Locked In The Deadly Embrace of Cujo

More than one of my friends have used house sitting jobs in the summer as a way to avoid paying rent. It is pretty genius, because they usually pay them while they live for free, go through all of their stuff and eat all of their food. I have a good friend who comes to visit from Honduras every summer and she wanted to see D.C., so we crashed my friend's house sitting gig last summer. The house was really nice and had lots of geography books, so it was pretty fun. Unfortunately, they also had two dogs, which my friend informs me were named Cara and Midnight. I can't believe that people voluntarily let their house smell heinous with dog hair covering all of their clothes. Like any good New Yorker, I wear too much black for that. And I am a little bit afraid of dogs. One night while I was sleeping, either Cara or Midnight snuck into my room and I woke up to a dog panting, just inches from my face. To be honest, I might have preferred to see pretty much anything there, even something heinous like Flava Flav.

Sidenote: While I was living in the Dominican Republic, some neighborhood street dogs took a liking to me (my good aura most likely, j.k.) and followed me to school in a line every single day. One of them had puppies, so it turned into quite a procession. The Dominicans pointed and laughed, as they sometimes accompanied me all the way to the classroom door.

School is over, so I am back on house sitting duty in Virginia with yet another dog. I was awoken from my peaceful slumber last night by the sound of labored breathing in the room. Concerned that it was my friend, I scanned the room with my powerful cell phone light. Somehow the dog was sleeping in the room with us. Ugh. This is where it gets weird. I went back to sleep and have a distinct memory of waking up again, finding myself wrapped in a loving embrace with the dog. The scary part is that I have no idea if I that was a dream or the comatose conquering of my most bloodcurdling fear. I don't have any dog hair on my clothes, so I hope that it was the former.

I thought of the cleverest title for this post, but it is kind of dirty, so I can't use it. You're welcome, Mom.

The Mission President's Wife's Secret Side Job

Lady I met yesterday:

"When my kids were little, I always used to call the BEST babysitting service. Every time I called, the woman sent me the nicest, most reliable girls. I loved it. Later I found out that they were all Mormon girls sent from Utah on missions, trying to earn a little extra cash."

????????????????????

PS: Does anyone have any pretty photographs from Latin America or Spain?

The Secret Facebook Lives of Polygamists or Night of the Living Patriarchs

From time to time, I gratefully remember that I am only a few historical twists away from being this:



If you are a current BYU student, you should check out the Apostolic United Brethren (polygamist LDS spinoff) stronghold in Rocky Ridge-it is pretty close to Provo. My lovely cousin and I went really late at night last summer and I was pretty remorseful that I hadn't found it while I was a student. It is the perfect activity for a Mormon coed-it feels risky enough to give you an adrenaline rush, but I'm pretty sure that if your car broke down, the polygamists wouldn't slap a homespun gingham dress on you and brainwash you into a wedding ceremony with your grandpa's high school classmate. I feel doubly safe, because in their community, my era of prime marriageability would have occurred between 1995 and 1997.

After reading Escape, my cousin is a polygamy expert of sorts and was lucky enough to discover an adherent among her co-workers. Everyone had their suspicions, but they weren't sure until they added her on Facebook and all of her friends had polygamist last names. I did a little bit of research (ok, Facebook stalking) and identified some trends in the polygamist community.

Polygamists are most likely to join the following groups:

FishVille
FarmVille
PetVille
Not Giving Welfare to Illegal Immigrants (Ed. note-I guess they aren't into competition)
1,000,000 Strong SUPPORTING Arizona Immigration Law
Stand With Arizona (and Against Illegal Immgration)
Taylor Swift
Mix 107.9
Walmart
Nail salon pages

The men tend to work in restaurant supply shops, mining and landscaping. Ok, gtg, I have to go water my corn crop.

Hi Moms

Don't worry, I am super cognizant of the fact that I am a total hypocrite, so I apologize in advance if I have ever made fun of your theme party. On Friday I was talking to the other Americans at my work and we realized that we were on the precipice of thousands of hours of free time. I realize that that is about as annoying as blogging, "Little Jimmy has straight As again and is skipping five grades," but it is just the reality of the situation. We are having a Gone With the Wind party tomorrow and I was wondering if anyone had good recipes for sweet potatoes/yams. This isn't turning into that kind of blog- I just need to use the resources that are available to me. If you know me in real life, e-mail me.

Thanks

A Romantic Protagonist Even Worse Than Edward Cullen

A few years ago a co-worker became very angry with me because I ruined the end of "The Other Boleyn Girl" by telling her about Anne's untimely demise. I felt like that girl when I saw Jane Eyre yesterday-somehow I never read it and was genuinely surprised by each and every plot twist.

Observations:

* Audience: A gay couple and three solo women. This could be because it was 3:30-people think it is weird that I go to movies alone sometimes, but I'm definitely not the only one who does it here. That way no one can be mad at me for what I chose.

* Rochester is the worst crush ever. He admits that he hates kids, is mean to everyone and spends time randomly shooting into the air. I liked this post (link is the word this-Nance, I tried to follow your link color advice, but there wasn't an advanced option) by Bridget of Arabia about literary heroines ending up with the wrong man. Although I have to disagree with her analysis of Little Women-I have always LOVED Professor Baer. Ask my sister.

* Jane needs to lighten up a little. If I were a character in a gothic romance, I would be the frivolous person laughing too much.

I still needed to escape from my psychotic life, so I met up with my friend to see Super 8 afterwards. I have no justification for seeing two movies in one day, except that it has been a kind of stressful month and I am a teetotaler.

Observations

* Audience: Frat boys and other people who I doubt live in Manhattan. It is like going out to eat in Provo-suddenly you are surrounded by people who would feel at home on Dog the Bounty Hunter , which is confusing, because you don't see that type of people otherwise. I knew that we were in trouble when Hugh Jackman was sparring with a robot on his front lawn in a preview and someone enthusiastically yelled, "AWESOME!" Something tells me that that proclamation was accompanied by a fist bump.

* Everyone was in stitches over a preview for some zookeeper comedy. It reminded me of a time when I went to a movie with my mother and she loudly exclaimed, "These people will laugh at anything!" Yes, you did that Mom.

I only have fifty minutes left of this school year, suckas.

The Parable of the Good Non-Aryan*

My friend "Amy" had cancer several years ago and in the middle of her chemotherapy treatments, she got tickets to The Daily Show. In spite of the debilitating side effects of chemo, she was excited for the chance to do something fun. She was especially enthusiastic because the guest was Eric Idle, who I guess is on Monty Python.

Side note: As I was generally surrounding by nerdy A.P. kids in high school, I felt a lot of pressure to laugh at Monty Python movies, even though I didn't/don't think that they are funny. I finally admitted to myself and to the world in 1999 that I hate them.

In one of the skits, Jon Stewart started ravenously eating a gelatinous mold of a brain. Completely unrelated to Stewart's snack, Amy suddenly felt a wave of nausea and started to vomit. She and her sister caught it in their hands and looked around nervously; it was undoubtedly a difficult situation from an etiquette standpoint. Finally, some employees ushered them into Eric Idle's dressing room to rest. A few moments later, they returned and said that Jon Stewart wanted to meet her, because he was concerned that his brain stunt had been too revolting for her. He apologized profusely and she responded that she was actually a chemo patient and the timing was coincidental. She said that at that point, he looked genuinely concerned and expressed his sympathy. He then told her that the Daily Show wanted to send them home to Long Island in a town car.

While I am talking about this, I would also like to publicly thank Jon Stewart for giving me something to watch on Hulu in the morning while I get ready for work everyday. You are the best!

* This in no way signifies that I think a good non-Aryan is an anomaly.

Turkmenistan Tuesday

One of my theories is that in social situations, the person with the least interesting life/conversation topics dominates the conversation. Case in point-I was once at a breakfast and discovered that one of the women had lived in Turkmenistan for several years. It is hard for me to imagine someone not being curious about that, but every time I asked a question, another woman interrupted to talk about her child rearing philosophy. It made me so annoyed that I pretended to fall asleep every time she did it, but to no avail. I still don't know the whole Turkmenistan story and I deeply regret it. I do know, however, that this other woman likes to take her children to museums.

My thirst for information about Turkmenistan was partially quenched, because last night I went to see a Finnish film called The Shadow of the Holy Book. It started at 7:00 and we got there at 7:02 and the cashier was gone already, so we didn't have to pay. The former dictator for life, Saparmurat Niyazov, allegedly wrote an autobiography with a creative spin on history called the Ruhnama. I say allegedly, because he was rumored to be semi-literate. Its study has slowly supplanted traditional education and Turkmens are required to recall large portions of its wisdom in job interviews and to get drivers licenses. Per Wikipedia, "In March 2006, Niyazov was recorded as saying that he had interceded with God to ensure that any student who read the book three times would automatically get into heaven."

There is a statue in Ashgabat, the capital, that lights up at 8:00 p.m. every night and plays a recording.



The movie shows how multinational corporations get contracts in Turkmenistan by funding translations of the Ruhnama. I believe that John Deere funded the English one. I would read it, if I could get my hands on it, but unfortunately have only found a copy in Armenian on Ebay and an exorbitantly priced copy on a Turkmen website. I am pretty sure that I don't want them to have my credit card information.

It was actually really interesting, but in spite of the fact that the filmmaker was there, there were only 6-8 people in attendance (a couple left early). I was in the bathroom before it started, but my friend told me that the director unenthusiastically said, "I might not be here after the movie, so ask me your questions now." I think that he was underwhelmed by the turnout. He did return, however, and his diligence seemed to be rewarded with a blonde groupie.

In Which The Employees of Sesame Street Despise Children

Preschool teacher, nanny, child psychologist: there are certain professions in which one would expect to find individuals with at least slightly warm feelings towards kids. I would have included Sesame Street employees in that category until Friday.

Somehow the first and second graders of Turkish school got invited to appear in Sesame Street, because they were filming on the Coney Island boardwalk. I was curious, so I volunteered to take a group at 10 a.m. with my beloved co-worker, Olivia. The kids were excited to be on t.v. and practiced their signature poses (their phrase, not mine) in the van. When they screamed that they hated Elmo, I mentally agreed, but told them not to tell the Sesame Street people that, because it might hurt their feelings. To my discredit, I told them to say that they liked Elmo, but cross their fingers. After we arrived, we had to wait for more than two hours and it was HOT. After about an hour of freeze dance and charades, I pretended to be a television reporter interviewing them about their fame. One of the girls saw it as an opportunity to slowly sway while singing a Miley Cyrus song. After her performance, a first grader exclaimed, "That was a beautiful song. I loved it!" As the words, "What a nice thing to say..." were coming out of my mouth, I looked down and saw that his little fingers were crossed.

The Production Assistants were actually really nice and kid friendly guys in their early twenties. They started by taking photographs of each kid behind a placard with the the production information (I don't know what to call that) and for some reason the kids thought that they had to do a signature pose or peace sign in the picture. They asked Olivia and me if one of us wanted to be in the show. I didn't want my television debut (besides the Bozo show in the late 80s) to take place when I was sweaty and sunburned with humidity hair, so I responded with a contorted face of horror. Olivia obviously did not feel the same way, called her husband to tell him the news and immediately started giving herself a makeover. She eventually was filmed pretending to be the Turkish kids' mother, so it was probably good that I did not volunteer. There are very few children in South Brooklyn who could be mistaken for my offspring.

After putting microphones on a few kids, the P.A. said that they could have some food from the refreshment table. So maybe they ate the entire plate of fruit skewers, but maybe they had been waiting there for 2 hours already and it was lunch time. Moms, back me up on this one. Behind the scenes, a frumpy looking senior citizen witheringly glared at the children with unmitigated loathing. Her baggy pants, frizzy hair and sweatshirt tied around her waist like a weight lifting belt led me to believe that she had recently disembarked from a Carnival Cruise. Imagine my surprise when Dotty from Wisconsin began to upbraid the P.A. for letting the children near the food cart. Then, with hostility burning in her eyes, she turned on the kids and told them to immediately take off their Sesame Street issue mono colored t-shirts, as if we were going to abscond with them. Breathing laboriously from rage and obesity, she pointedly clarified to the P.A., "I am not angry with you. I am not angry with the children." Hmmm... who does that leave? I had no choice but to start laughing at her. And to sneak the kids lots of drinks from the cooler when her back was turned. Something tells me that Jim Henson was rolling over in his grave.

I would tell you our air date, but they evasively said that it would be "in the fall or next year." Olivia decided that it was a Sesame Street scheme to make people watch every morning, hoping to see their child.

Just Another Celebrity Studded Weekend

I am convinced that I regularly walk past celebrities without noticing them; I generally travel through this world in a state of oblivion, constantly distracted by weird thoughts. My prior list of celebrity encounters includes a Turkish arm wrestling champion, a Eurovision star, Glen Beck, Mormons who were famous in the seventies, Honduran politicians at parent/teacher conferences, Bill Cosby through glass and many other less than impressive encounters.

Celebrity Sighting #1

Yesterday in Brooklyn Heights, we crossed paths with a group of adults and children. It was raining, so in homage to Oklahoma!, the kids started singing, "Oh what a horrible morning, oh what a horrible day!" I was glad that someone else was being brought up under the gentle glow of technicolor and I appreciated their adaptability. After we passed, my cousin-in-law, Marie, whispered, "That was Paul Giamatti!" I appreciated that, as soon as I figured out who it was:



Some of you may recall that when my former roommate asked me what I was watching and when I responded, John Adams, she asked, "Is that the giant who cuts down apple trees?"

Celebrity Sighting #2

We then went to an art gallery in the East Village and were disappointed to find out that it was closed for the private reception of a graffiti artist, L.A. II (Little Angel). My cousin deftly name-dropped a friend of the owner and soon she was enthusiastically welcoming us in. Word to the wise, if you want someone to promote your artwork, even if it sucks, find this woman immediately. I have never seen such an ebullient proponent of tagging with a spray paint can behind such a well-heeled facade.

First, she implored my cousin to have his shoes decorated, but he declined, which time may prove to have been a mistake. In the meantime, an affluent couple had a t-shirt adorned with a spray painted smiley face and then had a photograph taken with the artist, as our host gushed, "You will want to put that one behind plexiglass." She turned back to my cousin and asked, "Do you have a white t-shirt on underneath that? Yeah, I see one, let him do it for you." Ok, Mormons, think about that one for a second, because I don't want to spell it out.

As much as an original L.A. II would have increased his yuppie social status, my cousin CTRed and stammered, "Uh, no... this shirt is too grimy." Luckily I made off with this sweet autographed postcard:



I hope that having it on my person does not get me jumped in the wrong neighborhood.

Celebrity Sighting #3

Harry Reid was at church today. I never really thought about him, but now I have a really good impression. He seemed really nice.

Postscript: I generally think asking people for their autograph or to take a picture with them is debasing. They are just people. I don't approve of it and am only willing to do it as a joke (see above), for blog purposes or for a friend/student who cares.

Honduras: Redux

My worst memories of Honduras are at church. They involve sitting at the piano for hours on end in a corner that was untouched by the ceiling fans. I credit Gatorade for the fact that I never ended up in a hospital with an I.V. restoring my fluids.

New York isn't the hottest place on Earth, but reliance on public transportation is electrolyte kiss of death. It seems like subterranean stations would be cold, but somehow they end up being a preview to Hell, with whoever makes indiscernible announcements about station changes playing the role of Satan. A while ago I had a conversation with a girl who is a doctor at the CDC. She told me about work she did in Haiti last summer and said that it was so gross in New York that working in Haiti was a welcome relief.

PS: Honduras is so hot and humid that goo starts coming out of the pores in your nose. Better than the steam they use in facials.

Nobel Laureates Who Belong on Daytime Television and Other Miscellaneous Comments About LIfe

* A few months ago, I was quietly sleeping on the N train. My close friends and family can attest that I am not much of a sleeper ("Shut up, we will all still be here in the morning" comes to mind-you know who you are), so this was a miracle in itself. Unfortunately, the passenger next to me did not respect my peaceful slumber and grabbed my arm, shaking it vigorously. I drowsily opened my eyes and looked at him, confused. He squinted and asked, "That be your real hair color?" I glared and asked, "You woke me up for that?" But then pride interceded and I affirmed.

* My friend's cute four-year-old son is so obsessed with trains that he has an encyclopedic knowledge of the schedules and transfers. For example, if you say "Atlantic Avenue," he says "2345BDNQR and Long Island Railroad." Or if you say "N Line from 18th Avenue to Avenue U," he can recite every stop in between. It reminds me of when my sister memorized Harry Potter 1, but we aren't supposed to talk about that. When I was at BYU, some professor brought his grandson into class to show off some parlor tricks-the kid had memorized chapters of scripture and recited them in a monotone. I guess this talent could be useful if you were a prisoner of war in need of spiritual nourishment.

* Audience review of "The Tree of Life:" Nothing to say, because there was complete silence-maybe they were asleep. Reviews were mixed, but I enjoyed it because I like classical music and movies where not much happens.

* If you have an elementary school student sized bladder and you find yourself in a massive city without many public bathrooms, never fear. My pregnant cousin taught me a little trick. You put your name into a crowded restaurant, use their bathroom and then flee. I am a pretty strict rule follower, so it gives me a little thrill.

* I read this (link is on the word this, I don't know how to make the links show up better) article the other day on The Guardian. The title of the article is "VS Naipaul finds no woman writer his literary match – not even Jane Austen."

Excerpt: He felt that women writers were "quite different". He said: "I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me."

I don't feel that strongly about this issue, but a few things stood out to me.
1. Is Jane Austen really womanhood's best contribution to this Literary Celebrity Death Match?
2. V.S. Naipaul won a Nobel Prize, but so did Obama. No disrespect to Obama, but 2009 may have been a little premature.
3. I read "Among the Believers: An Islamic Journey" last summer and in layman's terms-it wasn't all that.
4. There is also an article about him in The Telegraph with the headline: "Sir Vidia Naipaul admits his cruelty may have killed wife." Apparently he pulled a John Edwards on her.

* Speaking of Nobel Prize Laureates, has anyone else read about when Mario Vargas Llosa gave Gabriel Garcia Marquez a shiner in the seventies? I think that it is funnier than it is-I guess I just like fights.

Exploring the Vast Inexperience of Miss Jill

I have a feeling this was originally some kind of drinking game, but whenever we study present perfect tense, we play “I have never.” This is played by putting up ten fingers and one by one, the students say things that they have never done. If you have done whatever they haven’t, you put a finger down. In a group that knows each other so well, it is easy to know Achilles’ heels. For example, “I have never eaten pork” to get me out. Or I can say, “I have never drunk Turkish coffee or tea” to get everyone in the room or “I have never spoken Turkish while my teacher was talking.” Here are some of mine…

I have never…
Tried beef jerky
Watched a full episode of SNL. I don’t have a problem with it-I just go to bed too early.
Added extra salt to something. If you are sharing popcorn with me and take the liberty of liberally salting it, you can rest assured that I am silently plotting your untimely demise. I seriously hate extra salt.
Said the s word
Mowed the lawn
Bought an NKOTB tape
Gone to work without makeup on
I have only gone 2 days without showering that I can remember. Once I was in the Dominican Republic and we were camping on the beach and it just wasn’t an option. We tried to wash our hair in the ocean, but not so effective.
Ordered a cheeseburger.
Seen the Breakfast Club or Pretty in Pink
Read a complete Hemmingway. I read half of Farewell to Arms and I hated his writing style and quit. Somehow I was never in a class that read “The Old Man and the Sea.” Maybe I should try again as an adult.
Been to Canada
Tried Mountain Dew or Dr. Pepper (not a Mormonism thing, I just don't like soda that much)

Does anyone else have any weird ones?

And I would like to warn you about the nastiest drink of all time: Malta. I tried it on Friday night and It tastes like putrid Whoppers.

From Moscow With Love

Dirty Dancing: Anatolian Nights

Besides Donald Trump on "The Apprentice," has anyone ever heard of a truly rich person who drives around in a limo? It seems like 90%* of limo passengers are of low socioeconomic status and inebriated, in spite of being under the age of twenty-one. Somewhere I got the idea that limos were vulgar, like having a bejeweled expensive brand name on your hindquarters. Or spending $1,000 on sunglasses for your chihuahua. Or paying someone to follow you around with a parasol. Or the mansion of any rapper on "Cribs." Before this post unravels into a Bolshevik treatise, what I am trying to say is that if you think that exorbitant spending will make you classy, it is probably a lost cause.

Even though I fit the economic part of my characterization of limo denizens, I never imagined a situation in which I would actually be cruising in one. Yesterday was graduation and I woke up with a deadly synthesis of excruciating sinus pain and the travails of womanhood. I almost started crying when I thought about going to graduation like that, but there was no way out. When I arrived, the man in charge of graduation approached me and said, "You will go on the limo tonight (the school rents limos for the graduates to go on a late night joyride through Manhattan) with the twelfth grade girls." I nodded assent, but I was thinking "!@#$#@%#^!#$@#$!#@%#!^#$#@!^^$#!@." But there are certain crazy things that you agree to do when kids are leaving for Turkey the next morning.

I am going to skip graduation for now, although there were some highlights. When a girl told the English teacher and me, "We requested that you two come with us in the limo," my co-worker turned to me and said, "Only at this school would you be considered the party teacher." I had no rebuttal, because I am guessing that my dancing style is similar to that of cousin Mitt. I'm too uptight and unskilled to enjoy it, but it is hard to convince people that I don't want to. They always insist that I will fall in love with it once I try, but I must point out that I am 30 years old. I have tried.

The limo looked more or less like this:



Luckily I was the only one who knew the purpose of the pole. The driver was an hour late and became enraged when the girls asked him how to use the sound system. Most of the girls, especially the ones who wear scarves (they call them "covered"), can't dance in front of men, but there are not any rules if there are just women present. And Turkish girls can rival Latinas in the hip department-they went crazy in there. They tirelessly danced to a mix of top 40, Enrique and Turkish songs while I laughed and the other teacher nauseously covered her ears.

For a brief moment, imagine that you are a mild mannered tourist from Iowa in Times Square and a limo pulls up to you. Turkish music is pumping and girls are hanging out the sides and top while singing and intermittently ululating (if you don't know that word, look it up-it is funny).

As we drove back to Brooklyn, I was so grateful to be experiencing that moment with them before they left. I thought about how hard it must have been for them to leave home in ninth grade, without knowing English. And how many challenges they faced living in a dorm with dozens of hormonal, homesick teenage girls. I remembered all the long conversations that we had about religion and the way their vivid descriptions created vibrant images of Turkey in my mind. They taught me the proper way to eat sunflower seeds, the ins and outs of Eurovision and introduced me to emo Turkish singers who inspired people to sneak razorblades into their concerts. They gave me generous gifts of evil eye jewelry, expatriate candy and meals at Turkish cafes (this does not effect their final grade, don't worry).

The previous months of Senioritis had expunged all of those good memories of them, so that evening was the perfect ending to our time together. I was anticipating a long, drawn out farewell, but as soon as the limo stopped, they bolted. Confused, because the conversation had taken place in Turkish, I looked at the other teacher and she said, "Hurry, let's go. They ran away because he was mean and they did not want to leave a tip."

* The other 10% consists of wedding parties and airport service.

Mr. Junkie's Neighborhood

Most of the younger students at my school are U.S. born Turks, Bosnians or Stanites (my word, not sure what the correct term is) or a mix thereof. They are pretty Americanized. For that reason, their ideas about Mormonism are rather South Parkian. The older dorm kids hardly even know any Christians, so I wield more influence. For better or for worse, they probably think that Mormons are eccentric blonde, half Mexican midgets who frequently get derailed telling weird stories about Castro and Che.

A Turkish teacher and I took some younger students to a local park last week at the end of the day (substituting). I like the park now that I discovered I can get better wireless there than at the school. We split up to watch different groups of students. After about fifteen minutes, she frantically ran over to me and said, "There is a strange guy bothering the kids. I believe he is high. He asked if I were a teacher and when I said yes, he told me to get another job. I think the kids are in danger." I was impressed that she could identify someone as "high," because her community is even more conservative than mine and I have trouble with that.

I walked over there and saw a mid-twenties, probable projects dweller with a glassy expression. He was getting up in kid's grills and asking if he could use their cell phones. To their credit, they denied him. I asked politely, "Is there something I can help you with?" He replied, "I lost my phone and I need to call it."

Miss Jill: Ok, I will give you some quarters for the payphone.
Glassy Eyes: No, I need to use a cell phone so they can call me back.
Miss Jill: Sorry, these are school kids. Stop bothering them.
Glassy Eyes: You think I old, but I ain't.
Miss Jill: Ok, but stop bothering my students.

Glassy Eyes flashed me a look of disdain and started bothering the kids again.

Miss Jill: Sir, I think you don't understand. You need to stop harassing my students or I am going to call the police.
Glassy Eyes (to students): Your teacher be mad scary. What's her problem?
Students: Hahaha
Miss Jill: Thanks. Please go away. Kids-let's go back to school!

The kids promptly turned on Glassy Eyes and started yelling, "You ruined our day!"

He retorted: Blame your teacher. She's the crazy one.
They were unmoved by his solid logic and continued yelling.

As we started walking back to school he started following us and yelled, "Do you expletive deleted know who I am? Do you expletive deleted know who I am? I expletive deleted run dis neighbahood."

Physically precocious teen: Don't you curse at her. She is Mormon! She doesn't curse! (Per South Park. I actually don't curse because it is low class, not because of religion)

He did not appear to be an ex-Soviet mafia strongman, so I was skeptical of his lofty claims and said, "That's great, but I'm still going to have to call the police."

Glassy Eyes: Where you be from? Expletive deleted Staten Island or something?
Miss Jill: That's racial profiling. This is your last chance.
Glassy Eyes (pointing to an Escalade): I have a car like that.
Miss Jill: Then you can probably afford a phone.

I started dialing 911 in his face and he ran into the distance, leaving his indelible mark on us. At random intervals during the school day, kids yell, "Got a phone?"

Yet Another Reason I Am Unlikely to Vote for Cousin Mitt

I can't remember if I have ever mentioned this and am too lazy to check, but I am distantly related to Mitt Romney due to Mexican polygamy. Is it too much to ask that the prospective leader of the free world have some kind of literary discernment? I hope that what follows is just political pandering.

Start of quote: “I mean I like the Twilight series,” Romney said during a recent NBC “Today Show” appearance.

The Massachusetts conservative added that his grandchild inspired him to check out the bestselling novels, which were penned by fellow Mormon Stephenie Meyer.

“I thought it was fun,” Romney added. “I don’t like vampires personally, I don’t know any but you know my granddaughter was reading it and I thought, well this looks like fun so I read that.”

Read more: http://dailycaller.com/2011/05/31/mitt-romney-likes-twilight-series-american-idol/#ixzz1O1ypzqxh

I wish we could make a trade and get J.K. Rowling instead.

In other political news, I realized this morning that I live only a few blocks away from having this



as my congressman. Just google "Anthony Weiner" and "Twitter" and you will know what I mean.