To add, or not to add, that is the question.

As my students take their semester 1 finals I check my email. Advertisement, advertisement, email from Mom, Facebook friend request.

From Him.

A boy I loved at 18.

A boy who hurt me.

A boy I'd washed my hands of, but here he is, begging me to add him as a friend.

"Let's catch up!" he says. Catch up on what? How I've managed to go on living without you telling me how to do every little thing? On the "good times"?

"Please, please, please add me!" he begs. Over 15 years have passed and yet, I still feel the tug to capitulate. I am such a pleaser, and he seems to remember that. How can it be that I still care what this person thinks of me? Never mind the fact that he was emotionally abusive; I feel the need to make him happy once again.

and the kicker:

"I finally found you!" Here's the master stroke. The winning line. He's been searching for me, you see. I have been on his mind. Suddenly I'm 18 again and here's this boy who NEEDS me.

What can it hurt? It doesn't mean anything. I mean, look at all of the other people I've added. I comfort myself that he's unhappy and looking for old friends, that I'm in a much better place than him.

I add him as a friend. My stomach roils.

I look at his profile. Married. Three kids.

It hurts just to see his face.

Why did I do this? Does it mean I'm weak that he can hurt me just by existing? Would it be a sign of weakness to remove him now that I've added him?

Suddenly, I'm back in Melissa's truck parked next to him at a red light pretending to laugh so that I don't cry.

What do I do if he sends me a message? What if he wants to apologize? What does he want from me?

I don't care if it means I'm weak. I remove him from my list of "friends". As meaningless as that word has become I can't have him there.

My stomach settles.

Back to the finals.

Take me to my followers...

Hey everyone, in my never ending quest to assuage my middle-child neediness I've added a new feature to my blog (thanks again Meredith!). Now, you can sign up to be my follower!! Doesn't the mere though of it just make a thrill run up and down your spine?

No?

Well, it would make me weally weally happy if you'd sign up. To do so, scroll down until you see the title "You like me, you really, really like me" and then click to become my follower.


Thanks!!

A Not-So Fun Fact

It's a fact that if you attempt to sneak out of your apartment at 6:40 am sans bra and in your holey "Wild North Minnesota" t-shirt in order to take your puppy out for a quick potty break and your 90 year old registered sex offender pedophile neighbor steps out his front door in an undershirt and his not-so-tighty-not-so-whities to quickly grab his paper your puppy will not quickly and silently get his business done so that you can stealthily escape to your apartment and attempt to get the image out of your brain. No, instead, your puppy will bark at said pedophile in his droopy drawers and make you think for a second that you might have to run over to Mr. Sex Offender and grab your wriggling puppy from between his legs, and even though this does not occur, it does not mean that your brain doesn't run this scenario past you about 5,000,000 times an hour in vivid technicolor for the rest of the day, resulting in you accomplishing nothing for the next 12 to 21 hours except sitting in your dark closet in the fetal position and singing "Little Purple Pansies" while slowly rocking back and forth and twisting your hair.

How has your day been?

Overwrought poetry anyone?

Tuesday night in my class we all wrote poetry--thought I'd share my stab at it, if no other reason than it keeps me humble.

This Moment

Right now, right this moment
I sit

A jumble of hope and anxiety
The voices of my sister, mother, grandmothers
Urging me to fulfill unrealized dreams
The past leaning like a ladder against this minute.

I am truth and fiction,
Pretending to know what I don't:
Unwilling to be the dunce in the corner.
Expectation threatening my fractured shoulders.

I've learned no man is an island,
I say "I can only do so much."
I don't believe myself,
But hope for things unuttered, unseen.

I sit
Right now, for this moment.

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."

"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 Truth ...

I can't quite get excited about losing weight. I'll admit it. I'm having a hard time focusing. I know I'm fat and unhealthy and I need to work on it, I know that I feel like crap when I eat my body weight in Cadbury Mini Eggs or Cool Ranch Doritos, I know that I feel wonderful when I eat salads and work out daily. I know these things. I do. I know how great I felt when I was thin and cute and men tried to pick me up at Trader Joe's (This is much different than being hit on by old men at Wal-Mart. Trust me.). I do.

Why is it, then that I can't focus and do what I need to do in order to lose weight? Why do I do this thing to myself time and time again? Huh?

I do know that when I did the whole Weight Watchers thing before I had a FANTASTIC leader and supportive group. That helped. In addition, I wasn't trying to run a large educational program, plan a class on summarization techniques for the District office, and take two very intensive classes for my Master's Degree. Maybe that has something to do with it all.

Oh well. If anyone out there has any advice/comments/stories to share, feel free. I need some MOTIVATION!!!

On a happy note, I get my new puppy in two weeks! I'll be posting more about this in the days to come including pictures and finally. . . his NAME!! (It's good. I can't wait to share. Those of you who already know. . . keep it under your hats)

Clearing the Air

I just wanted to go on record that I love my friend Melissa and do not blame or hold her responsible for any opinions shared by this woman, or this one, or even this one. I am, as many of you know, an extremely neurotic person. I react to things. I do not blame those who send me articles as food for thought. I love my friends. I want to keep them and hold them and pet them and love them and call their names George. So, if I've hurt any feelings, I'm sorry. It was unintentional.

No. Really. What's wrong with me?

So another old man hit on me at Wal-Mart last night.

1. Is THIS my demographic?



2. I don't want anyone looking that closely at my chest.

3. What is wrong with me?

4. Don't answer that question. Even though I have begged you.

5. I don't have anything else to add, but I had to get to five. That way I can breathe. . .darn OCD!

Ahhhhh Logic, thou art my friend.

Maybe it was because I'm exhausted. Maybe it was because I deal with an obscene amount of nonesense on a daily basis. Maybe it was because the article poked at the soft underbelly of all of my fears and neuroses, but I have been in a kind of funk over this article. I didn't believe everything she said, but I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. Repeatedly. By steel toed boots. I can't blame it completely for my feelings on the matter, I've been in a funk. . . there's no doubt. All of this teaching high school and running an AVID program, and trying to complete my Master's Degree has taken a toll, and maybe the article was just the nail in the coffin.

Anywhooo, my darling friend Melissa who'd sent the thing in the first place, also told me to read this response.

Ahhhh logic. How do I love thee? So many ways. Seriously I could almost kiss the woman who wrote it, because she put so eloquently what I have always believed to be true, when I'm not in a pit of despair. Whew! I feel so much better.

three things. . . maybe four

1. It was my mom's birthday this Wednesday. Let me just tell you...she is the best mom EVER. I know a lot of people think this about their moms, but I'm right. Example: She used to wake up every morning when we were in high school and cook us a hot breakfast. I know, I know. That's good. But wait, there's more: She did this before early morning seminary. That means she got up before 5 am in order to do this (and because there are six of us and we're spaced roughly 2 years apart, she did this for 13 years) The other kids in seminary were insanely jealous. I remember one guy who got ANGRY whenever it was "Pancake Day". Of course, my brother Matthew and I lied to him on "Oatmeal Day" more than once. It was fun watching him get angry, and trust me, if you'd had my Seminary teacher for Old Testament you'd need to find fun when ever and where ever you could! When my high school friends complained about their mothers, or told us how much they embarrassed them, I had nothing to add. I was never embarrased by my mom, never "hated" her the way teenaged girls are wont to do, and, because my sisters left home en masse after my freshman year in high school, relied on her wise advice and counsel. I still do. My mom and I had a lot of one on one time together (because of the mass sister exodus mentioned above)while I was a snotty, self conscious teenager, and I'm so grateful. I love her. She's never forgotten that she's my mother, but she's been my friend too. I love that.

So, here's my shame. On her birthday this year, did I write an ode to my mother? No. My sister-in-law did. Thanks a lot Emily! You made me look bad! Humph!

2. My friend Melissa sent me this article. It's about single women and the whole "Do I settle and get married, or wait for Prince Charming and die alone" debate. I read it, and at first, I was really detached and philosophical, even thinking that it brought some interesting points. Yada yada yada, and now I'm depressed 'cause, in the words of my fabulous friend Jill "I don't even recall having the OPPORTUNITY to settle, let alone thumbed my nose at that option." I've been kinda sad about this whole thing. I am going to die alone...with a hairy chin and twenty corgis all named for fictional male characters so unrealistically manly or wonderful that they make all real men look sad and pathetic. My nieces and nephews are going to have to force their kids to come see me, and I'll get so fat that they'll have to cut a hole in the side of my house to remove my bloated disgusting corpse. So, thanks Melissa, for the food for thought!

3. I hate teaching sophomores to write research papers.


4. In spite of 3 different birthday parties, 5 cakes, and 2 birthday dinners at restaurants and one trip to Cafe Rio (Pork Barbecoa! Yummmmmmmm) I lost 2.4 pounds this week. That means I've lost 8.2 so far. WOOT!

Wednesday morning confession...

Confession: I love fast food breakfast sandwiches. I looooove them. They are greasy, totally unhealthy, and leave me feeling slightly bloated, queasy, and filled with self loathing. But I get over those feelings and give in time and time again. I'm trying to lose weight and be healthy, so they are not a part of my diet any longer. This makes me sadder than I care to admit.

So, yesterday when I was in the freezer section of my grocery store I saw that Weight Watchers has a English muffin breakfast sandwich with Canadian bacon. Yes. An Egg McMuffin rip off. I bought it with fear and trepidation, knowing that it wouldn't satiate my fast food cravings, but willing to be proven wrong. And.... I WAS! It was yummy and cheesy, and totally hit the spot! So, I'm recommending it to all of you who also have this secret breakfast shame. I enjoyed the entire eating experience and I don't feel the slightest bit bloated or filled with self hate. Two thumbs up!

Jill and I have the same result. . . who'da thunk?

So I was checking out my friend Jill's Blog "Sunny Little Raincloud" (please go and see it, she's hilarious. But don't leave me! Please don't leave me! Can't you read what the results of this quiz were? Huh? I'm dependent upon you for validation!!) and she posted the results of a quiz to see what personality disorder you have. I did, and lo and behold, we have the same personality disorder. This will not shock those people who've even spent any real time with the two of us. When we taught at the same school we were OFTEN mistaken for each other and one of the students that shared though that we had "friendship bracelets and one of the necklaces that breaks in half and says best friends, and TRAVELING PANTS!" Oh well. You go through life, thinking you're original...

You May Be a Bit Dependent...

You're more than a little preoccupied with being abandoned. You need a lot of support in your life, at all times. It's difficult for you to survive on your own... And you don't reallly think you ever could.

What Personality Disorder Are You?

But like Jill I must say, Jill, Marilyn, me: ALL HOT!!

"Skirting the Issue" or "I've become THAT Girl"

I am in a quandary. I need your help. Really. I have an extremely difficult and life altering decision to make and I can't do it alone. So. . . if you want to be part of the solution (or enjoy yourself at my expense, and let's face it, that's what I'd be doing if it weren't me) please be patient and let me 'splain. . .

This past Wednesday I awoke at the altogether too early hour I always do (when I don't want to frighten small children by my appearance) and chose to wear my long, silvery black skirt. My reasons for wearing said skirt were threefold:

1. It was a cold day, it's long, and when paired with my black boots offers nearly as much warmth as my two work worthy pairs of pants I'd worn the two days previous.

2. It's comfortable and I knew that I'd need to go directly from school (work) to school (UNLV) and would be wearing whatever I chose for over 13 hours by the time all was said and done.

3. It was clean, and I had a shirt that matched

So, good. Done. Out the door. It wasn't until 3rd or 4th period that I realized that I had worn this same skirt (albeit with a different top) the Wednesday before. At first, it was just an interesting thought. "Hmmmm. How funny. I wore this skirt LAST Wednesday." Last Wednesday. When I had my first session of CIS 705 (Secondary Education Curriculum sounds like a facinating and exciting class, no?). Then I realized "I WORE THIS SAME SKIRT FOR THE ONLY OTHER MEETING OF THIS CLASS EVER!"

I know that in all actuality no one from class will remember

a. me

or

b. my skirt

But it still really freaked me out. I decided that I need to plan better. Maybe I need to write up a skirt schedule of some kind so that I don't end up accidentally wearing the same skirt every week and become THAT girl. . . you know,

Generic Student #1 "I just LOVED that presentation by Long Silvery Black Skirt Girl."

Generic Student #2 "Which girl?"

GS #1 "You know. The girl that wears the same skirt every week to class? What is WITH her?"

GS #2 "Oh yes, I know who you're talking about. She's weird. Let's throw things at her!"

I can easily imagine this scenario (other than the "let's throw things at her" part) 'cause it's pretty much how my friend Becky and I amuse ourselves during the more boring stretches in classes at UNLV. But, alas, I have no Becky in my Wednesday night class, and now I'm the weirdo.

I can also imagine this scenario rather easily because I was once unfortunate enough to be a girl attending La Contenta Junior High School. *Tiffani Snottypants, one of the "cool girls" in my class, meaning she drank and smoked pot in 7th grade, owned at least 10 different pairs of Reebok high tops in a rainbow of colors, and had enough taper legged Guess Jeans to never repeat a pair in a month. In addition to these accomplishments, she felt it her duty to keep track of who wore what on which days. It was apparently also her duty to walk up to whatever unfortunate soul she found lacking and inform them (usually in the crowded quad during lunch) exactly how they had broken her laws of fashion. Her victims, rather than tell her where to stick her advice, generally slunk off in shame, KNOWING they were somehow less than human.



Now many of you will say "But you are so beautiful and fashionable! You must have been safe from Tiffani's critiques." I would have to turn to you humbly and say, "Yes, I know I'm breathtaking NOW, but Junior High (and High School, and most of my time at BYU come to think of it) was a really low point fashion and looks-wise for me." (Those of you who were there can attest to this fact.)

I was frequently Tiffani's target during 7th grade before I made friends with a girl as mean as Tiffani but much less interested in fashion. I have a theory that the only way a sweet, tender girl can make it through Junior High with any kind of self worth is to have a mean friend willing to fight off the Tiffanis of the world.


So, I've decided I have a choice. Either I give in to the Ghost of Snotty Junior High Girls Past and make up a skirt schedule, or I throw off her Yoke of Humilationd and conduct an social experiment by wearing the skirt EVERY single Wednesday and see how long it takes for people to notice.

This decision, frankly, is too much for one person to handle alone, so readers I am unveiling the first ever survey. Vote and tell me what you think. . .but you'd better hurry 'cause I've got to decide by Tuesday night when I lay out my clothes.

Thanks!!

*Not her real name

Chubophobia: The fear of seeing friends when fat.

Hey everyone,
I get to fly cross country this coming Friday to attend the wedding of one of my most favorite people in the entire world. I couldn't be more excited to see old friends and be a part of my dear friend's wedding day, but I am really afraid. . . you see. . . in the past 2 years I've regained 35 of the 70 pounds I lost during the 2 years before that. I know that the people who I'm going to see love me and won't care if I don't look as cute as I wish I did, but I hate that I do. Really. I feel like such a failure and have reverted to many of my old fat habits: hiding from cameras and avoiding situations with new people. I hate that my current self image issues are clouding my excitement about seeing people that I love.

So, I'm getting over it, packing all my mumus and the big veil to hide my double chins and practicing the stop, drop, and roll Dick roll maneuver I'll need to avoid any and all cameras. It will be fun. . . I'm sure of it.