Two minutes after I found this (propped against my apple cider cup) I was told that the author of this note called one classmate a fatty, had been throwing large rocks at the head of another student and had taken someones shoes and threw them down the twisty slide.

The sucking up? It starts young.

My mom and I were talking the other day about that game show that involves the lie detector test. I asked my mom if she would ever go on and she cried out “OH NO!” before I had even finished the question. Of course, I followed that up with ” What? Is the milkman my real father? You have some deep, dark secrets that you don’t want to get out?” Silence. So I followed up, ” Seriously, you have big secrets?” And she responded with the two words no child wants to hear:

“Of course”.

So, now I’m curious. But not curious to want to ask more questions. (But if the milkman really is my father, it would explain my love for all things dairy). That whole situation got me thinking about secrets. The ones we keep, the ones we share, the ones we share without telling it all. I’ve decided to share my latest dilemma that’s consuming my life and distracting me from important things like The Hills and my ongoing quest to broker peace in the Middle East make the perfect cupcake.

I’m going to a wedding in July (for which I am the MC) and feel stuck. I’m single, going to an event that will have more couples than Noah’s Ark. My dilemma has nothing to do with what my role as MC is (no really, what IS my role as MC?), or what to wear (no really, what do you wear to a summer wedding?), but about the dreaded situation all single girls must face come wedding season: The Date Dilemma.

Of course I will be going- the TLC idea just isn’t a possibility, but I thought I needed a third choice. And for the record, sadly my life currently only includes male friends who would be inappropriate wedding dates. And I say “inappropriate” because they wouldn’t know anyone and bringing them to a social event (that would require sleeping in the same hotel room) would be a direct route to trouble. And not the good kind that you tell people about the next day, while shaking your head at last nights MADCAP CRAZINESS!, but the kind of trouble you lock away and only tell your diary years after you’ve gotten over the shame.

If any of you have other options regarding the Wedding Date Dilemma of 2008, I’d love to hear them. Especially if they involve heavy drinking and/or me needing to go shoe shopping.

I’m tired of American politics.

If someone says the words “Obama”, “Hillary” or “white, blue collar vote” to me today, I may just kill myself with a stapler.

On the upside, this has brought me a great deal of joy this morning.

Don’t date boys named Teddy. Always buy the shoes. Be the first person to say sorry. Righty tighty, lefty loosey. Whitehorse is the capital of Yukon (a white horse= unicorn, sounds like Yukon). Frying an onion is the quickest way to make your kitchen smell like dinner.Keep your hand flat when you feed a horse. Bigger sunglasses are always better. Teddy Cannon will always be trouble. Moisturize. Count to ten before you say something you regret- and if you are still mad, count higher. Wear red. Give more than you want and you will get more than you need. When you are young and in a group of three girls, one girl will almost always feel left out- include everyone. You can always have more garlic. Hot curlers fix a bad hair day. No really, Teddy will break your heart. It’s color- not dye. A rake makes cleaning a horse stall a lot easier. Be brave. Everybody has problems. Own something leopard print. Invest in a good can opener- and stocks. Find something to like in everybody. You can tell how old a horse is by their teeth. It’s hussy, not whore. You really do need to sort your laundry. You are too young to use the word “old”. Don’t say something about someone that you couldn’t say to their face. Fresh flowers are not an extravagance but an necessity. If you want something- ask for it. Adding vanilla pudding to chocolate chip cookie mix makes them taste so much better. Look people in the eye. TEDDY IS TROUBLE. Take a photo of what you want your hair to look like when you get it cut. The difference between “your” and “you’re”. Buy lemons. It’s not really giving if you expect something in return. Your shortest skirt should not be wore with your tallest shoes. And lastly, never say ” I told you so”- it’s annoying and can usually be said only when someone has made a poor choice and needs your support. Especially when the choice involves boys named Teddy.

Happy Mother’s Day!

I hate going to the gas station.

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.

Because I think I was the only one who hadn’t done it.. Tied together with a smile and kristen both tagged me for the 6 meme.

The rules are:

I often like to reflect on all the things I didn’t learn in university that I should have. Someone should have taught a class on how to work all the school office equipment (and more importantly, what to do when the photocopier breaks down for the 734th time and your kicking of the machine is getting you dirty looks). Someone should have taught a class on what to have your teacher assistants do- because finding work for them often is the hardest part of my planning. Someone should have taught a class on time management. On the trick to writing straight on a chalkboard. On what to say when you a child tells you that he loves you more than his mom.

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.

Secret Guilty Confession: You know those posts where people show off the contents of their handbag? I love those. Almost as much as I love Stephen Colletti after this weeks episode of The Hills (which had me singing like Sebastian the crab from The Little Mermaid “kiss the girl! kiss the girl!). Because I’m cool like that.

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