Governor Perry,
I am a teacher for a school located in the heart of Austin Texas. Before you disregard this letter, I would like to send my appreciations for taking time to review my issue. Fortunately, I have not been cut or laid off. However, many of my colleagues have been or are about to be. Please read this respectfully and with dignity.
I am under the impression that you are convinced that education is the most important investment a state can make in its people. Am I correct when I say that your goal is to ensure that Texas institutions of higher education are providing students the best chance at a better life? What about when you mentioned the importance of focusing on the core themes of accountability, affordability, and accessibility? I believed that you were for higher education and encouraging educators in preparing our learners for entry into our booming state economy. We took your sugar coated words and took our passions into the classroom with a promise that teachers would be safe from the chopping block. I fear that you are not understanding the uncomfortable impact you are putting on Texas educators. What you are failing to realize, is that our students are the ones in danger. No teachers.... no education.
Along with many educators, I am concerned with the sudden budget cuts and losses in our districts. There are great educators walking on eggshells to keep their jobs as leaders of our great future leaders. Teachers are being laid off due to low budgets and not enough money. As teachers and as a community of educators, we want to believe that our institutions money is being used in a responsible manner by our boards and city leaders. We are wondering where this money is going. Governor Perry, do you realize the more teachers that are cut, the less we remain a village of teachers and the less we are able to change the lives of our students. Where are you when they are standing outside of a school where to doors will soon be locked forever?
You have children of your own who probably had great teachers.
I am disappointed with your choices as you failed to provide adequate assurances that the money for our institutions would be used properly.
This is not hate mail and I write you in all respect. On behalf of Austin ISD and all schools in Austin, including Charter Institutions, we ask that you help us get our jobs back and allow us to lead and influence. Do not let fiscal issues be the reason for closed institutions and less educators. We voted for you and we believed that you would support us all the way. This generation needs us. Greatly. We know what you can do for us. We know how you can help us.
Remember this when you lay your head down at night: without teachers, there is no future.
Thank you.
Ugh, why can't we pay our schools with cupcakes? Then we wouldn't have to cut anybody. Is the education system becoming... not so sweet??
Picture courtesy Google Pics - The OC.News
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Phone Check 1,2,3
We all do it... or do we all?
Today's generation has awakened the world of communication through cell phones, e-mail, and social networks. When it comes to dating, we have discovered avenues of convienent communication. That's right. Text messaging. Wikipedias definition of text messaging is this : The exchange of brief written messages between fixed-line phone or mobile phone and fixed or portable devices over a network. Our definition might be: The simple, easy way to say hello without speaking over someone, being disconnected, repeating ones self and filling long pauses with inappropriate laughter. No?
The dating world is dangerously, intensely, fiercely interesting. We keep our phones close to our bodies and our inboxes clear of anything that might interfere with a message from our knights and damsels. God forbid your cell phone be set to vibrate. A strange occurance of phantom vibrations excite us for a moment, until realizing it was nothing. Nobody. Just a screen with today's date and time. We experince selective hearing-as if every phone that rings, beeps, chirps or plays a funky fresh Vanilla Ice song has to be, must be, should be ours.
I have a friend that I have known since college. She sat next to me in my Learn, Play and Creativity class. She had me at " I'm going to Sonic, want a Dr. Pepper?" She's a brown-eyed, cuss like a sailor, skeet shootin, deer huntin, coyote skinnin, belt buckle wearin cowgirl that would bring Billy the Kid to his knees. Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of spending the day with my long lost friend. We both became teachers shortly after we graduated college. We went our seperate ways and we lost touch for about a year. However, when we both understood how to navigate Facebook, we were virtually and happily reunited.
We began our "girls day" adventure devouring thick, mouthwatering, drool inducing juicy cheeseburgers. Yes, drool inducing. Yes, juicy. We had good discussion, swapping classroom horror stories and boasting about our student's accomplishments and accolades. However, we seemed to be interrupted by her touch screen companion. No, it wasn't ringing or buzzing or vibrating or.. even lighting up. Stroking her finger across the screen lead her to "no new message" and "no new calls" boulevard.
I couldn't help notice how many times she was checking her phone. My phone was buried deep down in the abyss of my purse, accidently turned off by my lipgloss case or was probably being punctured by my fifty "Teachers Change Lives" pens. I already knew. She was seeing someone. This "someone" hadn't been brought up yet. So, I did the inexorable. I asked her who "he" was. She looked at me with a confused, I totally don't want to talk about it kind of look. She shook her head and said it was nobody.
Yeah. Right.
After twisting her arm to dish me the juice, she went on to tell me about a guy she has been talking to. She met him a few weeks back and after two dates, his communication skills have, well, not been so hot. Mind you, she was still checking her phone as she leaked her soul about this Mr. Nobody that meant something to somebody-her. After listening to her woes about him not calling or texting, I responded with what I thought any other friend would say " so, why don't you text him??". I thought her ranch dressing was going to boil over from her reaction. " I'm not texting him. Nooo way. I will seem desperate and needy. Nope. No.
I listened to her go on and on about how we are not to chase men. No matter how bad we wanted to hear their voices, we must be strong and hold out for the first text or phone call of the day. She blurted out theories, quotes from books and her own philosophy about men and their relationship skills. I sat there, sipping my Boston Iced Tea and wishing I had a fresh side of sour cream for my potato skins.
I was listening and cringing at the thought that some women think we shouldn't have a voice in the dating world, that we should sit back and wait for the man to make the first move, to say the first words and to decide when it's best to talk. I was hoping she wouldn't ask for my opinion. Then it happened. Taking the last bite of her burger and wiping her fingers with a wetnap she asked: "Well, tell me what you think. Whats your advice?"
Deep breath.
This reminded me of a Sex and the City episode where Carrie said "When men attempt bold gestures, generally it's considered romantic. When women do it, it's often considered desperate of psycho." Good thing Carrie was a woman who threw that theory out the window once she met Mr. Big. Taking risks is like walking on eggshells in the dating world. A few years back I read this book called "The Rules". I believed it. I stuck to the rules when I was dating. However, I realized that I have been betrayed by the philosophy of another woman who believed dating is just a game to be played only by women, where the men start off with a losing streak, having to work their way up to a win, meaning, our hearts. Although I believed she may have had good intensions in some areas, I wanted to call. I wanted to text. I wanted to set up dates and see the persone I was dating. I wanted a voice.
I say screw the rules. Call him, text him, let him know your still there and your on the prowl. If he doesn't respond, don't go running to your "He's Just Not That In To You" book and find the reason of this tragedy that best "fits" you. There's nothing wrong with YOU. Snap on your batgirl belt with new tools and a fresh coat of lipgloss and move on. She asked me today why men are idiots. I thought for a moment, and giggled to myself. I don't believe men are idiots, or dogs, or from mars. Men are amazing creatures. However, they have been known to lack in the love factory. But so have we. Our problem is, we might be spending our time worrying too much about whose has what role in the relationship.
All of these thoughts consume us that we forget to love at all. We all like to think we are in control when dating. It's okay to be in control as long as we are not abusing it. Lets be real for a minute, sures ome men like a chase and some men like to be chased. To each their own right? If your into that kind of dating. As women stop wasting their valuable, beautiful time with "the rules" and dirty games, men are still in the background waiting for a text, waiting for a next move. Did we ever stop to think that maybe men feel the same way? Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not giving men all the credit. However, we have to be fair. Sure, some men are just plain jerks but, feed them to the wolves- a pack of women who follow "the rules", where love is nowhere to be found.
When we step it up a notch, men take to it. A women's intiminations and ndependence are thriving in the dating world today. Woman are the recipe of love, men are yummy ingredients. Have a voice. It's beautiful.
Be a lioness.... and eat a cupcake :)
Today's generation has awakened the world of communication through cell phones, e-mail, and social networks. When it comes to dating, we have discovered avenues of convienent communication. That's right. Text messaging. Wikipedias definition of text messaging is this : The exchange of brief written messages between fixed-line phone or mobile phone and fixed or portable devices over a network. Our definition might be: The simple, easy way to say hello without speaking over someone, being disconnected, repeating ones self and filling long pauses with inappropriate laughter. No?
The dating world is dangerously, intensely, fiercely interesting. We keep our phones close to our bodies and our inboxes clear of anything that might interfere with a message from our knights and damsels. God forbid your cell phone be set to vibrate. A strange occurance of phantom vibrations excite us for a moment, until realizing it was nothing. Nobody. Just a screen with today's date and time. We experince selective hearing-as if every phone that rings, beeps, chirps or plays a funky fresh Vanilla Ice song has to be, must be, should be ours.
I have a friend that I have known since college. She sat next to me in my Learn, Play and Creativity class. She had me at " I'm going to Sonic, want a Dr. Pepper?" She's a brown-eyed, cuss like a sailor, skeet shootin, deer huntin, coyote skinnin, belt buckle wearin cowgirl that would bring Billy the Kid to his knees. Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of spending the day with my long lost friend. We both became teachers shortly after we graduated college. We went our seperate ways and we lost touch for about a year. However, when we both understood how to navigate Facebook, we were virtually and happily reunited.
We began our "girls day" adventure devouring thick, mouthwatering, drool inducing juicy cheeseburgers. Yes, drool inducing. Yes, juicy. We had good discussion, swapping classroom horror stories and boasting about our student's accomplishments and accolades. However, we seemed to be interrupted by her touch screen companion. No, it wasn't ringing or buzzing or vibrating or.. even lighting up. Stroking her finger across the screen lead her to "no new message" and "no new calls" boulevard.
I couldn't help notice how many times she was checking her phone. My phone was buried deep down in the abyss of my purse, accidently turned off by my lipgloss case or was probably being punctured by my fifty "Teachers Change Lives" pens. I already knew. She was seeing someone. This "someone" hadn't been brought up yet. So, I did the inexorable. I asked her who "he" was. She looked at me with a confused, I totally don't want to talk about it kind of look. She shook her head and said it was nobody.
Yeah. Right.
After twisting her arm to dish me the juice, she went on to tell me about a guy she has been talking to. She met him a few weeks back and after two dates, his communication skills have, well, not been so hot. Mind you, she was still checking her phone as she leaked her soul about this Mr. Nobody that meant something to somebody-her. After listening to her woes about him not calling or texting, I responded with what I thought any other friend would say " so, why don't you text him??". I thought her ranch dressing was going to boil over from her reaction. " I'm not texting him. Nooo way. I will seem desperate and needy. Nope. No.
I listened to her go on and on about how we are not to chase men. No matter how bad we wanted to hear their voices, we must be strong and hold out for the first text or phone call of the day. She blurted out theories, quotes from books and her own philosophy about men and their relationship skills. I sat there, sipping my Boston Iced Tea and wishing I had a fresh side of sour cream for my potato skins.
I was listening and cringing at the thought that some women think we shouldn't have a voice in the dating world, that we should sit back and wait for the man to make the first move, to say the first words and to decide when it's best to talk. I was hoping she wouldn't ask for my opinion. Then it happened. Taking the last bite of her burger and wiping her fingers with a wetnap she asked: "Well, tell me what you think. Whats your advice?"
Deep breath.
This reminded me of a Sex and the City episode where Carrie said "When men attempt bold gestures, generally it's considered romantic. When women do it, it's often considered desperate of psycho." Good thing Carrie was a woman who threw that theory out the window once she met Mr. Big. Taking risks is like walking on eggshells in the dating world. A few years back I read this book called "The Rules". I believed it. I stuck to the rules when I was dating. However, I realized that I have been betrayed by the philosophy of another woman who believed dating is just a game to be played only by women, where the men start off with a losing streak, having to work their way up to a win, meaning, our hearts. Although I believed she may have had good intensions in some areas, I wanted to call. I wanted to text. I wanted to set up dates and see the persone I was dating. I wanted a voice.
I say screw the rules. Call him, text him, let him know your still there and your on the prowl. If he doesn't respond, don't go running to your "He's Just Not That In To You" book and find the reason of this tragedy that best "fits" you. There's nothing wrong with YOU. Snap on your batgirl belt with new tools and a fresh coat of lipgloss and move on. She asked me today why men are idiots. I thought for a moment, and giggled to myself. I don't believe men are idiots, or dogs, or from mars. Men are amazing creatures. However, they have been known to lack in the love factory. But so have we. Our problem is, we might be spending our time worrying too much about whose has what role in the relationship.
All of these thoughts consume us that we forget to love at all. We all like to think we are in control when dating. It's okay to be in control as long as we are not abusing it. Lets be real for a minute, sures ome men like a chase and some men like to be chased. To each their own right? If your into that kind of dating. As women stop wasting their valuable, beautiful time with "the rules" and dirty games, men are still in the background waiting for a text, waiting for a next move. Did we ever stop to think that maybe men feel the same way? Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not giving men all the credit. However, we have to be fair. Sure, some men are just plain jerks but, feed them to the wolves- a pack of women who follow "the rules", where love is nowhere to be found.
When we step it up a notch, men take to it. A women's intiminations and ndependence are thriving in the dating world today. Woman are the recipe of love, men are yummy ingredients. Have a voice. It's beautiful.
Be a lioness.... and eat a cupcake :)
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Out of the Mouths of Babes
Being a teacher is amazing. Humbling. Testing. Lovely. Each day I hear the funniest, craziest, weirdest, preposterous, creative words come out of my student's mouths. They say it with such emphasis, drama, all seriousness and joking. It means something. They make statements and demand feedback on how well they are doing on the art project of the day. I am required to understand everything that pours from their ingenious souls. I love it.
In the teaching field, each educator has their own apple tree. A tree so rich with knowledge and imagination. A tree that stands tall and strong. A tree that is strung with little minds ready to be shaken. My tree always has the sweetest apples.
Here are some of my favorite things that my student's have said. Enjoy.
" Miss Thompson, when are you gonna get rid of those humungous balloons in your shirt?"
" I can't say excuse me, if I farted on purpose"
Boy student talking to girl student- " Hey suga, why don't you plop that goodness here beside me, I'm a hero".
" I saw God today. He was wearing yellow and He sang me a song"
" We can't play superhero today because my mom is washing my superhero suit"
" Miss Thompson, are those OUR snacks your eating"?
" I will help you find a man so he can help you put that black stuff on your lashes and buy you pretty pens for your ponytails"
" Your a super freak, super freak... your super....... wait... what's the rest of the song Miss Thompson"
" Why does everyone keep saying Miss Mary Mack wore black, was she going to a funeral or somethin?"
" A shark is a domestic animal because it can live in your house and sleep in your bed. They won't bite you, if you feed them and use moisturizing cream on them before bedtime"
" I have a question.. where do babies ACTUALLY come from. My mom told me but, it just doesnt seem possible."
It's like, my days are full of cupcakes.
In the teaching field, each educator has their own apple tree. A tree so rich with knowledge and imagination. A tree that stands tall and strong. A tree that is strung with little minds ready to be shaken. My tree always has the sweetest apples.
Here are some of my favorite things that my student's have said. Enjoy.
" Miss Thompson, when are you gonna get rid of those humungous balloons in your shirt?"
" I can't say excuse me, if I farted on purpose"
Boy student talking to girl student- " Hey suga, why don't you plop that goodness here beside me, I'm a hero".
" I saw God today. He was wearing yellow and He sang me a song"
" We can't play superhero today because my mom is washing my superhero suit"
" Miss Thompson, are those OUR snacks your eating"?
" I will help you find a man so he can help you put that black stuff on your lashes and buy you pretty pens for your ponytails"
" Your a super freak, super freak... your super....... wait... what's the rest of the song Miss Thompson"
" Why does everyone keep saying Miss Mary Mack wore black, was she going to a funeral or somethin?"
" A shark is a domestic animal because it can live in your house and sleep in your bed. They won't bite you, if you feed them and use moisturizing cream on them before bedtime"
" I have a question.. where do babies ACTUALLY come from. My mom told me but, it just doesnt seem possible."
It's like, my days are full of cupcakes.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
My Angry Conversation With God Part One
Before I begin this mini series of my angry conversations with God, I wanted to let you know that I got the inspiration from the actual book My Angry Conversations With God. I would go in to detail about the book but I figured you could check it out yourself.
My responses were blurbs here and there during many nights of prayer. I used God's responses as if how I could imagine Him saying to me. He has brought me far and I wanted to share this with you (whoever is listening). I hope you enjoy.
When I was 12, I made the decision to become saved. My youth pastor assisted me down three slippery stairs and guided me towards the middle of the baptism tank. I remember looking down and seeing people looking up at me. I could see my mother and father sitting in the middle of the pews, anxiously awaiting my baptism. I wore a long white robe that covered my feet. The sleeves roofed my arms and hands. I covered my little nose with my little hand and was gently bent back into the water. It was a bit chilly but, my soul was cleansed.
I immediately began imagining all the angels celebrating in Heaven. I envisioned God using a pink glittery pen as He signed my name in the Book of Life. I wonder if He uses all capital letters when He writes people's names on those beautiful sheets of paper? I was covered by the blood. I was loved. I had my one-way, only way ticket to eternity.
Years past and I began to forget about God. I mean, I never forgot about Him, I would just put Him to the side whenever I needed Him. I was always the "backseat driver" in our relationship, never wanting to be patient or still. I thought if I took the wheel, I can steer my life in the direction I wanted it to go, where I thought it needed to go. God never argued with me. He would simply pull over, hop in the backseat and not say a word. He didn't have to say anything at all. I knew I would always steer us in the wrong direction. Without His guidance, my compass never worked. I was always lost. Always in the dark and always hitting really hard speedbumps. No wonder He would always buckle up.
Seasons came and went as I flourished into an adult. I finished college and went back and forth between hot and cold with my relationship with God. After I finished my certification, I was having trouble finding a teaching position. I would interview and interview and.. interview. Nothing. I didn't know what was going on. I was educated. My tests were taken and passed. I nailed all the questions. God, why am I not getting any calls??
Then one night, in the darkness of my one bedroom apartment, with the moon illuminating my room, He spoke back to me. It's like I could hear His voice. I wanted to record my prayers in a journal and I used God's responses of how I would hear Him if we were actually having a conversation. This was a season of struggle for me. A season I was not prepared for. This time, I wasn't driving. I was told to buckle up and to be still. Quietly and quickly.
Tuesday May 19, 2009
I'm sleepy tonight. I can't write when I'm sleepy. I can hardly finish a prayer. However, I hear that it brings God joy to know that you are praying in peace, resting in Him. I can't even think right now. Lately, I have felt drained from assiduous thoughts of getting this teaching job. Why can't I rest?
Me: Hello?? I'm talking to You up there.
God: I know. I have not forgotten about you. I want all of your trust and attention, not temporary trust and attention that I usually get from you.
Me: Sorry, I'm used to getting what I want, and fast.....wait, did You just speak to me??
God: Yes. I always speak to you. You just don't want to listen. I know you are restless. Megan, show me patience. You have asked me for it. Show me you trust me to follow through on the promises I have made for you.
Me: It's hard.
God: Being patient for you to come back to me was hard.
Me: Don't make me feel bad.
God: You don't like the truth, you never have.
Me: Depends. I guess.
God: What matters most, Megan, is that I love you and I am working hard behind this "window" you want
Me to open for you. JUST BE STILL.
Me: Why are you yelling at me?
God: I'm not. My voice is like thunder... remember?
Me: I see, now is not the time for jokes.
God: You are doing a good job of reading my love stories for you.
Me: Love stories? What?
God: Yes, Megan, love stories.. in the Bible?? Hellooooo?
Me: Ohh, yes. They are very comforting.
God: Which is why I say "Rest in Me". I know everything your heart desires. I know everything you need.
Me: But I can't get comfortable knowing that I may be stuck in this hole for the rest of my life.
God: ::sigh:: Here, I will open this wonderful window for you so that you may see what I am planning. Just a peek.
Me: No, I don't want "just a peek", but, that breeze does feel good. I haven't had a breath of fresh air in a long time.
God: Stop letting satan suffocate you. Remember, he fears Me and all you have to is call on me. Breathe. Go to bed. I will be up late planning great things for you.
Me: Alright. I'll leave the light on for You.
God: I am the light.
Me: Ok, show off. I .. I love you.
God: I love you too.
Me: Um, God?
God: Yes..
Me: Will tomorrow be the day? When I find out great things?
God: You see great things everyday. Just look for them. Listen for my voice.
Me: Ok.
God: Goodnight my love.
Me: Goodnight.
To be continued......
My responses were blurbs here and there during many nights of prayer. I used God's responses as if how I could imagine Him saying to me. He has brought me far and I wanted to share this with you (whoever is listening). I hope you enjoy.
When I was 12, I made the decision to become saved. My youth pastor assisted me down three slippery stairs and guided me towards the middle of the baptism tank. I remember looking down and seeing people looking up at me. I could see my mother and father sitting in the middle of the pews, anxiously awaiting my baptism. I wore a long white robe that covered my feet. The sleeves roofed my arms and hands. I covered my little nose with my little hand and was gently bent back into the water. It was a bit chilly but, my soul was cleansed.
I immediately began imagining all the angels celebrating in Heaven. I envisioned God using a pink glittery pen as He signed my name in the Book of Life. I wonder if He uses all capital letters when He writes people's names on those beautiful sheets of paper? I was covered by the blood. I was loved. I had my one-way, only way ticket to eternity.
Years past and I began to forget about God. I mean, I never forgot about Him, I would just put Him to the side whenever I needed Him. I was always the "backseat driver" in our relationship, never wanting to be patient or still. I thought if I took the wheel, I can steer my life in the direction I wanted it to go, where I thought it needed to go. God never argued with me. He would simply pull over, hop in the backseat and not say a word. He didn't have to say anything at all. I knew I would always steer us in the wrong direction. Without His guidance, my compass never worked. I was always lost. Always in the dark and always hitting really hard speedbumps. No wonder He would always buckle up.
Seasons came and went as I flourished into an adult. I finished college and went back and forth between hot and cold with my relationship with God. After I finished my certification, I was having trouble finding a teaching position. I would interview and interview and.. interview. Nothing. I didn't know what was going on. I was educated. My tests were taken and passed. I nailed all the questions. God, why am I not getting any calls??
Then one night, in the darkness of my one bedroom apartment, with the moon illuminating my room, He spoke back to me. It's like I could hear His voice. I wanted to record my prayers in a journal and I used God's responses of how I would hear Him if we were actually having a conversation. This was a season of struggle for me. A season I was not prepared for. This time, I wasn't driving. I was told to buckle up and to be still. Quietly and quickly.
Tuesday May 19, 2009
I'm sleepy tonight. I can't write when I'm sleepy. I can hardly finish a prayer. However, I hear that it brings God joy to know that you are praying in peace, resting in Him. I can't even think right now. Lately, I have felt drained from assiduous thoughts of getting this teaching job. Why can't I rest?
Me: Hello?? I'm talking to You up there.
God: I know. I have not forgotten about you. I want all of your trust and attention, not temporary trust and attention that I usually get from you.
Me: Sorry, I'm used to getting what I want, and fast.....wait, did You just speak to me??
God: Yes. I always speak to you. You just don't want to listen. I know you are restless. Megan, show me patience. You have asked me for it. Show me you trust me to follow through on the promises I have made for you.
Me: It's hard.
God: Being patient for you to come back to me was hard.
Me: Don't make me feel bad.
God: You don't like the truth, you never have.
Me: Depends. I guess.
God: What matters most, Megan, is that I love you and I am working hard behind this "window" you want
Me to open for you. JUST BE STILL.
Me: Why are you yelling at me?
God: I'm not. My voice is like thunder... remember?
Me: I see, now is not the time for jokes.
God: You are doing a good job of reading my love stories for you.
Me: Love stories? What?
God: Yes, Megan, love stories.. in the Bible?? Hellooooo?
Me: Ohh, yes. They are very comforting.
God: Which is why I say "Rest in Me". I know everything your heart desires. I know everything you need.
Me: But I can't get comfortable knowing that I may be stuck in this hole for the rest of my life.
God: ::sigh:: Here, I will open this wonderful window for you so that you may see what I am planning. Just a peek.
Me: No, I don't want "just a peek", but, that breeze does feel good. I haven't had a breath of fresh air in a long time.
God: Stop letting satan suffocate you. Remember, he fears Me and all you have to is call on me. Breathe. Go to bed. I will be up late planning great things for you.
Me: Alright. I'll leave the light on for You.
God: I am the light.
Me: Ok, show off. I .. I love you.
God: I love you too.
Me: Um, God?
God: Yes..
Me: Will tomorrow be the day? When I find out great things?
God: You see great things everyday. Just look for them. Listen for my voice.
Me: Ok.
God: Goodnight my love.
Me: Goodnight.
To be continued......
Damn You Exorcist
Ever since I have lived alone I have found myself terrified of scary movies. I cover my face and bury my head in the sea of throw pillows just to muffle the sound of terror. I can't fathom the thought of ever liking scary flicks. I loved the "edge of your seat" feeling. My heart would pound as the music intensified.
I never had trouble sleeping after a scary movie night or a horror movie marathon with the girls. We would usually have one of those when one of us were having boy trouble. Who wanted to watch a romantic comedy during a dramatic time like that? Oh the seasons of heartache. How I ... don't miss thee. It would take our mind off of drama and draw our attention to other people's misery. Sounds wrong on so many levels right? What I mean is, noone wants to be driving down a deserted bridge in the pouring rain and see a little girl standing at the end of it, dressed in a long white dress with black eyes pointing at you.
After seeing something like that, thoughts of the love of your life leaving town and finding out he's not coming back doesn't seem so bad.
I always asked myself what I would do if I ever found myself in a typical scary movie situation. If a man called me on my cell phone telling me is in my bedroom would I run upstairs to see if he's there? If my house was haunted, would I stay? If I standed on an island full of hungry cannibals would I... share my bananas? What about if I heard strange noises in my attic, would I go on a quest to fight these soul hungry spirits? Maybe.
Now, ask me that again today. Um, HELL NO. If I can't even stand hearing commercials about a scary movie, what makes you think I would be the busty blonde running upstairs, or the blond who is using her clothing as shelter on the island fighting to keep her limbs to herself. Oh, the attic? Screw the attic. I will settle for storing everything in my walk in closet, where there is a light... and a baseball bat.
When you live alone, every noise that could only be heard by dogs magnifies 100 times. I hear everything. Even the sound of my refriderator coming on makes me jump out of my leggins. When I lay in bed, all I should be hearing is me breathing and my dog snoozin. I shouldn't be hearing all these clicks and clacks, tweets and beeps, bangs and clangs. What makes it worse is I live in a two story. So, upstairs is my arch nemesis at times. After an agonizing commercial, the last thing I want to do is go upstairs. I re-play it as if it will happen to me. At that moment.
So, suck it exorsist commercial that plays after every other commercial on every othe channel. Stop appearing out of no where on my television. I hear extra noises when I see you. Yuck. All I want to do is watch the Bachelor. By the way, how many of these movies are they going to make about you already. Goodness.
Always frost your cupcake with pastel colors. It's not scary.
I never had trouble sleeping after a scary movie night or a horror movie marathon with the girls. We would usually have one of those when one of us were having boy trouble. Who wanted to watch a romantic comedy during a dramatic time like that? Oh the seasons of heartache. How I ... don't miss thee. It would take our mind off of drama and draw our attention to other people's misery. Sounds wrong on so many levels right? What I mean is, noone wants to be driving down a deserted bridge in the pouring rain and see a little girl standing at the end of it, dressed in a long white dress with black eyes pointing at you.
After seeing something like that, thoughts of the love of your life leaving town and finding out he's not coming back doesn't seem so bad.
I always asked myself what I would do if I ever found myself in a typical scary movie situation. If a man called me on my cell phone telling me is in my bedroom would I run upstairs to see if he's there? If my house was haunted, would I stay? If I standed on an island full of hungry cannibals would I... share my bananas? What about if I heard strange noises in my attic, would I go on a quest to fight these soul hungry spirits? Maybe.
Now, ask me that again today. Um, HELL NO. If I can't even stand hearing commercials about a scary movie, what makes you think I would be the busty blonde running upstairs, or the blond who is using her clothing as shelter on the island fighting to keep her limbs to herself. Oh, the attic? Screw the attic. I will settle for storing everything in my walk in closet, where there is a light... and a baseball bat.
When you live alone, every noise that could only be heard by dogs magnifies 100 times. I hear everything. Even the sound of my refriderator coming on makes me jump out of my leggins. When I lay in bed, all I should be hearing is me breathing and my dog snoozin. I shouldn't be hearing all these clicks and clacks, tweets and beeps, bangs and clangs. What makes it worse is I live in a two story. So, upstairs is my arch nemesis at times. After an agonizing commercial, the last thing I want to do is go upstairs. I re-play it as if it will happen to me. At that moment.
So, suck it exorsist commercial that plays after every other commercial on every othe channel. Stop appearing out of no where on my television. I hear extra noises when I see you. Yuck. All I want to do is watch the Bachelor. By the way, how many of these movies are they going to make about you already. Goodness.
Always frost your cupcake with pastel colors. It's not scary.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
How I Suddenly Became a Crooner
Ok, so I still have one more day to take a mental break from writing as I spend the last few hours with my family. However, I totally have to tell you how I suddenly became part of the Crooner family. This will be short and sweet.
What is a crooner you ask? A Crooner is an American nickname given to a male singer of 1920s to 1950s. Mostly from the Great American Songbook. A Crooner can be a single artist or a group of artists. He is normally backed by a ful orchstra or bigband. "Crooner" was originally an sarcastic term denoting what was perceived as a pretentious, sentimental singing style. At least, I hope I have that right.
ANYWAY...
I haven't seen my youngest cousin in four years. She is 12. I have done all I can in my power to stop her from becoming a teenager. No luck thus far. I have had the pleasure of spending quality time with her emptying box after box of Dr. Pepper. She loves her Dr. Pepper like me. I love Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper loves me.
One night, as we poured our soul in to Lifetime movies, we found ourselves at the pit of the Dr. Pepper box. You know, the kind of box where you have to dig into the abiss and reach with all your might? Yeah, that kind. I noticed a look of concern as she pulled out the last Dr. Pepper. I didn't respond because, well, I was totally in the Dr. Pepper zone. " Um.. Megan??" My cousin said with a worried tone. " Um.. yes Mikayla?" I replied. Looking at me at the corner of her eye and with a soft voice she whispered " We are out of Dr. Pepper". A moment of silence bestowed upon us. I was speechless, suddenly feeling like I was eight years old again knowing I was going to be busted for sneaking in the refridgerator for a soda... or two... or three or.... a whole box??
We stood there for a minute. It seemed like an eternity. Elevator music would have been the perfect epic theme. Oh my goodness, we just drank all the Dr. Pepper, I said to myself. I can hear the fizzing of this miraculous concoction of 23 flavors flowing over my ice cubes.
"Well Mikayla, there is only one thing to say, I'll just simply ask, WOW who drank all the Dr. Pepper?" Yeah, that would do the trick. Act as if you know nothing of this disappearing act of such goodness. I figured that would be the end to our sugary fiasco. All of a sudden I hear my cousin say " THE CROONERS!! The Crooners drank all the Dr. Pepper" I glanced at her and questioned these "crooners". " Wait, who are the Crooners"? I said with a mouthful of frothy ice. With such virtuousness she says " I don't know, I just read it off grandpa's CD he has laying there". I looked over and low and behold there on the counter laid a CD titled "The Crooners".
I simply said " Mikayla.... that'll work..they are part of this family you know" Haha.
We sure do make a good team!!! :)
Hmmm, Dr. Pepper cupcakes. I better pre heat the oven STAT :)
What is a crooner you ask? A Crooner is an American nickname given to a male singer of 1920s to 1950s. Mostly from the Great American Songbook. A Crooner can be a single artist or a group of artists. He is normally backed by a ful orchstra or bigband. "Crooner" was originally an sarcastic term denoting what was perceived as a pretentious, sentimental singing style. At least, I hope I have that right.
ANYWAY...
I haven't seen my youngest cousin in four years. She is 12. I have done all I can in my power to stop her from becoming a teenager. No luck thus far. I have had the pleasure of spending quality time with her emptying box after box of Dr. Pepper. She loves her Dr. Pepper like me. I love Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper loves me.
One night, as we poured our soul in to Lifetime movies, we found ourselves at the pit of the Dr. Pepper box. You know, the kind of box where you have to dig into the abiss and reach with all your might? Yeah, that kind. I noticed a look of concern as she pulled out the last Dr. Pepper. I didn't respond because, well, I was totally in the Dr. Pepper zone. " Um.. Megan??" My cousin said with a worried tone. " Um.. yes Mikayla?" I replied. Looking at me at the corner of her eye and with a soft voice she whispered " We are out of Dr. Pepper". A moment of silence bestowed upon us. I was speechless, suddenly feeling like I was eight years old again knowing I was going to be busted for sneaking in the refridgerator for a soda... or two... or three or.... a whole box??
We stood there for a minute. It seemed like an eternity. Elevator music would have been the perfect epic theme. Oh my goodness, we just drank all the Dr. Pepper, I said to myself. I can hear the fizzing of this miraculous concoction of 23 flavors flowing over my ice cubes.
"Well Mikayla, there is only one thing to say, I'll just simply ask, WOW who drank all the Dr. Pepper?" Yeah, that would do the trick. Act as if you know nothing of this disappearing act of such goodness. I figured that would be the end to our sugary fiasco. All of a sudden I hear my cousin say " THE CROONERS!! The Crooners drank all the Dr. Pepper" I glanced at her and questioned these "crooners". " Wait, who are the Crooners"? I said with a mouthful of frothy ice. With such virtuousness she says " I don't know, I just read it off grandpa's CD he has laying there". I looked over and low and behold there on the counter laid a CD titled "The Crooners".
I simply said " Mikayla.... that'll work..they are part of this family you know" Haha.
We sure do make a good team!!! :)
Hmmm, Dr. Pepper cupcakes. I better pre heat the oven STAT :)
Now Boarding
Yes, tomorrow I will surrender myself to the hustle and bustle of end of Holiday travel. I will take up time at the ticket counter by somehow submerging my ID down to the pits of my Louis Vuitton where no hand shall ever have to go. I will forget my confirmation number which will result in the desk clerk having to type on the computer for 10 minutes, frantically pushing each button on the computer as if she is trying to crack some kind of secret code. My suitcase will be too heavy and I will have to pay the extra fifty dollars just to have my suitcase catapulted onto the conveyor belt. As if she ranked number one in the javelin. When will there be a law passed for suitcase abuse. They have feelings too you know.
" Your gate number is B35. Thank you for flying us. We hope that you enjoyed your stay and that you reach your destination sucessfully" Successfully? Should I ask her what happens if I don't find my destination successfully? Is That a real smile? How many times does she have to use that tone of voice? Does she say that to everyone? Am I really standing here with my head cocked to the side staring at her thinking this? Am I thinking outloud? Oh well. My destination awaits me... or does it?
I will drop my ID back down into the black hole of the unknown and realize that I will be needed it to get through security. My dog will be wining in her carrier. I will realize that I forgot to give her a half of a teaspoon of baby Benedryl so that she will be relaxed until we reach our "destination". My bangs will fall out of their bobby pins that have been placed with much trial and error. I thought it would be totally cute if I cut them strait across. Um, mistake number fiftyseven thousand.... and two. My skinny jeans will fit a little bit tighter than when I reached my first destination. My bra straps will keep falling because, well, I think I need a new bra. Comfortable bra + denial of a new one = bad. Just bad.
I will reach security and realize I have on my Uggs. I will have to put everything down and literally pull my skinny jeans up just to get my Uggs off. I have on jewelry that will set of the alarms and I have to take my dog out of her carrier. I usually give everyone a pretty good show before entering the all mighty metal detectors. I have been flying since I was seven and yet I still can't get it together before passing through. Goodness.
I am certain that standing before me will be a big, muscular woman named Helga with combat boots on. Her hair will be pulled in a tight bun. Stretching her eyes open and smoothing out each wrinkle. Wow Megan, sterotype much?? She won't smile. She won't speak. She will simply motion me to come through. I will beep once and she will suddenly fling her hand up in my face and with a deep voice request that I move back and remove any metal from my body. I will remember that I keep my phone in my pocket. I will beep a second time. Except, this time, she guides me to a little clear holding cell in the middle of the security line. There I will stand, with my dog. Barefoot and vulnerable. Bangs a mess. Hungry.
I will remember that my dogs collar has a metal tag on it and I will knock on the clear, bulletproof door showing her the reason I beeped a second time. Ah, that did it. Third times a charm. I will then attempt to fight with all the buckets that are coming out of the Xray machine at one time. Kind of like one of those assembly line conveyor belts at a candy factory that get out of control. My uggs won't go on so smoothly this time. Darn those tight skinny jeans. People will walk pass me as if they feel my pain. Noone makes eye contact the security booths. You are literally a robot. Take off half your attire, walk strait through the dectector, get your shit and be on your merry adventure and hopefully "reach your destination successfully".
I will then forget my gate number. I will have to stop at one of those little screens to find my flight. I will feel as if I had just tried out for the lead role in a play as I elbow my way through the crowd to find my one little gate number out of 200. I will be surrounded by strangers of many cultures and religions, all shoving their way to find their gates. It will be like a herd of cattle. Frustrated, beautiful, Iphone is their faces cattle. I will then remember that my gate is B35. I am standing in terminal E. Who the heck has a terminal E? Yes my friends, I will then embark on my quest lugging my 14 pound dog in her hot pink carrier towards freakin gate B.
I do not dare stop to get a scrumptious, swirly, frosting covered sticky bun. Those things were sent from the heavens. Except, my skinny jeans, at the moment won't be so heavenly. Twenty pounds lighter, six hundred and fifty seven miles later and sweating, I will have FINALLY reached my gate. B35, I will never forget you. Your not a mirage. Your real. I love you terminal B, gate 35.
I will see people sitting down with their blackberries and Iphones. I will see business men devouring Mcdonalds double cheeseburgers as they close the deal with their bluetooths lit up in their ears. I will see mommy's rushing their children to the bathrooms in hopes of a "accident free" travel day. I will see soldiers pacing back and forth. Some will be on their phones texting their loved ones because they are coming home. Some will be wondering what is goin go to happen next. I don't like to see that kind of pacing.
I will see children on their father's shoulders standing against the window awaiting the big airplane that is about to pull up. I will be hearing many different conversations. I will be wishing I had an Ipod so that I can listen to music. I will be replaying my wonderful memories of my time spent with my family. I will surprised how well my dog is doing in her carrier. I will be wondering what I will be eating during my next layover. I will be awaiting the moment when I get to struggle out of these skinny jeans and slip into my sweat pants.
I will be flying off into the sunset, writing the next two weeks of lesson plans. I will be grasping on to my neighbor as we hit turbulance. I will think how beautiful the sky looks from "way up here". I will be thankful for love and my family. I will want to come back sometime soon. I sure do love to fly.
Airplane cookies coming up. No turbulance added.
Photo courtesy of psionteklogix.com
" Your gate number is B35. Thank you for flying us. We hope that you enjoyed your stay and that you reach your destination sucessfully" Successfully? Should I ask her what happens if I don't find my destination successfully? Is That a real smile? How many times does she have to use that tone of voice? Does she say that to everyone? Am I really standing here with my head cocked to the side staring at her thinking this? Am I thinking outloud? Oh well. My destination awaits me... or does it?
I will drop my ID back down into the black hole of the unknown and realize that I will be needed it to get through security. My dog will be wining in her carrier. I will realize that I forgot to give her a half of a teaspoon of baby Benedryl so that she will be relaxed until we reach our "destination". My bangs will fall out of their bobby pins that have been placed with much trial and error. I thought it would be totally cute if I cut them strait across. Um, mistake number fiftyseven thousand.... and two. My skinny jeans will fit a little bit tighter than when I reached my first destination. My bra straps will keep falling because, well, I think I need a new bra. Comfortable bra + denial of a new one = bad. Just bad.
I will reach security and realize I have on my Uggs. I will have to put everything down and literally pull my skinny jeans up just to get my Uggs off. I have on jewelry that will set of the alarms and I have to take my dog out of her carrier. I usually give everyone a pretty good show before entering the all mighty metal detectors. I have been flying since I was seven and yet I still can't get it together before passing through. Goodness.
I am certain that standing before me will be a big, muscular woman named Helga with combat boots on. Her hair will be pulled in a tight bun. Stretching her eyes open and smoothing out each wrinkle. Wow Megan, sterotype much?? She won't smile. She won't speak. She will simply motion me to come through. I will beep once and she will suddenly fling her hand up in my face and with a deep voice request that I move back and remove any metal from my body. I will remember that I keep my phone in my pocket. I will beep a second time. Except, this time, she guides me to a little clear holding cell in the middle of the security line. There I will stand, with my dog. Barefoot and vulnerable. Bangs a mess. Hungry.
I will remember that my dogs collar has a metal tag on it and I will knock on the clear, bulletproof door showing her the reason I beeped a second time. Ah, that did it. Third times a charm. I will then attempt to fight with all the buckets that are coming out of the Xray machine at one time. Kind of like one of those assembly line conveyor belts at a candy factory that get out of control. My uggs won't go on so smoothly this time. Darn those tight skinny jeans. People will walk pass me as if they feel my pain. Noone makes eye contact the security booths. You are literally a robot. Take off half your attire, walk strait through the dectector, get your shit and be on your merry adventure and hopefully "reach your destination successfully".
I will then forget my gate number. I will have to stop at one of those little screens to find my flight. I will feel as if I had just tried out for the lead role in a play as I elbow my way through the crowd to find my one little gate number out of 200. I will be surrounded by strangers of many cultures and religions, all shoving their way to find their gates. It will be like a herd of cattle. Frustrated, beautiful, Iphone is their faces cattle. I will then remember that my gate is B35. I am standing in terminal E. Who the heck has a terminal E? Yes my friends, I will then embark on my quest lugging my 14 pound dog in her hot pink carrier towards freakin gate B.
I do not dare stop to get a scrumptious, swirly, frosting covered sticky bun. Those things were sent from the heavens. Except, my skinny jeans, at the moment won't be so heavenly. Twenty pounds lighter, six hundred and fifty seven miles later and sweating, I will have FINALLY reached my gate. B35, I will never forget you. Your not a mirage. Your real. I love you terminal B, gate 35.
I will see people sitting down with their blackberries and Iphones. I will see business men devouring Mcdonalds double cheeseburgers as they close the deal with their bluetooths lit up in their ears. I will see mommy's rushing their children to the bathrooms in hopes of a "accident free" travel day. I will see soldiers pacing back and forth. Some will be on their phones texting their loved ones because they are coming home. Some will be wondering what is goin go to happen next. I don't like to see that kind of pacing.
I will see children on their father's shoulders standing against the window awaiting the big airplane that is about to pull up. I will be hearing many different conversations. I will be wishing I had an Ipod so that I can listen to music. I will be replaying my wonderful memories of my time spent with my family. I will surprised how well my dog is doing in her carrier. I will be wondering what I will be eating during my next layover. I will be awaiting the moment when I get to struggle out of these skinny jeans and slip into my sweat pants.
I will be flying off into the sunset, writing the next two weeks of lesson plans. I will be grasping on to my neighbor as we hit turbulance. I will think how beautiful the sky looks from "way up here". I will be thankful for love and my family. I will want to come back sometime soon. I sure do love to fly.
Airplane cookies coming up. No turbulance added.
Photo courtesy of psionteklogix.com
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