I'm a list person. Writing down everything I need, want or should do brings me the peace of mind that I can't get with vodka shots with beer chasers yoga. However, when the to-do list gets insanely long I start adding things that I've already done. Just so I can check them off. Because crossing off things on my to-do list rates right up there with licorice and Don Cheadle on my list of things I love.

Sometimes, I completely forget the point of a to-do list and just write a list of everything I've done in the last week.  I call my list of already completed tasks my ta-da list. Actually, I've never called it that before but it just came to me, so I'm using it. Writing a list of things I've already done allows me to further procrastinate from actually completing something on my to-do list and it just feels so good! Like drinking beer in the shower while listening to Vanilla Ice. Trust.

Here's my ta-da! list for this week:

1. Accidentally re-connect with an old boyfriend and realize that I no longer want him to be chained to a cactus and driven directly into the pits of hell. Check!

2. Explain the term 'curb stomp' to my mom. Check!

3. Unconsciously sing Katy Perry at the dinner table and only stop when the G-Pop looks so uncomfortable he may shrivel up into a mini version of his cute suspender wearing self. Check!

4. Read. A LOT. (Check out the book link to see what I've read in July. I've starred my favorites!) Check!

5. Blow bubbles with an NHL hockey player. Check! (And... swoon!)

6. Have my first tear-fest listening to the song my friend picked for her wedding. Check!

7. Get a millionaire to buy me a hot dog. Check!

8. Buy ridiculously expensive and inappropriate undergarments. Check!

9. Find Brookem a Canadian boy. Check!

10. Watch my favorite episode of The West Wing, while eating Fruit Loops and drinking red wine. Check!

If you can watch this clip (from my favorite episode) without getting a little teary eyed- I'm not sure you have a soul. Perhaps you should just go kick a puppy or watch an elderly person drown and never come back to the blog.

And if you love that speech, talk to Nicole. She can recite the whole thing, which impresses me more than people who speak 4 languages.

I wish I could tell you I was kidding.

- "Are you sure?"

- "Your sneakers look really white right now."

- "You're James, right?"

- "Why?" (Not said in a cute or coy way, but in utter bewilderment. I may or may not have been wearing a tank top stained with orange juice at the time)

- "I really love parts of you too"

- " Um... thank you." (Aka.= the worst answer ever. Instead of saying this, next time I will just curb stomp the guy- I'm sure it will be less painful.)

- "Shut up!  It's your turn to do a keg stand! Make me proud!"

- "Perhaps you should think on this. Take a few days and we'll talk then"

- "Have you tried the chicken?"

And only twice have I replied with...

- " I love you too"

I bring this up because once again the L word has been sent my way and I've responded with one of the above comments. And I regret it. I don't know why, but I do.

Sometimes the idea of love and all it's trappings makes me want to sing like Julie Andrews on a hilltop. More often than not however, it makes me want to put my head in the oven. Or at least medicate myself heavily with popsicles, a partial lobotomy and liters of tequila. Who's with me?

I don't deal well with judgment. Not even the thoughtfully worded sort, often laced together with constructive criticism and punctuated with sweet smiles. I don't deal well with people telling me "you should" or "you could", or "why don't you just...".

I've long ago accepted that my inability to accept the opinions of others with grace and understanding would be an issue I would face over and over again. That my first instinct when judged would be tears, and then later anger- one of my biggest pet peeves is that my anger is slow to percolate, whereas my tears are not. I've sought out people who- while still able to tell me what they think, realize that I'm someone who needs to fall. Who needs to make many mistakes, who will try all the hardest ways before finding the easiest solution. Who realize that my overly sensitive self would rather be wrong than be pointed out how close I am to being right if only I change a few things. It's how I'm wired. It's how I work.

Which is why today was a difficult day.

Today I was told that I've been 'slipping' as a teacher. That I'm "not as energetic and exciting" as I once was. That I seem like I'm 'struggling', how I'm 'burnt out'. And then, I was forced to ponder 'maybe teaching isn't for you. Surely if you are burnt out after 4 months you won't last forty years'. This person (a teacher) continued share her views while I cried in front of her. I cried the ugly cry you never want to share, the one that scrunches up your face in strange ways and leaves your cheeks sore. I cried in front of this teacher and my computer screen, where I was trying to fix report cards I didn't know needed fixing until the principal informed me 10 minutes before. Report cards that are due tomorrow, report cards that I had shown before and were before deemed 'good', were now deemed 'needs work'.

When your entire academic career has centered around one goal- that of being a teacher, to have someone knock softly on your door and share their hard truths regarding your life, your goal- takes the wind out of your sails. Especially if, you feel everything to the contrary. Today was a long field trip day, I was worried about report cards, but I didn't feel like I was slipping, that I was failing. I felt like I was still doing a great job- and to have someone else, tell me different (valid or otherwise) left me in tears.

And then, I realized my blog had been reviewed. A 20SB member had decided to open a forum allowing blogs to be reviewed by him. He (being a blogger I enjoy) used my blog as an example (without asking). Though I was flattered by the fact I was given an "Exceptional" for my "voice and personality", I was stuck on the fact that he failed me in the area of "grammar and style" citing that "Internetese somewhat or highly prevalent". I asked about it and he replied that "internetese" meant "emoticons, excessive elipses and LOL". Instinctively I hit the 'reply' button, quickly wanting to clarify that out of the three he mentioned, I am only an abuser of ellipses (because really, who doesn't love them?). And then before I could go any further, I stopped.

Because it shouldn't doesn't matter. Because without realizing it, I began to care too much about something I had never cared about before. Because once again, someone's judgment was ruining something I enjoyed. Judgment I never asked for, a view I never signed up to hear. To be fair, I first replied to his discussion saying that I felt "happy" with given an exceptional- but then, that feeling passed and all I could focus on was my mistakes.

I write without editing, without review. I often have spelling errors and use most forms of punctuation like they are being rationed. Unlike many blogs (who I enjoy reading), I do not write to become a 'big blog'. I write because I have things to say, things I want to share- and blogging is just a way to do that which doesn't fill up the email inboxes of my friends. I do not write to be judged, to be lectured or told how to improve.

So, as much as I appreciate the idea behind the words, I better off not being judged. As the blogger I am, or the teacher I'm trying to be. The only judgment that matters is mine. And Josh Lyman's because I value his views above all others. I MISS YOU. (Was that last bit too creepy?)

But while I'm on the rant, can I just say that if I come to you, voice heavy with tears and eyes red from crying, that a good friend- the kind that I call a good friend, is the one who listens to you- who does not act like you are a problem to be solved, or a burden on an already heavy load. Who just listens. And offers to slash tires in your defense.

End rant.

Can you hear that noise? Yeah, that one. That's the sound of my heart breaking.

Despite my schedule right now (to everyone who commented and emailed MC advice for the wedding, THANK YOU!), I decided there's just some things that you all must know RIGHT NOW.  Let's do this up like Annie Oakley- bring on the bullets!

• Remember when that charming young man worked with my grandfather to fix my car? Yeah. They didn't really fix it. So, I went to a mechanic. I expected my repairs to cost $1000. I was wrong. Turns out, my repair (a head gasket leak?) will cost TWENTY THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. For the record, I don't remember anything else the mechanic said after the words TWENTY THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS- there was some type of ringing in my ears and I grabbed the counter for balance. It was an out of body experience I can only compare to the time I drank an ice cream bucket full of sambuca. (And I realize bullets are used when someone is NOT planning on writing a paragraph but when I'm talking about TWENTY THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS, a paragraph is necessary).

• The Good Shepard is THE LONGEST MOVIE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. And also? Matt Damon, you lose any respect I have for you when you let them take a crow bar to Dumbledore. That's like condoning Fred Flintstone getting curb stomped. For real.

• As mentioned earlier, I'm the MC for a wedding in July. I have two dress options- yet I'm not IN LOVE with either of them (I am apparently in love with using capitals today). Anyone have an excellent online dress site they want to share that delivers to Canada?

• I finished "What happened" by Scott McClellan. The full review is here. I give it 2 Scooter Libby's out of 5.

• Speaking of that book, if you are a guy trying to pick up a chick- or at the very least impress her with your reading selections, don't tell her that you read "What Happened" last year. It only came out this month. Background work men! Do background work!
• I'm working on being nicer, this is requiring me to say much less. I'm curious to how healthy not speaking your mind is however. I suspect if I continue this 'don't say anything if you can't say something nice' bit, I may explode like Mount Etna, causing severe casualties.

Have a good week everybody!

Also, I just watched "Sleepless in Seattle". I have many, many views on that movie that I feel I will need to share in the near future. (I just felt 88.36% of you unsubscribe to this blog).

It's a million mispronunciations, a thousand that's so true comments, and every once in a while- a misunderstanding that's so charming, that makes each day at work truly an adventure. I've become one of those sappy teachers, the one who refers to her class as 'her kids', and who spends her nights awake thinking of what she could do to make them learn more, enjoy it all more, and when I'm feeling very selfish- remember me when it's all over.

But that's another day, another post.

Instead, I'll share Friday:

I walk into my class, my brain crammed full with to-do lists (for those who were curious- we started a unit on pirates- cleverly tied into their science unit on boats and their math unit on money. I've fallen behind in marking their pirate comprehension questions, hence the pirate marking that needs to get done) when I notice a charming girl walk up to her best friend and salute her with her middle finger. Before I can say anything else, two of my boys come into the room and yell to the girls and shake their middle fingers at them. Then, the four of them turn to me and all show me their middle fingers, smiling so hard it must have hurt. I call them each by name and tell them to get into the hall. My class turns silent. In a world of boundaries and rules, warnings and consequences, "get into the hall" is equal to "get into your cell at Guantanamo Bay". As my four fingering rebels (who are now all close to tears) stand lined up against the wall I ask them what they are doing.

With further discussion, I discover that an older brother told his sister (who is in my class) that showing your middle finger means "Hello, I love you" in Chinese. She told her friend, who told her friend... and then boom! Suddenly my entire class is just trying to start the Friday off right by sharing a little love. The more they talk, the less I keep it together, by the end of our conversation my giggles are barely suppressed. I tell them that showing the middle finger DOES NOT mean I love you. They are shocked. I show them how to say it in sign language instead.

They go back to class knowing something new, and I go back with one more story to tell their parents.

Picky is understandable,- to me at least. I think if you are going to shell out your emotions, strip away clothes, judgments, and the armor that protects your heart, it should be to someone who doesn't list "Beavis and Butthead" as personal life long role models.

But lazy? Hmm. Lazy I have a harder time justifying. As my mother often points out, "the chances of your dream man getting lost and wandering his way into your bedroom is not likely". This is often said immediately after I've just bragged about how I managed to sleep for 10 straight hours on a Friday night. Dating requires effort and lately I've been saving all my energy for napping work.

I bring all this up because last night I spent my evening with a charming fellow. A man who I met at a social event who made me laugh. Who made my family laugh. Who talked weather with my grandfather and produce selection with my mom. Who sat in the dark with a flashlight and helped my grandfather fix my car (no radiator fluid), while his friends drank beer and the mosquitoes attacked his body.

There was the obnoxious flirting that takes you back in time, past after work martini dates, university parties and high school classes and puts you firmly in middle school. The flirting that involves the big "gee your great" smile and hair pulling and wrestling. The kind of wrestling that gets you close enough to smell him and you find a stampede of butterflies taking over your stomach. We laughed and teased and took ridiculous photos with silly sunglasses. And at the end of the night, when the warm summer air lifted and a cold breeze made me shiver, he walked me back to my car. Before I could thank him, my phone rang and suddenly everything felt different. We hugged goodbye and I drove away.

There was a time not so long ago, that such a night would unsettle me. I would lay awake with the words 'what if' or 'almost' or 'maybe I should have..' rolling in my brain. I would play the night over in my head and consider all the things I could have done, should have said, almost went for. That didn't happen. Instead, I slept soundly- content in knowing that all the good ones aren't taken.

I still think I need to be picky. I cannot date a man who uses a stack of Hustler magazines as his nightstand, but lazy? Lazy I think I could get over. Especially after last night. After all, I didn't meet this guy in my bedroom. Perhaps my mom had a point.

I would rather go to the dentist and get a tooth removed with a rusty screwdriver than go to the gas station. I would rather go to the gynecologist and get a pap smear with a cactus than go to the gas station. I would rather be forced watch "The View" for 12 hours straight than go to the gas station.

I hate the gas station.

Why?

Because it's one place that I have no idea what I'm doing. This is embarrassing to admit, but I didn't know how to pump my own gas until I was 21 years old. I still don't know how to check my oil. Change a tire. Monitor my transmission fluid.

I'm not a lump of inarticulate and uneducated waste. When it's a topic I want to learn about- I learn. If I'm clueless about something that I feel matters- I will read up on it until I feel confident. Anything involving cars or car maintenance has never made my list of 'Things I feel so strongly about learning, I'm willing to put down my copy of Instyle and cruise on over to the gas station for an impromptu tutorial on car servicing".

Tonight I was driving home and noticed my 'check oil' light had come on. I responsibly detoured to the nearest gas station and pulled the lever to pop my hood. My young gas attendant came over and fiddled. And fiddled. And fiddled. And he could not figure out how to lift the hood. He asked me to show him where the 'latch' was.

I panicked.

Do I say "I don't know how to open it", do I pretend that I do and hope all my stored up karma points get cashed in and I miraculously find it, or do I suddenly pretend my phone is ringing and faux talk on the phone while making apologetic glances? Thankfully I didn't have to make a choice, another attendant came over to help them. Then they asked me, "What kind of oil do you use?", which my brain translated into "hdfakhbvweroiuvxd asdjkfhsriuy vbxakljfhasdlh?". It made that much sense. I hedged my bets and said 'regular'. They could have filled my car with apple juice, I wouldn't have known the difference.

I drove away feeling itchy. (That's been a new stress reaction- hives. Which? Are charming. With my luck the next thing on the list will be full-on body rashes, with a touch of pink eye just for giggles). It's not so much that I hate not knowing what's going on at the gas station (and yes, I realize that knowing what type of oil my car gets is NOT like having to master quantum physics- this knowledge is within my grasp), it's that I hate the idea that I'm re-enforcing the stereotype of the dumb blonde who knows nothing about cars. I might as well have twirled my hair around my finger and giggled like Betty Boop at the gas station.

Perhaps I need to get that tutorial after all. And I may swing by and pick up my gas station attendant to come with, because I think he could use it too.

I have turned the front of my desk into a showcase of art work. Students who do original drawings can put their work up there for all to admire. On Friday, one of my students drew me a picture of Darth Vadar and Luke Skywalker fighting. And underneath it he wrote " I love school. Your the best. I wish you could be our teacher forever".

Then he told me that he thought I would be a good Jedi.

I was filled with a sense of accomplishment. My kids- who I've been working like factory workers for Nike- are enjoying school. They are kind, thoughtful and creative. They know how to spell 'teacher' and 'forever'. They are equally excited for recess as they are for math class. I've done what I wanted to do- what I wanted to prove to myself I could do. I've become a teacher who really cares about her students.

And I know it's sappy and cliche, and this post is riddled with lines that will make me roll my eyes when I read it after I hit ' publish'- but it's true. The 16 students I have make me laugh harder than Jon Stewart. They make me think deeper than Nietzsche- or a really profound Simple Plan lyric. I often find myself scribbling down the hysterical (and sometimes insane) things they say because I want to remember everything.

And I only have two months left.

Someone should have taught me how to say goodbye.

Hmm. I love how I just divulged my Colletti crush and THAT wasn't my guilty confession.

As many of you know, I attended the wedding with the ice sculpture that required me to recite a sonnet last week. I have also recently figured out how to put my camera pictures on my computer (shhh! I know, I know it's so EASY! And everybody DOES IT! But I was busy teaching children how to read and who Barack Obama was to learn any sooner), so naturally, I took a picture of what my bag looked like that I packed for the wedding. Because who doesn't need a photo of that?

Prepared to be amazed:

In regards to the water bottle now being called 'the cancer bottle' THIS IS SERIOUS. I'm not sure what's the dealio with the rest of the world, but the Canadian government recently put one of the chemicals that makes the plastic for many waterbottles on a danger list. All waterbottles from Naglene, Lululemon, etc got pulled off Canadian shelves and now everyone here is switching to metal water bottles. To know if your bottle was made with the harmful chemical, check the little recycling label and see if the number "7" is in it. If it is, it's made with BPA (aka "the bad one").

Oh, and before I forget (hi, could this post be anymore random?) I've fallen back in love with Thursday night television. I even watched an entire episode of Grey's Anatomy without wanting to give Meredith an ovary punch. Which? Is definite progress.

As for the real reason you are all here? The winner of The George Clooney contest was none other than Brookem. I know. You think I cheated but I promise- I did not. But, I'll go all grade 2 school marm on you and say after reading all the nice things people have done for each of you, aren't we all winners?

And if you haven't choked on all that cheese, I wish you a wonderful Friday

There were a few times in the last five days that I thought I was going to die. A few times I wished I would just die, and once or twice where I actively went looking for things that would put me out of my misery but alas- I'm still standing.

Remember last Friday I was driving 10 hours to read Shakespeare at a wedding? Yeah. I did that. Then I danced like I was famous, got pictures taken in front of the elaborate wedding ice sculpture and won $50 in the hotel's casino at 3am with one of my friends and two 21 year old men boys.

And then this happened:

A snowstorm. A serious, all-out, find your damn mittens again, snowstorm.

One of those painful, windy, tornadoes of cold that shakes you to your very core. The kind that leave your eyes watering and your skin chapped. Oh, and in case you were curious, here are all the shoes I packed for the trip:

Not an appropriate winter shoe in sight. Which made it tricky when trying to navigate my way through the icy ocean of a parking lot:

.
Thankfully my friend (of smiley face fame) lent me some running shoes. So for the next three days we inched our way home staying at friends homes and in hotels (avoiding the icy and scary roads when possible), I wore trusty running shoes and hid away my beautiful, impractical shoes.

The last few days have honestly been some of the longest in my life. I've cried a lot out of frustration. I've consumed a lot of gluten. I've seen car accidents, dealt with a poor mannered bride and may have possibly gotten strep throat from someone...

But? They've also been fantastic. I met an elderly woman who loved me so much she told me her son commented that I was a 'looker' when he came to pick her up. I've laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. I danced until I was sweaty. I played a lot of cards. I sang to Nsync, solved my first logic problem in my puzzle book and realized I'm not the only one who makes mistakes.

I've spent far too much money and the idea of ever staying in a hotel again- or even getting in a car again leaves me searching for my hidden bottle of gin, but it was worth it.

Well, I can't say that with 100% confidence, but I know I will one day. Especially when I look at the ice sculpture photo.

Mini Walter: *Teacha, you know what?

Me: What?

Mini Walter: You know what the point of you is?

Me: Hmm... to make sure that you know how to read?

Mini Walter: No. To be holding my ice cream so I can get my coat on for recess.

Though I like to think that there is more of a point (or just more points?) to my life than to be an ice cream holder so a small child with poor motor skills can do up his coat, his statement charmed me - and has made me proud of the excellent way I hold his ice cream every-freaking-day.

What is the point of you?

(*And seriously, that's how he says 'teacher'. Teacha. He's so damn cute he makes those Anne Geddes pictures look ugly.)

*Annnnd because I just got an angry email from someone who claimed that I a) shouldn't talk about students because it's unprofessional and b) shouldn't call his speech problems cute- I will state that (shockingly) Mini- Walter is NOT the childs real name and he only says 'teacha' right now because his front teeth are growing in. Sheesh.

- "trophies"
- " me when I'm being nice to new people and showing them things like where the bathroom is"
- "sparkly earrings and swirly bracelets"
- "the sun when it looks like a fire"
- "a big bowl of popcorn that I don't have to share"
- "Luke Skywalker and how he always beats bad guys like Darth Vader because Darth Vader is bad and Luke is always gonna be good because he's a good guy and he has the right light saber"
- "baby monkeys who kiss their mama"
- "100% on my math test. Not the easy one we did on even and odd numbers, but that hard one we did before"
- "strawberry lime margaritas served by shirtless men with great personalities who give free massages and sell designer shoes on the side at reasonable prices"

The last one might have been mine. What would you say is beautiful?

Now. Vegas. There's so much to say, it's hard to figure out where to start. So, let's do it this way. Below are 10 statements. Some are true and some are false. Figure out which ones are true, and you will have a pretty good idea of the awesomeness that was my trip. And if you are the first person to get them all right- I will send you a big, heaping pile of smiles.

1. I rode an elevator with a groom and a bride in her wedding dress. TRUE

2. I went to STOMP and am now a hand-clapping, foot-stomping lunatic. TRUE

3. I got the greatest picture of the fountains! FALSE. It was on our list of things to do but... it just never got done.

4. I rented a car, drove to the Hoover dam and took pictures of my friend in a plastic construction cap. TRUE! YEAH!!

5. I fell in lust with a Republican named Matt. FALSE. I COULD NEVER.

6. I made $6 by rating shampoo scents and a scary movie theatre trailer while drinking from a 16 ounce container filled with strawberry margarita love. TRUE. The movie is called "Creep" and is about the Nazi occult (I think??). When the creepy, gore-filled trailer comes out- don't blame me. I gave it poor marks.

7. Victoria's Secret screwed up my purchase and I walked out with a t-shirt I didn't pay for. TRUE. Seriously. I've got mondo good luck when it comes with the free clothes yo!

8. I spent too much money on blackjack. FALSE. I gambled once on the last day. I lost $25, my friend made money, then we split her money and I won on that. I think we ended up $7 ahead. I'd much rather spend the money on clothes than gambling.

9. I stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower. TRUE. Paris Hotel, you are beautiful!

10. A strange man told his friend he wanted to suck my toe rings. HARD. TRUE. Uncomfortable in so many ways....

As for calling Vegas, "LV"- that was inspired from a conversation where it was decided that calling Vegas "the V" just didn't feel right. And by that I mean, it didn't seem correct to label a city that holds so many wonderful shopping centers and works of art a name that reminded me of the word vagina.

Now. I'm off to print photos, unpack, catch up on blogs (google reader- I'm refreshed! Your smug triple digit number of 'unread posts' does not scare me. I shall win this battle!), nap and dream about a time where breakfast was free and someone else made my bed when I left my room.

Sigh. Anyone want to plan a trip??

(Oh! Also... time to share a little known dorky interesting fact about me. When I first went to the US in the late 90's, I got a few quarters that had the states on them. For reasons I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, this idea of collecting all fifty state quarters settled into my brain and it became an obsession. Collecting these quarters while living in Canada was difficult because our dollar was always so bad that people held onto American money here like it was a piece of the Holy Grail- or the key to getting your hair to look identical to Jen Aniston's. After the big LV trip however, I'm pleased to report that I'm much closer to my goal. States I currently have: Utah, California, Connecticut, West Virgina, Maine, Delaware, Rhode Island, Texas, Louisiana, California, Michigan and Wyoming. If you have any states that I don't have and want to do some sort of trade, LET ME KNOW!)

This weekend I was labeled a hypocrite.

By one of my very *best friends.

And she was right.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I do love American politics. My sweetest dreams are the stuff of primaries and caucuses. CNN has replaced Gofugyourself, as my first read of the morning. Wolf Blitzer reading off exit polls is as soothing as a cup of peppermint tea laced with tequila. John King and his quick fingers on the electoral map gets my heart all a flutter (thankfully the flying pie chart is gone. Because seriously? That thing was more distracting than an erection in a Speedo). For reasons I can never fully explain, a love for everything US presidential is embedded in my genes.

Canadian national politics? Not so much.

Canadian provincial politics? I'm officially comatose.

Tomorrow is election day in my province. There have been televised debates (but I missed them because I was watching Barack and Hillary duel in Texas), radio commercials, newspaper ads and an onslaught of pamphlets . My lovely friend asked me who I was voting for and I replied honestly (and shamefully)- no one. Because I didn't know anything about any of the candidates.

This lovely friend said that she thought that was hypocritical- considering the fact that if I knew an American who wasn't voting I would fly across the border to shove their ballot in their hands. I believe that strongly in people voting in the upcoming US election. And she was right. But it doesn't change how I feel. Why don't I feel that way about an election in my own country?

We continued this talk the next night (after playing a dangerous game called "Moose"), where I said it was a multitude of factors that caused me to care about US politics more than Canadian. There's a stronger media influence, the issues are bigger, the leaders are more inspiring (My premier is so dull, I would wager all my shoes that his favourite color is 'beige')- I just find the US political system fascinating.

This got me thinking about all my hypocritical tendencies. I rant about global warming but let my car run for 20 minutes each winter morning before going to work. I shake my head when I see videos of celebrities swarmed by photographers yet I buy US weekly with only a trace of shame. I think Paula Abdul is a nutter but am glued to the television when she speaks.

So my friend is right. I can be a hypocrite. Though the words stung at the time, it's nice to be forced to face them. And it's confirmation that it's only the people who know your best traits can so accurately call you on your worst.

Anyone else a hypocrite?

* Why does saying the term "best friend" make me feel like a 4 year old?

I'm talking funny. I can feel it. The reason for this is the following:

Cramming in the 'speare + little sleep + plus frantic excitement over OBAMA's current run + spending everyday with an army of children who still need to be reminded that scratching their butts with both hands for an extended period of time while in public is considered rude.

So without further delay, we are doing "What I learned in the last seven days" prison rules style again. Bring on the bullets! And I swear on my favourite coat (it's delicious- cream and chocolate brown with a hot pink satin lining), I plan on writing a real post soon. Because I need to discuss many things in depth- like my new haircut. And my upcoming trip to VEGAS. And OBAMA!

- I learned that just because Matthew Fox is in a movie doesn't mean the movie is going to a five star event. And as much as I love Jack, I'm pretty sure Sawyer would have done a better job than Dr. Shepard did in this movie. Seriously.

- "Sometimes I wish I said all the things I think I've already said". I learned that being able to say that to your friend and knowing that she understands what you are saying... well, that's an awfully nice feeling.

- I learned that some people will be remembered for creating a great work of art. For being a style icon. For being a good mother, a kind daughter, a conscientious citizen of humanity. I will be remembered as the person who sent out a stack of overdue Christmas cards in February.

- I learned that just seeing THIS will make me scream out loud. Like an 11 year old girl in the front row of a Hannah Montana concert.

- I learned I'm almost over THE WALL. THE WALL = the mountain of planning, preparing and weeping done late at night at the school trying to incorporate curriculum into fun stuff like dance contests and fire walking. THE WALL has prevented me from having an active social life and is directly responsible for my current hate on for google reader.

- I learned that true excitement can be had when finding a bin of MAGNETS! Just in time for my MAGNET UNIT!

- Speaking of google reader and a mountain of unread posts- Egan asked me if I felt the least bit guilty putting out new posts while not reading other blogs. First of all, I am reading them, or trying to read them all, I'm just not catching up as fast as they are coming out (let's take a minute and give THE WALL a dirty look for this). As for feeling guilty, I actually don't. "Guilty" isn't the right word. It implies that it's owed and I don't think that's the case- whether I'm talking about me commenting somewhere or someone commenting here. That's part of the reason I like this forum for writing- comments aren't expected. I think for me, the feeling that hits it more accurately, is simply that I miss it. Though I'm working on catching up, I miss hearing about true Hope, or jerks who don't want cheap couches or the wedding plans of Anne, Jess or AM. I miss being the first one to read the genius that lays in each line typed here. Or here. Or here. Or here. Or any of the other wonderful sites that I've commented on in the past. So I guess I learned that I miss commenting.

- I learned that ringworm may be bad, but pink eye is just as inconvenient.

- I learned that I cannot spell "inconvenient" correctly without the help of spell check.

- I learned that it's impossible for me to listen to "Basement Apartment" by Sarah Harmer without singing along. It's also impossible for me to eat only one piece of popcorn.

- I learned that a new haircut can give you a new perspective.

- I learned that a new perspective can stop you from wishing the children who smeared dog shit on your car windshield on Saturday night die a long and painful death (involving the swallowing of rusty razor blades and then using their bloated bodies as trampolines) and instead rejoice in the fact that your local car wash is open late on Sundays.

- I learned that I'm a better person than what I thought I was and sometimes I'm far more horrible than I imagine (if you doubt my "horribleness" perhaps re-read the comment above involving children, razor blades and trampolines)

Have a good week universe. And if you find you are hitting THE WALL, take the advice I learned (from a fat kid who loves Hershey's kisses) that when you are tired of saying your complaints, you should just sing them. Because "that makes you sound silly and then you laugh".

falling asleep at 8:30pm, grade two creative writing, kicking a satisfyingly large chunk of ice off the bumper of my car, an email out of the blue, hearing someone snoring, all green lights, receiving a Valentine still sticky with glue, hearing a speech that moves me to tears, a strawberry margarita with extra salt, clean sheets, big rings, the return of Jack Shepard, homemade meatballs, 15 kids singing along to Jack Johnson, the feel of new socks, getting it, remote car starting action, someone remembering to not put whipped cream on my hot chocolate, computer access, leaving work while the sun is out, feeling like I've said it all, finding my mittens, Blitzer & Anderson, sleeping in, a conversation about how absolutely scary whales are, a stapler full of staples, cheap gas, an apology, 15 glue sticks with all their lids on, Season 4 of the West Wing, being offered the first lick of someone's popsicle, being offered someone's piece of coveted KFC in a room full of ham and cheese and finding my journals from junior high.

Life is good.

Happy Valentine's Day universe! Share the feeling, what's been making you happy lately?

(aka A Brief Review of the last week which has prompted me to become a dancing fool- reminiscent of my tender youth, complete with a renewed appreciation for embarrassing drinks- such as the monkey's lunch)

1. Marveled at how kind you all are. The comments and emails from my this post have blown me away. It was a horrible day and I wrote without honestly expecting the feedback I got, but each comment, email, phone call really made a difference. I may have actually broken out the kleenex at one point while hearing from all of you. I award you each 1000 extra karma points and a huge thank you.

2. Said goodbye to Mini-Walter. It wasn't the hug that made me cry. It wasn't the note he put on my desk that made me cry. It was when he methodically took out each of his favourite stickers from his sticker book and handed them to me with watery eyes (along with his prized gold and red toy car), that I started chewing on my bottom lip. I'm going to miss him far more than he realizes. Far more than I realized.

3. Went wedding dress shopping with my recently engaged friend. I can now distinguish between diamond white, white, pearl, cream, and ivory. If "shades of white" is ever a category on Jeopardy! when I'm a contestant, my competition is going to be in serious, serious trouble.

4. Sweated. A lot.

5. Taught 30 Columbians who spoke no English how to do the jig. My lovely friend (mentioned in #3) and I also taught them how to two-step. They taught us just how much fun you can have being in the center of a large dancing circle "going low". We spent hours wiping away sweat doing that crazy one arm pumping, eyes closed dancing you do when you are young and full of alcohol energy. The kind of maniac dancing that beats any cardio work out in the gym. We kissed and hugged goodbye, and although we couldn't understand each other, some things like dancing, drinking and singing- transcend language. Best night out ever. Hands down.

6. Bought the new Jen Lancaster book. Which? I dislike. Just like the other ones. (I feel I may get heat for this- I know a lot of you really love her writing but I just can't get on board. AT ALL.)

7. Attempted to find a dress for the wedding I'm MC'ing on Saturday. I'm fairly confident I'd have an easier time finding the Holy Grail than finding a dress that isn't overly skimpy, or doesn't make me look like I'm in my third trimester. (Why are all the summer dresses empire waisted? I'm 5"2. I cannot pull that look off. I need to grow another foot or swallow green goop and mutate into a giraffe before I could make that dress look graceful).

8. Often wondered what day it was. This is the beauty of being currently unemployed. The days blend together and I often am confused as to why there isn't more people out dancing with gregarious Columbians, drinking milky concoctions (that will later leave you SICK- because milk is never supposed to be mixed with alcohol.). Then someone reminds me that it's a Monday night and most people have to work the next day. And then I wipe the smug grin off my face and order another drink of milky death goodness and continue dancing like I'm having a seizure.

9. Bought this.

10. Rocked the Whoorl no clamp curling iron style to many compliments. I highly suggest you all check it out. It may change your life. My hair looked so fantastic, there should have been a parade in it's honor. And I don't take parade throwing lightly- my hair was just that awesome.

Happy Canada Day!