Overheard

“And as I looked in the mirror, I saw that my left ear was about 3 inches higher than my right ear.”

This is not a normal comment usually heard anywhere, but specifically, not in a fancy concert center right before the showing of “Rent”.

The conversation itself started innocently enough. I sat with my girlfriend in the comfortable seats, ready to enjoy a Broadway show. The lights were still shining, signaling there was time to chat before the true entertainment began. Little did I know that all the entertainment I ever could ask for was sitting right behind me.

“So, how are you doing these days?” Polite Lady (PL) asks sweetly.
“Oh, you know, I am doing well….” Slightly Weird Female (SWF) responds with a soft sigh.
“That’s nice. What have you been up to?” PL prods.
“Well, not much. You know I don’t work – the government pays me because of my disability.”
An uncomfortable silence ensues.
One one thousand….two one thousand….THREE one thousand….
Oh God, I think to myself, is PL going to say something? I can’t stand the awkward interlude….
But PL swoops in at the last moment before I turn around and break the fingers-down-the-chalkboard-cringe fest :
“Oh? So…..what…ummm….” PL succinctly inquires.
“My father forgot to put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs when I was less than a year old, so I fell down and damaged my head!” SWF exuberantly confides.

At this point, I really do feel for PL – she’s doing all she can to work with SWF, to have an easy five minute chat, to be politically correct and sweet and nice and refrain from that damn awkward silence that I myself have already felt ten-fold. But PL pushes on:

“Oh my! You poor thing! What happened after that?”

A little giggle escapes SWF. I SO want to turn around at this point, to get a visual on these two characters that I have been secretly listening to for the last few moments….but I am strong, and I stare straight forward, seeing nothing, and imagining the two women to my back, letting my creative mind fill in the spaces of the void of reality.

“After I tumbled down the stairs, I had to have brain surgery,” SWF says easily.

This woman holds nothing back.

“And when they went in to my head, they found a tumor. It was big. They took part of it out and that helped,” she shared just as easily, as if a tumor was something everyone talked about on a day to day basis, no big deal, a little ‘small talk’.

“Wow.”

That’s all PL can say at this point.

“Yeah, so after the surgery, I began having seizures….and they happen whenever and wherever, so that’s why I really can’t work, because, you know….issues with employers,” SWF quips. “But, I get by. I am ok. I am happy…” she shares. She seems …..content…

I begin to like this girl. Her life seems like a sad one….a bad childhood with a horrible father who can’t figure out how to baby-proof the house, a surgery gone wrong.

And then she says this: “My ear is 3 inches above my other one…”

What the hell? Really? 3 inches? That’s a damn significant amount of length….again, I am tempted to turn around.

But, I chose to not give in to temptation. I let the woman rest in her weird peace, and luckily, right at that moment, the lights dimmed, and the show – the show I actually PAID for, began.

Thank God.

Things You Don't See Everyday

I was a good girl today and traveled out to my school to unpack more boxes in my classroom. Luckily, I ran in to Friend J, who efficiently distracted me from getting ALL of my work done. Being the dendrophiles we both are, we stood at the window, enjoying the lovely view of towering oak trees. After a few moments of wandering within our own personal daydreams, we noticed a construction worker below. He was a rugged man, running a rugged machine. Friend J commented on his big man demeanor, and wondered out loud if the van next to him with "New Growth" painted on the side was in actuality, an advertisement for enhanced erectile girth. Before we could get too deep into a conversation about penises, our attention lurched back to the man in question, who had suddenly jumped off his mini tractor and headed straight into the woods. What could he possibly be doing? Peeing, of course. Yes, boys and girls, we watched a man relieve himself today. I'm sure teachers see that all of the time outside their windows.

As if that weren't enough visual entertainment for the day, there was more. Friend J and I walked out to our cars, parked across the street from the school. As she leaned up against her vehicle, we chatted, and eventually, the conversation took a turn towards the serious. She was discussing her relationship with her boyfriend, and I was listening intently. The word marriage was smoothly followed by this phrase: "And there are cows walking in the dirt."
Huh? I wasn't sure what this had to do with her relationship issues...was the sun beating a little too much on my poor friend's head? Melting a few too many brain cells?
"No, really. There are two cows walking across the school parking lot," Friend J repeated in her nonchalant way. I turned around, and, just as she said, two cows trotted over the cement. Closely following behind was an old white pick up truck, obviously chasing the beasts. We watched as the free animals fled from their captors, running off into the sunset.
"Well, we could stay here 'til the cows come home..." Friend J smirked.
I wonder what other fun things we will see on our next visit?

Disturbing Discoveries

Moving can be a bitch. In fact, I hate it probably more than most other things in the world. Maybe even more than spiders, and since I have arachnophobia, that's saying something. But every once in awhile, it can provide a bit of amusement, something sweet and nostalgic. Unfortunately, this was not my experience while packing today. In fact, what I found was slightly disturbing.

When I tumbled upon some of my old - very old - journals, I got super excited. As I held the green hard cover book in my hands, I smiled, remembering vaguely how much joy it brought me filling in the pages. I was about five years old when I first started 'journaling' - granted, there wasn't a lot of writing in this beginning one, but I knew it would still hold treasures for me, sparking memories of innocent childhood. So with a soft grin on my face, I opened up the book to my past....and this is the first picture I beheld:

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Ok, so I'm not QUITE sure how to explain this one - but I do remember hating 'Josh', the neighbor boy, and apparently I was working out my issues with him through an artistic venue. I don't really know what the green things are to the right ....perhaps they are an abstract forest scene, trying to soften the harshness of Josh's angry clown/alien freak show face.

I keep turning the pages, hoping for something a little sweeter....something to truly be a symbol of my perfect childhood....and this is what I come to next:

Now, at first glance, this COULD be an ok picture - I mean, afterall, both characters are SMILING. That equals happiness, right? But on closer inspection, Big Hairy Man seems to be smiling with evil insanity, not "Oh, what a cute little girl you are!" niceness. He also has his fists up, ready to kick the shit out of 'cute little girl'. Of course, so does SHE, so maybe she is the evil one, feigning innocence, but deep down, ready to fuck that bastard up. I can see it in her eyes, really.

Anyway. So I'm beginning to think that I really had quite a traumatic childhood, with these weird drawings...I'm hoping for something, SOMETHING, to let me know I really DID have a good growing up experience....and FINALLY, I see this picture:

+Pics+006.jpg" border=0>Awwww....so sweet! Two people, wide eyed with love, grinning hugely, as if nothing else existed but each other. Ok, so I spelled 'love' wrong, but give me a break, I was 5. Regardless, it is a picutre of quintessential childhood innocence, where everything is right and good and wonderful. I am pleased - relieved, actually, because I was really beginning to think I was kinda messed up, judging from the previous pictures.

And then I turned the page, which was a continuation from the last one:

It doesn't take a psychological genious to figure this one out. On one page, love and happiness between two people, and then on a fully separate page, Lonely Crying Girl.

Apparently I wasn't as well adjusted as I thought I was.

And, just to round things out, I got to one of the last pages, and discovered this pretty little gem:

Maybe I was wanting to turn into the Demon Monster I knew I really was deep down inside and 'take care' of all those who opposed me - Josh, Big Hairy Man, the Two Happy People in Love... maybe you're next. . .

Coprophagia

People eat food for a number of reasons: hunger, stress, boredom, etc. Dogs eat for some of the same reasons. But, not only do they eat food, sometimes, they eat poop, too. I recently found this out from a friend of mine. I was over at her place, meeting for an innocent cup of coffee. As I sat on the chair next to her cute dog Charlie, I reached over to pet him. I mean, how could I resist the sweet guy, all curled up, brown eyes imploring me for a little lovin'? Right before my fingers sunk into his soft fur, friend J nonchalantly drawled, "Oh, this weekend he rolled in dead fish carcass and ate human feces, so you might not want to touch him. Your choice."

It really wasn't that hard of a decision to make, although Charlie's dismaying stare bore straight into my soul.

So.

Why the hell would lovely Charlie do such a disgusting thing?

Apparently, there are 2o different reasons why dogs ingest poo. It even has a fancy name: Coprophagia.

A few of my favorites: dogs eat poop by accident. I can just see it...Charlie happily walking down the street, enjoying the bright sunshine, friend J smiling sweetly at her perfect dog...and then oops! Suddenly a pile of poo is in Charlie's mouth! How did THAT happen? By accident, of course!

Another reason: some dogs will eat poop to pass the time. Hmmm. I should try that the next time I'm bored and need something to do. It would be an excellent activity to help me procrastinate from the classes I should be taking to keep my teaching license. I'm sure if I told my principal that I was eating feces instead of passing grad classes, he would totally understand.

And finally, some dogs will eat poop to gain attention. I think friend J has some students that may do the same.

I'm hungry. Time for breakfast.

The Pleasure of Procrastination

Summer has officially begun, and although 9 grad credits loom over me, I have yet to even sign up for the classes. Even though I will lose my teaching license, and hence, my entire career and livelihood if I do not complete these courses before the end of September, I continue to find every other possible activity besides doing my homework. Suddenly, the dirty dishes in the sink seem like the most perfect and delightful chore in the world. Folding laundry, a task once abhorred by myself, now looks rather seductive. And oh, that big package that has been sitting on the kitchen chair for a few weeks now has GOT to be taken to the UPS store today. TODAY. The earth will crumble and God will strike me down if I do not do it TODAY. Within the HOUR. Seriously.
Oh, and this blog, which I have not touched for about a year, now has my full attention. I mean, I'm sure there are many avid readers out there that are pining away for my words, wondering where I have been all this time, despondent and weak from the year long hiatus of my wit...how can I let these sweet minions down? I have to be there for them. And I am. I am back.
Time to go take a shower. Have to look good for the UPS store, right?

Mood rings and fancy Port-o-Pottys

So my BFF struck again yesterday with her quirky questions...this time, it was a query into modd rings -- how do those damn things work?

Well, let me tell you.

The 'stone' of a mood ring is really a hollow quartz or glass shell containing thermotropic liquid crystals. Modern mood jewelry is usually made from a flat strip of liquid crystals with a protective coating. The crystals respond to changes in temperature by twisting. The twisting changes their molecular structure, which alters the wavelengths of light that are absorbed or reflected. 'Wavelengths of light' is another way of saying 'color', so when the temperature of the liquid crystals changes, so does their color.

Do Mood Rings Work?
Mood rings can't tell your emotional state with any degree of accuracy, but the crystals were calibrated with have a pleasing blue or green color at the average person's normal resting peripheral temperature of 82°F (28°C). As peripheral body temperature increases, which it does in response to passion and happiness, the crystals twist to reflect blue. When you are excited or stressed, blood flow is directed away from the skin and more toward the internal organs, cooling the fingers, causing the crystals to twist the other direction, to reflect more yellow. In cold weather, or if the ring was damaged, the stone would be dark gray or black and unresponsive.

What the Mood Ring Colors Mean
The top of the list is the warmest temperature, at violet, moving to the coolest temperature, at black.
violet blue - happy, romantic
blue - calm, relaxed
green - average, not much going on with you
yellow/amber - tense, excited
brown/gray - nervous, anxious
black - cold temperature or damaged ring

Speaking of things one might put on their hands...I had a student raise her hand in class, and when I called on her, she asked sweetly, "Do you want to hear my Port-o-Potty story?"

How could I resist such a question?

"Of course," I replied honestly.

"Well, I was at a game, and I had to go to the bathroom, so I saw a Port-o-Potty nearby and went in to go pee. When I was done, I, of course, washed my hands..."

At this point, I'm thinking, 'Wow, this must be one fancy port-o-potty, complete with an actual sink -- nice!

"After I got done washing my hands, there was nothing to dry them with, so I stepped out, my fingers still dripping wet."

Oh crap.

The realization hit me.

Student R continued as my horror grew. "When my mom saw me walk out, she asked why my hands were wet...I told her I had washed them in the sink, and gasping, mom shrieked, "That was not a sink, it was a URINAL!".

Oh....my.....God.

Student R had just 'cleaned' her hands in a contraption that catches man piss. Needless to say, Mom of Student R made Student R ride home in the car with her hands held out in front of her, as to not touch and soil anything.

Yeah.

I think I'm going to go wash my hands now. In a real sink.

Keeping with the barf theme...

...that's right, boys and girls, the topic of the night is vomit. We've already covered giraffe chunks, so now, we are moving on to flies. Apparently, my BFF is obsessed with the acidic river that flows up from the stomache to the throat and eventually, out of the mouth. BFF and I were standing out in the hall of our school, watching our lovely students pass by, and she turned to me and asked, "Do flies really puke on their food before they eat it?". I had a notion of an answer, as I have seen the movie, "The Fly", which shows Jeff Goldblum puking his guts out before he eats his prey....but I wanted to make sure I was right with my answer.

So I put on my super power clothes of "Random Researcher", and this is what I found out:

Yes, indeed, flies DO upchuck on their food. Apparently, they can taste, smell, and feel with the hairs that cover their bodies. The hairs on the fly's mouth parts and feet are used for tasting. Flies taste what they walk on. If they walk onto something tasty, they put down their mouth and taste it again. By puking on it. And sucking it up.

Gross.

Can you imagine if human beings had the same abilities?

I'm walking along the street, and tasting asphault.....icky! Or what if I happen to accidentally step in some dog poo...I'm SOOOO not wanting that taste in my mouth!

Thank god I'm not a fly.

Ironically, a fly cleans itself constantly....no wonder, as it is landing on piles of crap and throwing up on its food...cleanliness is probably a must for the fly, yes?