I just watched Michael Clayton. And you know what I kept thinking through the whole movie? How crazy Tilda looked at the Oscars. Like that guy Powder, but in a dress. Thank goodness George in all his brooding handsomeness kept me entertained. I give it 3 swoons out of 4.

And that whole paragraph completely sums up why I’m not a movie reviewer.

Anyway.

So, I’ve seen some bloggers have “Pay It Forward” contests and although the term “Pay it forward” makes me cringe (I just think Kevin Spacey as a burn victim), I really liked the idea. So I’m stealing it, but renaming it “The Clooney Contest” because well- I just have been thinking about George a lot lately and I like how it sounds.

Is it weird that I’ve been thinking about him a lot? Or is it just weird that I had to tell you all that I’ve been thinking about him a lot? I feel awkward typing today. Sort of like that episode of The Office where Pam keeps asking if she’s talking too loud. Because she feels like she’s talking too loud.

Anyway.

All you have to do to enter is leave a comment telling me what’s the nicest thing someone has ever done for you. I’ll randomly pick a winner on Wednesday (using some technological randomizer device I’ve yet to become friends with but will soon learn how to operate) and they shall win a car from me! Okay, no car (seriously, with gas prices soaring would you really even want one?) but something wonderful just the same.

I’m going to lay down and untangle my thoughts and find an antidote to the awkward pill I’ve apparently swallowed. Hmm, maybe not so much an awkward pill but an inarticulate pill. As for you- leave your comment and cross your fingers!

Are you ready? Go!

1. I will never be that super cool girl who hears good news regarding an ex-boyfriend and responds by saying things like ‘Awesome!’ or “Good for him!”. I will be that bitter, hostile woman who thinks “him? why him? why doesn’t he just go fall in a manhole and save the world from himself?”. And then I will drink heavily. Or, if it’s a school night, I will wrestle my blankets and mentally re-organize my closet.

2. “Parent Trap” was Lindsay Lohan’s best movie performance. And anyone who disagrees should be prepared to duel. To the death.

3. Sometimes I get depressed with the idea that I would be just a little bit better at everything if I just had a little bit more time.

4. I’m teaching a unit about Pirates in June. Not because I’ve found amazing resources on pirates, but because I think pirates are fun. And my theory involving grade two education goes something like this:
1 part educational content + 2 parts FUN = unbridled joy.
And quite possibly a scavenger hunt. And one of my professional goals is to have as many scavenger hunts as possible.

5. The world can be divided into Sawyer people or Jack people. I am a Jack person. Because when I see Jack, I feel like I swallowed a rainbow. And because Jack washes his hair.

I’m alive.

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.

Do you ever have one of those weeks where your hands move instinctively to your head just to make sure that your brain is still attached? And you wake up counting the hours until you can get back into your bed? And your best daydreams involve singing Oasis in your bathtub with just a bottle of gin for company? Yeah. That’s this week.

When life gets full, my brain shuts down. One of the first things to go is any ability to write anything remotely entertaining. That, and sometimes I forget to put pants on. So here’s a scattered list of what’s going on in my brain and (as always) let’s do this prison style- bring on the bullets!

1. I went to Vegas. Here (finally!) is some proof:

I do realize that I’m showing only one photo. And it’s not even that great, but I like to pretend that I’m a bit mysterious and this was one of my favourite shots from the wax museum. Because really, who doesn’t need at least ONE photo of them giving Ben poker tips?

2. The new favourite word in my classroom: PENIS. Penis-talk, all the time. It’s like, Sex and the City except completely different.

3. 3 days until Shakespeare humiliation. And as always, can I just say that your comments/emails made my day? I love that so many of you thought the way to go was hipflask with vodka (so there is no smell). I’m not sure if I can drink straight vodka. I’m not sure I’m not going to try to do it though. Fingers crossed I survive this nightmare honor.

4. If you get pulled over for going 71km in a 60km zone, never offer the policeman a donut. Even if your car is FILLED with 200 mini ones. Even if you are serious, because your mother taught you to be polite and offer visitors (to your home or car) a refreshment. The officer will give you THE LOOK. And THE LOOK? Is not a good one.

5. Five things that would improve my life right now: a new blog design, an unlimited supply of this nail polish (it’s “red sea pearl” in the dazzling shimmers column), world peace, Josh Lyman at my home in a toga abd MORE CRYSTAL LIGHT!

Oh! New book review here.

Have a good day universe.

A short time ago, a dear friend asked me to do the one thing that a good friend can’t refuse doing. She asked me to speak at her wedding. And of course, I said yes. Because that is what you do when your friend asks you to do such a thing. You say “yes”. And you say it without hesitation.

And then I was given my “reading”. Sonnet 18 by The Bard. In case you aren’t up-to-date on your Shakespeare (and other than *Bre, who is?) Sonnet 18 starts out “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”, and includes the lovely lines (that has my tongue doing gymnastic moves in my mouth):

“Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest,
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade”

Uh huh.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I do love me some Shakespeare. In fact, I spent a month reading him just to better improve myself, because my literary diet of Jodi Picoult and Melissa Banks had begun to feel like empty calories. So, it’s not so much the Shakespeare that makes me nervous. Neither is the idea of speaking in front of large crowds. I’m one of those bizarre, mutated individuals who actually loves public speaking. I actually won public speaking awards (and yet I still managed to have friends as a child, curious?). So that’s not my problem.

The equation to my sense of panic can be written exactly like this:

reading Shakespeare + 300 people in audience + distracted state of mind due to fact the wedding is listed as ‘black tie’ and I’m not sure of what to wear, which prevents me from reviewing this important Sonnet 18 with the due concentration it deserves = a blindingly, painful type of panic that had me contemplating drinking heavily before my reading (to you know, loosen my tongue) until I received an email from the bride reminding us that we cannot drink before or during the ceremony.

Not that I was going to show up pulling a Tara Reid, but now that even a glass or two of red wine is out of the question I’m back to full throttle panic mode.

I need an outfit. I need to start reading this piece of literary wonder.

I need a drink.

T minus 6 days to public humiliation.

* Bre, I mean I don’t know a single other soul who could have twittered back the first line like you did! Impressive talent, are you free this Saturday? Want to do a reading? Can I bribe you with Canadian beer and poutine?

Setting: Friday afternoon. My classroom.

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.

Brad Pitt.

Two words that send many of my generation into fits of delight so spastic I’m often convinced an epileptic seizure is taking place. Me? Not so much. Don’t get me wrong, I get the Pitt passion, but do I feel that my Earth moves when I see him in a movie? Do I day dream about him and me frolicking on sandy shores whispering fevered murmurs of passion into each others ear? Does time change when I witness his face? Not at all. I think he’s made some brilliant movies and if he stopped dressing in clothes that remind me of my grandfathers couch, I would like him even more- but I will never love him.

My heart belongs to another.

Of course, this is where I should point out that loving a celebrity with your entire heart is both dangerous and foolhardy. Such unrequited passion can only lead to heartbreak (and in the rare case, a restraining order), but through the years I’ve learned that everyone, EVERYONE has that one person that for reasons that they can’t explain (or refuse to unless court ordered) just, adores.

Here’s mine:

Are you taking in that tall drink of water?

I’m not sure why, but David Duchovny is my A+, my home run, my acceptance letter, my winning lottery ticket. I actually blush when I see him in a movie because I just feel so…. flustered. As though I’m considering asking him to go steady with me. Which is ridiculous because you know, he’s older than me. And he’s married. And has kids. And oh yeah, WE’VE NEVER MET.

In fact, I know that my love for David is serious because when I imagine being in the same room as him, I always imagine me having to leave quickly through the nearest exit without speaking to him. Which is what I do anytime I really, truly enjoy someone- run as far away from them as possible as though the man has a fatal and contagious disease. Because I MAKE ALL SORTS OF SENSE.

Who is your drink of water?

Do you ever feel like your blog portrays you as someone you are not? Or more accurately, doesn’t portray you are someone you are?

I’ve been thinking about that lately.

Other than the hiccup involving a poor, unfortunate and unoriginal soul- things around the blog have been pretty cheery. There’s been talk of LOVE! And BEAUTY! And FRIENDSHIP! I pretty much have all the ingredients for a rocking Babysitter Club book. I’m thisclose to posting about puppies, but am worried that if my blog publishes one more post soaked in happiness, the whole wordpress system will collapse and I will be held completely responsible.

In short, life has been one long drink of lemonade lately.

Which is why I started thinking about how a blog portrays a person. You see, I’m usually a pretty happy person. In fact, I’ve been known to smile before 9am and I say things like ‘holy moley!’ (I blame the last one on the fact that I work with children). But am I always cheerful? No. In fact, sometimes I’m miserable. I can brood so deeply, I make Heathcliff look like a delightful circus clown. I can sink so far, so fast into a depression it can scare me.

And I curse. Quite often, actually. The f-bomb is a particular favourite and the word that almost got me kicked out of a Wal-mart. (Note to self- Never say “fuck!” while searching for a kiddie pool pump. Also note to self? If you are over the age of 11 and plan on putting a kiddie pool in your front yard while you and your friends soak up the rays and slurp in the drink- expect people to slow down and stare at you like you are three-headed and have an elephant trunk attached to your face). Though the f-bomb is a favourite- I take no prisoners with my cursing and am sure that during my most distressed state- my verbal outpouring would make even the most obscene sailor blush.

I also don’t think my blog really showcases just how perverted my brain is. It feels wrong to brag about such things (in the same way that it would feel weird to brag about how you never brag, or how long your toes are), but it’s true. My ability to throw in the perfect “TWSS” is common knowledge among my friends, yet not really mentioned on the blog. In fact, I’ve recently started to tone down the comments because it feels wrong to get such joy out of the perfect “TWSS” shout-out when you teach grade two.

The fact that I don’t regularly swear while writing, or don’t highlight just how much Michael Scott and I have in common is not an intentional act. My fingers don’t hover over the keyboard trying to decide if I should throw out a curse or not, I just never do. That feels like it’s important to share- I don’t like the idea of people thinking I consciously censor myself, or my writing. There are just some things that never make it in, never fall through the cracks of my brain and land in a post. I don’t know why and I have come to terms with the idea that I never will, but I still find the whole thing curious.

Is there some part of you that isn’t shown through your blog? And if there is- is it intentional?

I recently asked my class “what is beautiful?” here were some of my favourite responses:

- “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?

I know some smart ladies. Ladies who’ve tackled this project to write ‘what they love’ with eloquence and beauty. And after reading each post I’ve melted into a puddle on the floor, I felt so cheery. So I decided to do my own.

I love the shock of cold that my feet find under thin blankets on muggy summer nights. I love the last thick slurp of hot chocolate, the gulp that’s so sweet it curls your toes. I love the way the sharp smell of a campfire clings to me when camping. I love old school Tetris. And the way my blankets feel after a thousand washes.

I love the feeling of standing still in a field and feeding a horse from your hand. Of mixing feed pails and trusting an animal enough to let it lick the sticky remnants of molasses off your hand as dessert.

I love the second the lights dim and the curtain comes up. I love cheering for the losing horse and winning on the losing hand. I love heavy books, summer dresses and cleverly named beauty products. I love discovering all my socks have matches after a laundry marathon. And that Churches make people whisper.

I love when someone reaches for your hand when you wish that they would. When you give all you have and find that it is enough. I love eating peanut butter from the jar while sitting on the kitchen floor.

I love those nights where dressing up means putting on a jean skirt and going out means finding a patio that serves umbrellas in the drink.

I love sharpened pencils and blank pages. I love heavy silverware, cloth napkins and the swish that is heard when I twirl in full skirts. I love Chinese food that comes in cartons, the soft rumblings of someone snoring and those “Where’s Waldo?” books that I should have tired of years ago. I love the smell of coconut conditioner, the touch of lace against bare skin and sound of the piano. I love the way peonies burst rather than bloom- the fact that their blooms are so heavy they often sag with their own beauty.

I love the fit of new jeans. How I get dizzy with excitement when I walk into Sephora. The way unusual accents tickle my ear. And the sweet pleasure found in kleenex that has lotion RIGHT IN IT.

I love the smell of movie theatre popcorn. The touch of someone else washing my hair, the confidence that I feel walking into a classroom. I love the possibility that comes with new babies, new jobs and trips taken on a whim.

I love that moment when you realize you are with someone who understands what you are saying when you do not speak.

I love the smell of summer- of suntan lotion and barbeques. The way my arm warms with heat when I prop it against my car window in traffic. The way new sunglasses make me feel like a movie star and the sound of flip flops snapping on tile.

I love hand written letters sent in the mail. The crunch of sweet potato french fries and the charming realization that I’m still shy enough to blush.

I love the first time I notice that winter has arrived- when I step outside, shake the warmth of inside off me and am struck by the beauty that only can be seen when your entire world is covered in a thin whisper of white, untouched snow.

I love a good nap on a Saturday afternoon, the sound of my passport getting stamped, the moment you realize you can’t go back- and that you are thankful for it.