragic scene where Graham Hess finds his wife pinned to the tree and knows he has to say goodbye without hearing Mel's latest rant in my head. I'm sad I can't watch Top Gun without thinking "man...too bad he went crazy...".

Can't we leave just a little bit of fantasy in the world? Not to ignore or deny bad behavior...but do we need to seek out the bad behavior? Magnify and glorify it? I don't think so....and I'm irritated.

Things that are pissing me off right now:

1. Everyone under the age of 19.

2. People who have an extraordinary interest in everything I do. As in, I pick up a magazine from a pile of crap I need to file. "Oh, Kelly, is that a Cosmo? Why do you have that?" "Oh, Kelly, you're not eating a hamburger for lunch today?" Get interested in your own lives, people. Leave me alone.

3. The woman I know who snaps her gum. More irritating because she's not a gum-snapping type. Yet she does. Loudly. And all the time.

4. That my writer friends have totally abandoned me. Mostly my own fault, because for a stretch of time I couldn't do anything because I was so overloaded and busy, but now they all go out and have a blast together and don't extend the invitation to me at all anymore.

5. That I can't eat my chips and cheese right now because I'm typing.

6. There was something else, but I've forgotten it.

Seriously, what's so hard about staying in your own lane?

This is my gripe for today. People who drive on or over the white line that separates the lanes of traffic...not because they can't see the line or because the lane is too narrow, but because they are simply too lazy to turn the wheel the centimeter needed to keep the car in the lane.

I don't get it.

And now, a list of things that made me happy today, because focusing on the positive is better in the long run:

1. I got an email today from the mother of a former student of mine who is dying of a brain tumor. She hasn't been sick long--less than a year and a half--and is living on hours/days. I emailed her mom and asked her to tell Marissa that I said hello and I was thinking about her. Her mom said that she told Marissa about my email, and Marissa smiled. That made me feel very happy.

2. I did not have any students at my yoga class tonight, so I worked on a sequence for testing out to teach C2 classes, and I really like what I came up with!

3. I am going to make popcorn in about ten minutes.

What does one respond to a largely complicated yet rhetorical question?

"How are you?"

What I say:
"Good. How are you?"

What I would say if I knew the person really wanted to know:
"Shitty. In the last six weeks, my grandma died, I was in a major car accident, a friend's 28 year old brother went to bed and didn't wake up, and just when I thought it couldn't get worse because 'that's three', my colleague and "baby brother" collapsed on his classroom floor in a seizure, fracturing his skull and is out of work for God-knows-how-long. So, now, I have to go buy a stupid new car, which I don't want because I can't afford one, nevermind that my insurance is going to go up for that new car, and my adjustors are all concerned that I don't spend money out of pocket for a stamp, but can't help the thousands of dollars I'll be out because some asshole apparently thought I was a ghost car that he could turn through, OR, like in so many other aspects of my life, I was completely invisible and he didn't see me at all. I'm also in intense physical pain following any activity other than laying down, can't turn my neck to a respectable (or safe) distance, and can't do yoga. Not only can't I do yoga, I also can't teach it, which is more money I'm out for however long, and just when I should be picking up more classes, I'm fighting to keep the ones I have. And I miss my yoga, which was my stress relief. So now, at possibly the most stressful environment I've ever been in in my life, I have no outlet.

That response seems to be just a tad too lengthy for someone who just shouts out the "how are you" in passing in the hallway. But, I don't have the energy to lie and say "Good." And I don't really care how anyone else is right now. I'm in no shape to help out anyone but me. I'm waking around in this dream state--that place where everyone seems like they're talking really loudly but they're probably not, and it's all kind of fuzzy anyway? So what I do is just stare at them and try to form an appropriate answer, but by the time I have one, they're gone without hearing me because they never really wanted to know in the first place.

So, don't ask me how I am, please...just refer to the above.

Attention whores and their audiences

I can, right this second, name at least ten attention whores. Some are people I know, and others are those celebrity types whose names have become synonymous with whoredom in several senses of the word.

Either way, I'm sick of it.

Now, I realize the fact that I'm sharing this irritation on my own, personal, self-indulgent blog does allow a certain level of irony to taint my message, but I don't care.

But here's the thing--it's not the "news sharing" that bothers me. It's not the new jobs, or the status updates about relationships, or the "here's how my day is going" posts. Truely, it's not. In fact, I've been able to get back in touch with a number of old friends and I really enjoy knowing what they're doing. Where the problem comes, though, is the motive.

Exhibit A:
Girl is having a terrible day and announces it on Facebook. Girl doesn't really want you to know she's having a terrible day. Girl is an attention whore and is certain that by telling the world she's having a terrible day that millions of "awww, so sorry" comments will roll in, thereby feeding her whoredom. And, they are.

Exhibit B:
Guy updates a new job and a new relationship on Facebook. Guy is involved in a completely salacious relationship in the workplace. Guy doesn't need to post WHO the relationship is with, but he does because he's insecure and needs the world to know that he's in a relationship. Same with the job. He's dancing around (virtually) singing "Look at me, look at me, I have a great new job and a great new girlfriend and my life is sooooo incredibly awesome! Please tell me how incredibly awesome my life is!! Please!! Please?"

I've decided that the best--nay, the ONLY--way to deal with these whores is to ignore them. Block them, defriend them...take away the fuel for their fires. The trouble is, there are far too many attention whores out there in the world, and I'm only one person...

A letter to the person who broke into my car tonight

Dear Person,

Dude. Really? Okay, I can sort of see if I was hanging out in the hood of, like, Northeast Minneapolis at 3am on a Saturday night. But you've got BALLS to smash my window and swipe my stuff in broad daylight on Grand Avenue in St. Paul behind a well populated patio-open bar in 70 degree weather on a Tuesday evening. While I was doing YOGA for fuck's sake.

Yes, when it first happened I was surprised. And sad. And pissed. And violated. And relieved. And because I am a wordsmith, here is my message from each of those emotions:

Surprise: Is that my car? That's my car. That's my car with the window smashed right the fuck out. Really? Someone actually did this?

Sad: Dude, someone actually did this. And my stuff is gone. My ipod, which I really enjoyed. And my GPS, which told me where to go and how long it would take me to get there. And you're a really mean person. And I'll cry a little for a few reasons--first because it sucks and I don't deserve to be robbed. Second, because you reminded me that though I'm all yogic and happy and good energy these days, people like you--and a lot worse than you-- are still hanging out in the world being mean.

Pissed: You're an asshole. And you'll get what's coming to you. Karma, baby. Enjoy the twenty bucks you're going to get for my stuff. Savor it. Because you're a dick, and I kind of hope you overdose on whatever you buy with it. What gives you the right to not only steal my stuff, but to vandalize the shit out of me while you do so? Fuck off. Try getting a job and earning some fucking money like the rest of us have to in this life. Remember how I just told you to fuck off? Do it twice.

Violated: Okay, so some guy's hands were all up in my car. My diet coke can was upset and my rear view mirror was out of joint and some stranger's germs and ick and ooginess were all up in my grill. Literally. Disgusting. And you took my stuff. And you rifled through my belongings--not with respect or reverence, but with the intent to harm. And you may know where I live. And you have a GPS that will lead you right to me. And you *touched* my *stuff.*

Relieved: Becuase you were after my things and not me. Because I'm in a place in life where I know that an ipod and a GPS are not rights in this world, but niceities. And because when I came home there was no one waiting in my house but Gatsby, wagging his tail. Windows and electronics are replaceable...that's cool. And I cannot tell you how happy I am, in my only child self, that I really couldn't care less about the loss of possessions. They're stuff. And I can buy more. With cash that is also re-earnable. And I bet I'll appreciate them even more than I did the first time around. And I'll be more careful from now on, which, because everything happens for a reason, will probably safe me, ultimately, from a greater harm than you issued.

So, Person, you can see I'm a touch confused. Because I don't know whether to be mad at you (which doesn't do any good), feel sorry for you (for the bad karma that this and no doubt other poor malevolent decisions will garner you), or devote my next yoga practice to you in the hopes that some positive energy will help you in even the tiniest of ways. Or, perhaps, thank you. Becuase you didn't wait in my car for me to see what else you could take. And yeah, I won't sleep well tonight, but I'm surprisingly okay with that. Because I will sleep again--and I'll do yoga again, and I'll drive again (with a bright new shiny driver side window!) and I'll go shopping and buy myself some new electronics and live to enjoy them.

Sincerely yours,
Kelly
Robbery Victim..er...Victor.

"So the bitches park in the street?"

Last night Mr. Complicated came over, and when we were on the phone planning the evening I told him to park in my driveway even though my car would be on the street. He said "okaaay," as if "why are you parked on the street and not in your garage?". I said "I'm parking on the street because I'm being a bitch today."
He said, "so the bitches park in the street?" And I laughed.

My neighbor has taken to parking a car right beside my driveway on a tiny, car-length stretch of street between our two driveways. This is irritating, but there's not much I can say because it's technically legal parking. Why he can't park in his own driveway I don't know.

Where the bitch comes in is because said neighbor can't seem to drive away from the street without using part of my lawn and driveway as a turnaround area. And, you know, that bugs the hell out of me. Even though there's snow on the ground, the grass beneath it is living, and it doesn't deserve to be driven over. My driveway is MY driveway. Not his. He has a driveway. That, as I've mentioned, is unsuitable for his use for whatever reason. Please note, also, that he doesn't *need* to use my driveway as a turnaround. He could simply drive straight about three feet, literally, then turn left and there's a perfectly good street right there that he could turn around in.

So, I decided that I'd park my car there instead. Immature? Yep. Passive-aggressive? Almost certainly. But, I'm a bitch, and bitches park in the street.

Stupid things I've heard lately

"It's kind of nice...now I don't need to go to work." --Idiot man on tv who just got laid off

"It's not as easy to eat a banana as it is a candy bar. With a candy bar, you just peel off the wrapper and there you go!" --Idiot classmate in Normandale health class. Note the actual use of the word 'peel'...as if the comparison wasn't bludgeoning you already.

"Shut the fuck up, you stupid ass bitch." --Student who clearly didn't know that a) words don't bother me; 2) I swear like a sailor myself; 3) if he had said 'shut the fuck up, you smart ass bitch' I probably would have thanked him for the compliment.

"Childhood doesn't impact what you eat. My mom never let me eat junk food ever and now that's all I eat!" --Another idiot classmate in Normandale health class who's sure showing his mom a thing or two about a thing or two.

"All women come in different shapes, sizes, and forms and just because you're a celebrity, there shouldn't be a different standard.--One Ashlee Simpson regarding her sister's graduation into a non-Ethopian weight class. Yeah, there's a different standard. JUST because you're a celebrity. Oh, and because you make a billion dollars a year. And because you spent the last 5-6 years trapsing around magazines and clubs and screens everywhere wearing the amount of clothing equivalent to my sock. You don't want us to talk about your weight? Don't get paid to be thin. And give back all the money you earned for doing it.

"How can we expect teenage girls to love and respect themselves in an environment where we criticize a size 2 figure?" --Ashlee again. Jessica Simpson is no more a size 2 than I am. And Ashlee Simpson is going to talk about teenage girls loving and respecting themselves? Oi.

Sorry, didn't mean to fall off into celebrity hell there...I know, it was kind of like the whole shooting fish in a barrel thing. From now on I'll keep my "stupid things" to the civilians. At least I'll try.

Why I don't live at the P.O. (with all due respect to Eudora Welty)

This morning I got on a roll with wrapping presents that needed to be mailed and cards that needed to be sent out. I knew the post office would be a zoo, but I was feeling ho-ho-ho-y and merry merry, so I decided 'what the hell' and I brought my boxes and cards and a book to read in line to the post office.

I would like to dedicate "Why I Don't Live at the P.O." (which isn't really anything besides that one sentence...I think I get the point across) to the following people:

*To the three people who decided their time was more valuable than mine and budged in front of me in the "line to wait for a parking spot." I'm not sure how they knew, in advance of opening doors and reverse lights, which cars were going to be leaving, but they did, and zoomed around me (completely ignoring me and several other cars in line) and stole my spot not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES. And let me tell you--kindergartner behavior begets kindergartner behavior. I didn't key any cars or anything, but I shot some real nasty looks and told one of them "really nice. Thank you." Because I pulled up alongside the non-parking part of the drive so I could address the last budger. Hey, if they're going to be assholes, so will I.

*To the man who stood in line behind me, nay, ON me, and breathed ON ME. Dude, personal space has definitely lost its value in this great country of ours, but do you really need to expel your air onto me? Do you? And while we're at it, how about if you maybe stop bellowing at your wife and making yourself look like a total asshole. The woman is trying to mail something to either your son or your grandson who is serving overseas in the military. There's no need to swear at her and call her stupid. You're stupid, and you demonstrated that in front of about fifty people at the post office. Yeah, that's why we all turned to stare at you.

*To the aforementioned woman. Listen, Lady, I can tell that you have a lot to bear in your life. I can appreciate that, because a husband who treats you like that in public has to be an Even Greater Asshole in private. So you do have my sympathy. However, that doesn't give you the right to wander around the post office and break into lines whenever you feel like it to request whatever you might need when the post office employees are trying to help other customers in an efficient and Christmas-y manner. I understand you not wanting to wait in line with your wedded asshole, but I got things to do today.

*To the two women standing near the "forms" table. Isn't it fun when you run into people you know randomly in town? I think it's awesome. Here's what's not awesome: the two of you talking at dance-club-volume on a quiet Saturday morning. Have you both stayed so attached to your cell phones and ipods that you've begun to lose your hearing? Because, really, I don't care about your conversation. I don't care about what your plans are, or how you ran in to so-and-so and how funny it is to run into people you know in, uh, your TOWN. And, just so you know, the P.O. is not a social gathering place. It's not a coffee shop, or a bar, or even a street corner. It isn't a place for you to get caught up on all the latest news. It's a place for you to mail written communcation and move along. Or, maybe you want to start a new trend of standing in the middle of the room like teenagers do in a high school hallway and shoot the shit for three hours. Nifty idea. Do it at a P.O. other than mine.

*To Fabulous Asian Postal Employee. I don't remember your name, but you help me often at the post office. You've mailed my submissions for literary journals, you mailed my graduate school application, and now you mailed two very important gifts for me. You apologized on the behalf of The Aforementioned Woman, and smiled and said Merry Christmas. You gave me the opportunity to be friendly and shake off all of the other asshole people I'd encountered so far in your business. I smiled at you and asked how you were doing, we talked about presents, and we exchanged "merry Christmas" and "Have a good day". You're awesome, Fabulous Asian Postal Employee.

*To Tim. I like looking at you when I'm at the P.O. because you're cute. I don't know why you took the day off, but you really should have asked me first. You're forgiven this time, but don't do it again.

I'm sure my brilliant "Why I Don't Live at the P.O." will be a bestseller. After all, I'm not the only one, right?

Stick a fork in me.

Last night after watching the second presidential debate, I started to ask myself some questions. Questions like, why did I just spend two hours of my life watching that? Why do I allow myself to be subjected to countless smear ads from countless people, none of whom are better than any others? Do I think that little of myself? Do I believe that I have so many "extra" minutes in my life that I can toss them away watching other people in a sanctioned pissing contest?

I had some trouble with the answers.

Don't get me wrong--I love to be politically aware. And my decision to turn myself away from the ObamaPalinMcCain menage is not an attempt to stick my head in the sand (sorry, I'm still puking cliches from last night's debate) or to ignore the issues. Rather, I'm simply done. I'm done devoting my time to the embarrassment that is Sarah Palin, who thinks that she needs to talk like she came out of a back woods trailer to show me she "gets me". I'm done watching John McCain try to say he'll do things "differently" without citing one single specific example of how he might do that. I'm done hearing Barack Obama say he "understands what the middle class is going through" in his suit that cost more than my last year's teacher's salary, while he's running a campaign that costs more than I'll ever see in my lifetime if I work three jobs until I drop dead on the showroom floor at age 100.

Done.

I'm done with Norm Coleman and Al Franken, too, with their "he said rape!" "how could he say he said rape!" "He's a pervert!" "He's got anger issues!" "His wife's an alcoholic!" "He's a big liar!" Lose track of who said what? Exactly. Does it matter? Are either of them saying anything?

Done.

And I'm done with the jokes, too. With the flow charts and the SNLs and the youtube videos and the emails and the forwards and the blogs. This isn't funny, people. This is choosing the person who gets to talk to other leaders who could bomb us into oblivion. This is choosing the person who has one of the final says on the economy, health care, and education in this country. This is choosing the person who, God forbid a tragedy like the Challenger, like Columbine, like Oklahoma City, like 9/11, should happen will be speaking to our nation to call us to action and make us believe we should not be afraid. This is choosing a very, very important person. And when we're all out there sending our email forwards and giving the SNL Tina Fey/Sarah Palin youtube video its one millionth hit, maybe we should think about how funny it's going to be when it's real. When it isn't a joke. When McCain is elected and then has a heart attack or a relapse of his malignant melanoma and he dies and our country is thrust into its darkest hour since the Kennedy assassination and the person there to lead us is Sarah "hockey mom joe six-pack gosh darn it you betcha" Palin.

Funny.

Isn't it?

So I'm turning off my tv until November 7th. Because they can continue to do all the ads they want, the whole lot of them, but they're not wasting any more hours, minutes, or even seconds of my life. I'll be casting my vote on November 4th--I exercise that right. And hopefully things won't end up quite like they did the last election when all the dems said "Bush won't win again!"

Won't (s)he? We'll see.

Not all "Clay-mates" are psychotic, anti-gay freakshows, I promise.

I can stay silent no longer. Since the "breaking news" of Clay Aiken coming out as a homosexual, my eyes have rolled back into my head so many times I'm pretty sure permanent damage has been caused.

First, Clay Aiken has been gay and has KNOWN he was gay since BEFORE he was on American Idol. People, please. You fell in love with Clay Aiken. You fell in love with a gay man. Deal with it.

Two. For the people who are so shocked by this information that their worlds have effectively stopped, I need to ask: "Really?" As in, you had NO idea that he was gay? The ballads? The effeminate voice, gestures, style? The overly solid relationship with his mother? The total lack of a girlfriend? A Broadway role in Spam-a-lot? Really? NO idea whatsoever? Okay. Sure.

Three. To the Claymates who have been "defending" Clay for years against these "accusations" of being gay...I'm sure he deeply appreciates you going to blows to defend his honor and tear down those who would, gasp, suggest that he was a...shhhh.... homosexual. What an insult. Dear God, what would he have done without you? Oh...that's right, probably nothing. Know why? See reason four.

Four. Clay's sexuality has nothing to do with you. What, you think you had a chance? And now that he's gay *that's* the reason that you and he will never be? Does him being gay change his voice? Change his personality? Change his honor? His talent? His passion for his causes? Does it change anything you fell in love with? And while we're here, Clay didn't lie to you. He just didn't. He withheld information that was none of your damn business, but that's not a lie. That's protecting his privacy. Gee, wonder why he'd want to do that--everyone is handling the truth soo well.

So just stop it. Stop acting like Clay being gay is the end of the free world. It isn't. Good for him for coming out. Shame on you for feeling anything less than "whatever" or "good."

Things I saw at Wal-Mart

Due to recent financial duress I've sunk to not only shopping at Wal-mart, a store which I believe is nearly singlehandedly responsible for the downfall of America, but to looking only at the "price per unit" on any item I buy. It's embarrassing. So, to keep myself amused, I keep track of things that happen that could *only* happen at Wal-mart.

So, for your amusement (and mine), I present my second list of the day:
Things I saw at Wal-Mart

1. A woman in pink sweatpants and a cart filled with 25lb bags of cat food walking down the aisles yelling "Connie!"

2. Dale Gribble

3. An Asian man who, walking toward me with his cart, stopped his cart directly in my path, smiled at me, then walked away sans cart halfway down the aisle to get some dish soap

4. Really. Dale Gribble.

5. A teen in a Blink 182 t-shirt who was either jamming out to the music in her head or having some type of seizure near the Pringles

6. Another teen standing in the dairy throwing a temper tantrum for cheese. "Moooooooommmmmmmm.....CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEUUUHHHHHHHHH"

7. Dale Gribble was not smoking a cigarette. Had he been smoking a cigarette, you'd have had to pick me up off the floor for laughing.

8. Nick the Cashier who said "You look like you're having a rough day, if you don't mind my saying," after explaining why it was he was on cashier tonight instead of on sales where he was supposed to be, not one word of which I understood. But he was still adorable. And he wished me a happy Sunday, which is more than anyone else did today.

9. The "Connie" screamer. I saw her four times. Connie, for the record, did not appear, though I did see a ten year old girl running surreptitiously down the meat section. Probably Connie.

An open plea to dog owners...

Please use a leash on your dog!!!!! Or take your large dog who needs to be run around to a dog park. The following has happened, oh, a billion too many times:

My little dog is on his leash either being walked by his responsible dog owner (who also cleans up his poop--novel idea) or lounging quietly on the patio. Off-leash dog (large or small, take your pick) comes *tearing* up to my little dog and begins to fight with him. Insanity occurs, with lots of barking and yelping and snarling and sounds that I never hear come out of my animal. My heart races as I scramble to pick him up out of harm's way, placing myself in possible danger as well. Irresponsible owner of off-leash dog comes running up, yelling at his/her dog with a terse "sorry" in my direction. Grabs his/her dog roughly for not following instructions and walks away.

One of these days, either my dog or I or both will be hurt by one of these dogs and it will be the sole responsibility of this irresponsible dog owner who is so casual about dog ownership that he/she just assumes "Oh my dog listens to me." Well, no, your dog doesn't listen to you. Not when there's a tasty smaller dog within reach.

Solve the problem! Walk your dog on a leash. Then you're not embarrassed when your dog "disobeys", your dog isn't strangled when you grab him and peel him off of my dog, and my dog gets to live another day. See, everybody wins. AND, it's a law in the neighborhood, so you're even being a good citizen. What a nice thing.

A list of things that are making my blood pressure rise and long for the time when Mother Superior gave me a good thrashing...

--> A two hour required van training session WITH a driver's test and rumored pee tests in order to drive a minivan less than a mile once every six weeks or so with kids who wouldn't pass a pee test if you held a gun to their heads...

--> Wanting to print something but the printer is demanding a different type of paper than I have to offer and I can't send it to one of the other forty billion printers in this place because my computer is only set up to print to the ONE printer and I don't have the "administrative rights" to choose a printer. Maybe if I take a pee test?

--> The amount of stuff we have to confiscate from kids this year. Hats, ipods, cell phones, dogs, drugs, smokes...man, being a teenager is just no fun anymore.

--> Two people in my department who are driving me completely crazy for completely different reasons.

--> That I forgot my own ipod (or maybe someone confiscated it when I wasn't looking) and every time I try to stream something my internet shuts down. All I want to do is listen to some ks95. Really. That's it. The extent of my desires for today.

The one where she gets all political...

I rarely talk about my stance on politics, but this whole John Edwards thing has gotten to the point where I can no longer remain silent. I'm sick and tired of watching "breaking news" on this ridiculousness every other minute.

Let me just say first off that I don't condone adultery. I'm a total believer in the sanctity of marriage, and I think the morals in this country are seriously lacking and I'm appalled by it on a daily...hell, you all know me...HOURLY basis. That being said, John Edwards cheating on his wife is not the greatest scandal to ever hit the American people. It's not a tragedy, it's not a betrayal (to anyone but Elizabeth Edwards and their children). It's a guy who cheated on his wife. Period. I'm on a list-serv of teachers from around the country, and some of them are treating this situation as if John Edwards cheated on them personally.

If you take the number of people in this country and stand that up against the number of people who are infuriated by this situation, the odds are a reasonable percentage of these morally outraged folks were watching the events unfold from their mistress's bed (or their boyfriend's bed...whatever you call the guy of a cheating girl). I know, I know, John Edwards is held to a higher standard because he's a public official. Bullshit. He should do the right thing, definitely. But so should we all, whether we're constantly in the public eye or not. And he's a human being, who made a mistake. Yeah, a biggie. I've made big mistakes too. So have you.

And for that percentage of folks out there who feel personally betrayed by this, ask yourself why. How did Edwards betray you? Because you believed that he was infallible? Because we've fucked things up so badly in this country that he seemed like a white steed coming in to rescue us all and turned out to be twinged with gray? Or because you just forgot that he was a man who has as equal a chance as any other man of fucking up his relationship?

When all is said and done, all John Edwards is still the same guy who shook hands and kissed babies and smiled and won us all over...he was a little glossier than others, a little more hope-bearing than most. But, really, when you take all the dressing off and the loaded words and the "scandal" and the "horror" and the "lurid detail" what you're left with is a politician who didn't tell the truth.

Hm. Imagine that.

Some observations from a 100 minute drive home in rush hour traffic...

Motorcycles:
Bumper Sticker--'Start Seeing Motorcycles.' Okay...I'll make a deal with you. I'll start "seeing" you when you stop driving like an asshole. If you're in your lane of traffic (IN the lane, not on it, near it, or somewhere in between it) with your helmet on and are driving the speed limit, rest assured that I see you. And I'll give you space because that's what respectful drivers do. When you're tooling along on the shoulder of the road at 75 mph with no helmet because it doesn't fit over your ear buds, weaving in and out of traffic and causing everyone headaches, don't be surprised if I don't "see" you.

Changing Lanes:
Listen, when there's an accident that has closed down two lanes of traffic, people will need to get into your lane. It's a fact. It's not something the universe designed to make life difficult for you, it just is. So leave a crack of space between you and the car in front of you. Guess what? When people take turns and allow merging, the end result is that things ultimately move *faster*--not slower. So you're being nice AND you get home quicker. What a country! OR, you could be a total jerkoff and not move over for anyone, including the guy who needs to get out of the way of the police car with his sirens blaring because, well, you need to stay ahead of THAT guy. For sure.

The accelerator:
I think we all figured out, probably many years before we actually set foot to one, what the accelerator does. And, those of us really detail oriented people noticed that you can make your engine make noise depending on how hard you press on it. Fun! If you like making this "engine music", do so. In neutral. In your driveway. Or on the driver's ed course. Revving your engine while fully stopped in bumper to bumper traffic in 90 degree heat doesn't impress anyone. Use your radio (or your ear buds, motorcyclists, since for whatever reason you don't need to hear the traffic that the rest of us do....right, because you don't need to "see" us) to provide music.

And while we're on the accelerator, the nice thing about the foot and the accelerator is that they work in tandum to give the car a certain amount of speed. You can control how fast your car goes. When there is another car two feet in front of you, maybe don't floor the accelerator. You do have a choice. You can press down lightly on it and the car will still go. I promise. It's not a switch that needs to be flipped on to 60 or off to zero. There are numbers in between.

And, finally: Accident causers
Dude, I don't know whose fault it was, but undoubtly it was somebody's fault. To the causer of the accident--please, if you don't care about your own car, your own welfare, your own whatever, please consider those of others. Because you needed to get into the other lane, send a text message, prove your manliness, or just because you were too dumb to look around, HUNDREDS of other people were late getting home to their families. I know you're the most important person in the world, we all know you are, but maybe you could just cut us a break once in awhile?

Thank you.

My annual date with Roger Fererer

Ahh, Roger Federer. Once a year I get myself dressed up and prepared for my date with him at the Wimbledon championship game. Nadal has joined us the last three years, which I don't much care for, but I guess I can't complain too much. He gives my boy a run for his money which, essentially, extends our dates well into the afternoon. I don't see Federer during the year...once in awhile on manly-smelling-stuff commercials or on the occasional Open match, but I don't stalk. I don't seek him out.

Three years ago, back in '06, I had no idea who Roger Federer was. I knew a bit of tennis, like that Wimbledon was important, and I knew the Williams sisters and Steffi Graf, Andre Agassi, and, of course, John McEnroe. But I didn't know the scoring (love? deuce? what?) or care much who won.

But then, I was also dating Greg. Greg liked his tennis. And, as enthralled as he was with the game, he was equally irritated that I didn't understand the simple concept of tennis scoring, so he set out to explain it to me. We watched *lots* of tennis together throughout our tenure. What Greg didn't know, though, was that while he was explaining the scoring, I was listening with about 75% of my brain. The other 25% was devoted to wondering how exactly Roger Federer could have an ass that tight and still be able to move his legs independently of one another. Hinges, surely?

I never told Greg this because our only fight that held any weight was one where he got pissed at me because I was discussing my full-on crush on Johnny Depp. He was troubled by what he described as my "boy crazy" side. So, I left out that little detail about my evolving love and admiration for the Swiss, namely one Roger Federer. (Never mind that while he was on my ass about being in lust with a celebrity who lives in France and has two children with a French model, Greg was in love with a girl from, you know, like, down the street.)

But, fortunately, Federer isn't nearly as judgmental. He's content to allow me to watch him bounce around the court for a few hours once a year and doesn't mind that I *heart* Johnny Depp and a few other highly hot people. Ahh....I love championship Sunday.

Pretty please?

Maybe if I ask really, really nicely, the biggest annoyance in life as we know it will quietly go away. Maybe. Let's try it, shall we? Community effort.

Please, please, PLEASE. STOP. EATING. Everywhere I go, whether I'm in bio lab, in the classroom, walking down the street, walking in a hallway, people are eating. No wonder this country has a weight problem--people eat from the time they wake up in the morning until they close their eyes again at night. They never fucking stop.

Okay, you can eat. A few times a day, and in restaurants or areas where eating is an appropriate behavior. Classrooms are not an acceptable place. Let me repeat that: classrooms are not cafeterias.

To the girl who sits next to me in biology and smacks on her doritoes every day, please knock it the fuck off. Class is two hours long...you won't starve.

To the girl who sits next to me in fiction class and somehow, somehow, made blueberries a noisy food (not to mention the cherries, where I had to look at the nasty pits she'd spit out every time I turned my head to the right), please also knock it the fuck off.

People on airplanes with your onion-laden burgers and your Taco Bell, people in meetings with your smelly pasta salads, knock it the fuck off.

You'll die if you don't have food every hour on the hour? Hypoglycemic are you? Diabetic? Knocking on death's door? Haven't eaten all day and you're about to pass out? Hey, I have a heart, I can abide by that. Here's the solution: remove yourself from the classroom/meeting area (which is, let's say it together, 'not a cafeteria!') and go sit in the hallway and eat. What? You'll miss important information? Well, if your need to eat is truly that life-or-death, then you should miss some information so that you don't pass out/go into shock/die. Absolutely. But you know what? I bet you wouldn't leave. I bet you'd plan ahead and eat something in the five minutes before class, or at the 10 minute break, or you'd wait and let your tummy do its rumbling act until the class/meeting was done. I bet you'd do that. But why do either one--leave or plan ahead--when you can lay out a spread that rivals the Mother's Day buffet at the Holiday Inn and smack your chips, your berries, your soup, your carrots, in my ear? Maybe because you have a sense of respect for those around you? Maybe? Please?

Things that boggled my mind today:

1. Needing my second complete brake replacement on the same car.

2. A man standing in a parking lot eating Chipotle. Standing. In a parking lot. Eating Chipotle.

3. The six people that ran a red light because they couldn't find their accelerators, apparently, when the light was green and let it run out.

4. The Sex and the City movie.

5. How much weight Candace Bergen has gained. Especially because she's apparently a vegetarian.

6. How bothered I am by the Sex and the City movie.

7. The amount of math I did today and that I think I may almost mostly understand it.

8. A boy returned my phone call.

9. That friends of a close friend of mine are pissed at her for going out of town for the weekend when she was "supposed" to visit their house for a party.

10. I bet I saw a dozen cars run red lights today. Not pink lights--RED damn lights.

Apparently I'm fully boggled today. I am. Dude. I need to go sit down.

No, no, I'm fine. Really. Thanks for asking.

I'm so incredibly pissed off today I don't even know what to do. It's the death anger, misplaced onto just about anything that moves (or doesn't move, in some cases). The type of anger that makes me not want to be in my skin because it's just all too much.

Today at school was miserable. I'm having some issues with colleagues that I can't really talk about out of professional obligation. They added to the sense of total disorientation and numbness of today. I knew it would be hard. I'm trying to remember that everyone deals with death (and with people who are dealing with a death) differently so I shouldn't be hypersensitive to my own perceived feelings. I'm trying to pretend that everything is normal, and maybe that will make it normal again.

There is so much more than Craig's death going on. So much that I wish I could talk about but I can't and won't because, well, I'm starting to think that maybe my life is becoming a bit too public and my expectations based on that set me up for failure.

I'm just in that spot that no one wants to be in---emotional discomfort. There's nothing but time that will make it better. And a change of scenery come June 6th. I can't wait for June 6th.