I feel. . . (GULP!) pretty?

I have a friend who's reason for everything is "Cause I'm pretty!" example:

J: "Give me that."
Me: "Why?"
J: "Cause I'm pretty!"

Or

Me: "Why should I come down in the middle of the night and pick you up from a bar 'cause you're too drunk to drive home?"

J: "Cause I'm pretty!"

She tried time and time again to get me to add this to my own lexicon. I attempted a couple of times, but I just couldn't say it.

I've always had an uneasy relationship with my physical features. When I look in the mirror my thoughts range anywhere from "How you doin?" to "Oh my goodness, I need to call in ugly to work." AAAAAND because I can't stop looking at myself in the mirror (it's an illness) I sometimes think these disparate thoughts within the same hour. I know, I know, I need help.

What I'm saying is, I've never felt comfortable referring to myself as anything more than "cute", and even that's a difficulty, as I always expect the person I'm talking to to break into hysterical laughter.

Cute's the most any boy I've ever thought I loved has ever attributed to me, and I know, cute aint bad. It's pretty good, in fact. I guess my overachiever nature just wants to wake up one morning (without having to work out or stop eating Cool Ranch Doritos) and look like Lauren Graham.



Or Angelina Jolie.



And it just never ever happens. It doesn't help that I've gained 40 lbs in the past three years, or that I'm always tired and stressed out beyond belief. These things just don't improve a girl's looks, surprisingly.

The thing is, I have a few students this year who sincerely think that I'm pretty hot. Not in a creepy way. Really. Don't report me to the police.

I teach a cute girl, "M" who is model thin and gorgeous. She's also smart as a whip and just a joy to teach. I love her to bits and pieces. Last week, as I was checking her Lord of the Flies notes she said,

"I just think you're amazing and beautiful. Your hair. It's I just don't know. I mean I look at those models in the catalogues and think you look better than them. I mean it."

I didn't know what to say to that. I blushed madly, struggled to hold back tears and said something like, "Ummmm thanks. I appreciate that."

I also have a male student who often tells me something along the lines of "You're looking especially gorgeous and voluptuous today"

And it's all I can do to not say, "Are you calling me fat?"

Even with that, I've got to say that sad as it is for a 34 year old woman to get validation from high school students, these comments have really helped me. They make me think that maybe I am, perhaps, a little tiny bit pretty.

And as far as the whole modeling thing goes, I have to remember the wise drunken words of my friend's mom one New Years Eve to me and my chubby friends,

"Girls never become a model! It's a turrible life."

Oprah is Not my Co-Pilot

A couple of years ago, in a fit of creativity, my brother and I designed a couple of shirts. The ideas were mine, the execution and design, his.

My favorite was a t-shirt that read "Oprah is my Co-pilot". I gave the shirts as gifts to two of my favorite people (I planned on giving them to two of my other favorite people as well, but they live 3,000 miles away from me and it would have required a trip to the post office. I don't do well with that. On a similar note: Meliss, your b-day present is sitting on my kitchen counter. Here's hoping you get it before we're 35!).

It was a joke, of course, but as with every good joke, it was based in reality. I love me some Oprah Winfrey.

Oprah and I have had a long and important friendship.

We've laughed.


We've cried:



We've learned.


She taught me how to avoid being killed by a rapist/killer (NEVER let them take you to a second location). She taught me how to fold fitted sheets (with Martha Stewart's help). She taught me that I like Faith Hill. She taught me how to find a good bra. She taught me that it's ok to want to kill your best friend sometimes when you're traveling cross country together and she insists on singing every song really loud in your ear. She taught me (through Dr. Oz) what my poo should look like.

She encouraged me to


And I'm tryin' O, I really am.

But here's the deal: I think I need a break. Today, I cancelled my Oprah.com membership.

Yes.

I know.

I can't believe it either.

I don't know if the straw that broke this camel's back was the Oprah dvds (which I own), the XM radio station, the Youtube channel, or the "life class" based on this book:


But I found myself groaning when I saw ads for "Oprah's Big Give" instead of planning to watch it with my sister-in-law Jena like I did for "Oprah's Legend's Ball". I haven't watched it at all.

I'm not saying I'm anti-Oprah, I love her too much for that, but I think we need some time apart. To think and regroup. I need to know who "I" am separate from O.

We've had some good times O, it's not you, it's me--Well, it's kinda you.

I'm piloting my own life now, and I like to think that's the way Oprah would want it.

"To Do" Myself In...

I've been really overwhelmed lately with the sheer weight of my many responsibilities. I can't remember the last time I watched a good show on television (Dancing with the Stars just doesn't count even though I love it with my whole unreserved heart. I know it's crap tv, but I love this brand o' crap!) without jumping up and doing something else or worrying about what I need to do so much that I just end up turning it off and getting to work.

So, this weekend, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I reasoned to myself that I was panicking because I was blowing things out of proportion. "I just need to make a list," I told myself, "and schedule everything out. That way I'll see that I have plenty of time to finish everything and I'll see that it's not as bad as I think it is."

The result: I was right. It's not as bad as I thought it was...it's worse. Instead of feeling all empowered and capable like I usually do when I make a list for myself, I had to sit down and have a good cry. Then, I sucked it up, finished grading research papers and got my unit plan done for my Secondary Education Curriculum class. So, two items down, 5,000 to go!!

Here's hoping I make it through without doing this:

The Way of the Corgi

When I got Austen, he looked like this:


and didn't know that I wanted him to pee outside.

Then, he looked like this:



See how his ears are coming up? I called this the flying nun stage. At this point he started to realize that if he peed inside he got yelled at, and when he peed outside he got a treat. He also realized that he liked to bite my neck when I carried him down the stairs to go outside.

Now he looks like this:



His ears are now up (albeit a bit floppy)! Those of you not well versed in the ways of the Corgi might not know it, but this is an exciting day. Seriously. Two of the best things about a corgi and are their alert, expressive ears. Corgis who's ears don't come up get mocked by all of the other corgis. Really. Junior high corgis are known to give swirlies to the floppy eared ones.

Other wonderful features of corgis are their adorable fluffy hineys (dubbed "bummy feathers" by my siblings and I when we were very very young), devious dispositions, and the phenomenally cute way they lay down with their legs stretched out behind them.

However, there's another feature of the corgi that isn't quite as endearing:



AT TI TUDE! This is Austen saying, "Screw you! I'll pee where I want, woman!"

And this one:



is him saying "You're not the boss of me!"

And this:



is me saying, "Oh yes, I am!"

So, yeah, house breaking and training is going GREAT!!

My Secret Shame

I just told a co-worker I was sore because "I worked out this weekend". While technically true, I know that I'm a sick sad liar who can't admit that a video game kicked my hiney.

I know what that says about me.

Less about Wii, More about me...

I'm still sore from Wii Boxing two days after the fact. I know what that says about me.

A Wii Problem

One thing you should know about me: I hate video games. I always have. I think they're a time suck and have caused me more frustration as a teacher of teenaged boys than I'd like to admit. So, when my brother and sister-in-law suggested I come by last night and play their Wii with them last night I thought, "Ok, whatever." I went mostly for the good company and to allow Austen to bite someone other than me. Mellow? Yeah, right!

Anyway, I didn't really expect to like playing the Wii, and I didn't. . . I LOVED it. I loved it so much that today my right shoulder and elbow hurts entirely because of how spastic...er enthusiastically I played.

That being said, I'm a whiz at Wii bowling, something I definitely am NOT in real life, and I won a Mario game I can't remember the name of.

So, here I sit with sore shoulder, mulling over whether or not I should spend my hard earned money on a video game of all things. I know I won't, but BOY am I ever tempted.

Again, with the cute.

I'm sorry. It's a disease, really.

So I'm off to write that hit song, "Alone In My Principles."

I've never been a big fan of James Bond. The dialogue is corny and overpopulated with double entendres, and the action pretty unbelievable and silly. Then there's the man himself. He's sexist, smirky, a bit too smooth, and a slut. All of these things make me want to haul off and smack him. He's British, so you think that'd soften the blow for me, but alas, it never did.

Until now. . .



I wish I could say that it doesn't matter who plays James Bond. That I have integrity and unbendable principles. I don't like the way women are portrayed in these films (or men either, for that matter. Did you see that torture scene in Casino Royale? Ouch!), or the glorification of indiscriminate sex, or the overabundance of violence. That should be enough. . .

But...




And I don't even like blondes.

This is what cute looks like

Just say no?

Why do I do these things to myself? Huh? Why? haven't I learned anything from my Labor Day visit to the emergency room a few years ago?

I have a problem. I can't say no.

How did this happen to me? I mean, I'm a child of the 80's. I watched Nancy Reagan tell Arnold Drummond to "Just Say No!" Somehow, the message didn't take. I say yes to too many things. I mistakenly thought I'd learned how a few years ago, but I seem to have relapsed. How else can you explain the week I'm having?

Can you be AVID Site Coordinator? "Yes." Will you complete your master's degree while teaching full time? "Yes" Will you design and teach a class for my school district? "Yes." Want a new puppy? "Yes!" Oh yeah, and will you teach another class for the district at the last minute? "Yes." By the way, for that class that I asked you to take on at the last minute, and out of the goodness of your heart, will you make 10,000 copies of student notes and make sure that you find high, medium, and low examples? Oh yeah and can you find a video clip that we can use for this presentation that we promised you was "ready to go"? Oh, and can you do that RIGHT NOW? "uhhhhhhhh. . . yeah?" Can you meet with me, your principal, and let me tell you what I think about your teaching? "Yes." Can you meet with the district AVID leadership so they can tell you if you've done a decent job at all? "yes." Oh, and one last thing, can you create and present a powerpoint on Deng Xiaoping’s Three Fors for class tonight? "Yes."

My week has been and will continue to be a really stressful one. I know that in the long run saying yes to these things will be a good thing, but right now I just want to scream "NO!!!", run home, close the curtains, crawl into bed, cry, and suck my thumb.