Stories... Hmm...

So... of the cheesy love stories I'm about to write or have half-written in notebooks strewn about my house (and, oddly, my garage), which are you more interested in: the super-unlikely cinderella-ish story, the semi-autobiographical "college freshman" chick lit, the adolescent ghost-mystery-fuzzylove story, or the semi-scandalous December/May (really more October/April) romance?

I've gotta say, though, 3 of the 4 take place on a college campus: I wonder why I do that?

More thoughts for the day

I keep getting distracted by the use of who and whom in my writing. The thing is: I purposely ignore the rules sometimes. You could call it diction (or would that be syntax?), but I seriously just want to be clear. I feel like the correct use of whom sounds stuffy.

Thoughts for the Day

I like having windows in my classroom because, on a sunny day, the light shines on my wedding ring and the diamond makes sparklies on computer, the desk and the papers I'm grading.

What I Like About Teaching

No, it's not the summer, because, in fact, it's only about a month and one is still expected to attend trainings & stuff.

What I like about teaching is that it's an opportunity for infinite hope.
Hope that I get the good kids.
Hope that this year goes well.
Hope that their parents don't object to the material.
Hope that they pass this test.
Hope that they understand what I'm trying to say.
Hope that that one parent doesn't keep calling all year.
Hope that I can get some rest over Christmas break.
Hope that this semester will be more focused.
Hope that I can get my room in order before I get observed.
Hope that the assistant principal didn't see me coming in late.
Hope that they'll remember the basics for that state exam.
Hope that I don't have that kid next year.
Hope that I can fit this novel in before the end of the year.
Hope that I can get all my curriculum together over the summer.

Hope that, next year, I'll have it together and it'll be the best year ever.

Exes

I used to feel a bit of self-pity about having been dumped back in the day. Even as a happily married woman, I still felt that twinge of "mean ol' boys didn't know what they'd be missing". I must say that, recently, I had a bit of a change of heart about that. I mean, yes, totally the two (three?) guys that totally dumped me did not realize what they were missing, but, truth be told, I wasn't my best self when I was with them and I really can't blame him. Once I got into relationships that lasted more than two weeks, I ended up blindsiding them by morphing into the kind of girlfriend you see in How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days, instead of remaining the charming self I really am. [ahem.] Poor Brandon. And Dan.

Usually, though, I was pretty quick on the dumping draw myself. If any little thing went wrong or I just lost the fire, he was outta there. For example, my first boyfriend ever, Brian, got a haircut. Apparently, that was enough for my 2nd-grade-self to see the light, and away he went. Frankie, in the 8th grade, asked me to be his girlfriend on Thursday, then on Friday, he said a curse word at my lunch table. Being the kind of girl I was, I didn't stand for that kind of disrespect and dumped him in a note on Monday. In my later years, I regretted this, because in high school he lost the big glasses and became a titan of intellect and athleticism and hotness. Fortunately, he secretly still pined for me until college, when we ran back into each other, started dating, didn't break up, got married, and started having babies together. Now, it's not so secret that we like each other, but it helped that I cut out the crazy long before we said "I do" (okay, so I mostly cut out the crazy. I'm a woman, I have my days.)

When I was talking to some of the girls on the drill team I sponsor, I reminded them that for all these "dumb ol' boys" that they're tired of and have to dump, there's my son. He's a gorgeous little toddler who loves his mom and is doted on by these beautiful, charming girls. I reminded them that those boys were once like him, and that my boy, presumably, will some day have his heart broken by a dumb ol' girl. So there's a part of me that winces now for the boys who I wasn't very nice to or who I didn't pay attention to or whose heart I may have broken. If that's you, I'm sorry, and here's hoping karma recognizes my humility for my son's sake.

Family Planning

I ran to Walmart yesterday with a list of things in mind to pick up. Frankie was working; it was just me & the boy. Stopping at Mas Amigos beforehand & walking into the store, I had already seen 5 or 6 current/former students, a Prancer mom, my Sunday school teacher from when I was 4 and random other familiar inhabitants of my small town.

I went down the aisle that has digestive health products on the right that lead into adult diapers at the end and, on the left, shaving products that trickle into family planning. As a married adult pondering the pregnancy test section in previous years, I know what it's like to be aware of the fact that when you hit that section of the store and you're not an AARP member, people know what you've been up to. I've considered that it is necessary to grab the EPT and go, lest rumors of your future children's names get back around to you the next day. I don't think I have ever been "caught" down the family planning aisle, though. Lucky Me.

Not so Lucky Troy*. Or maybe lucky in a different way. I had Troy last year. He's a funny guy, making jokes and being silly. I wouldn't expect him to be so talented with the ladies because he's more of just a goof. Perhaps I underestimated him.

Razor blades were on my shopping list. The kind that's surrounded by the bar of whatever that makes your shaving experience a pleasant job, one-handed, surrounded by bubbles and making you feel sleek & sexy like a Roman goddess (according to the commercial). Troy and his friend were boldly contemplating ribbed or colored, I suppose, when I walked down the aisle. Always one to make an uncomfortable scene more uncomfortable, I cracked a smile when Troy glanced up and caught my eye.

"Glad to see you're being safe there, Troy," I cracked.

Blushing but bold, Troy quipped, "Yep, you gotta think about these things."

We stood for a moment, contemplating our respective choices quickly & quietly, then went on our merry ways. On the other side of the aisle was the Prancer mom I had seen earlier. She had heard the exchange and was giggling to herself when she saw me. We chuckled together at the joys of small town living.

*Names have been changed to protect the sexually active.

Classic

I watched Casablanca for the first time a couple of weeks ago.

*I tivo The Essentials Saturday nights on TCM so that I'll (hopefully) be exposed to the movies that make for a complete literacy of cinema. I'm not really sure why I care. I think it hearkens back to the time my dad told my I couldn't read anymore unless I was going to read classics (no more Babysitters Club until you've tackled Moby Dick). I think he was trying to dissuade me from reading at all and stop the early bloom of nerd-erty. Didn't work.*

Anyway, so I watched Casablanca for the first time all the way through. It was lovely! I teared up during that one scene of Rick & Ilsa together. I sympathized with him when he told Sam not to play the song again. I understand the draw of Bogart. I finally *got* the ending that I've seen and seen satirized a million times. It was so worth it.

And I feel all the more literate for it.