A Few Unconnected Thoughts

Whenever Matt and I are faced with a predicament, my response is almost always "We just need to go back in time!" And Matt follows up with "I'll go get the crystals." It doesn't really help the situation, but it does make me laugh. So as Matt and I were watching the news, I realized the solution to our so-called economic disaster: GO BACK IN TIME. We could fix some things gone wrong, and then everything would be just fine. TRUST ME. I majored in English.

And to completely change the subject, our very good friends, Bryan and Laura, got married this weekend. They had a perfect wedding at one of our favorite wineries, one that we often visit together, and Matt and I got to be part of the whole thing. So special!

Matt and I in our bridesmaid/ groomsman get-up. Isn't the winery gorgeous?! Matt and I want to buy it. You know, with all that money we have.

The beautiful bride! I love these ladies!

And here's my biggest regret from the weekend: not getting a good picture of Matt and me with Bryan and Laura. I know Laura wouldn't mind putting her dress back on (which bride wouldn't?), but unfortunately the tuxes have been returned.

I know! I'll go back in time!

Celebrating with a Hurricane

Today is my mama and daddy's 27th wedding anniversary! I am so thankful for two parents who love and support me, but who also love and support each other.

Aren't they the cutest? They're basically my favorite parents ever, and I just wanted to let everyone know.

P.S. Ike! Back off! It's my parent's anniversary.

First Day on the Job

When I took a subbing job today, it said it was for a middle school Language Arts teacher. When I showed up, my schedule included 3 keyboarding classes and a PE class.

I don’t do PE.

I was wearing my Rachel Green dress with heels. Below is what my dress looked like, except it went to my knees – I’m not THAT teacher.


Most teachers are very casual, but since I look about 18 on a good day, I try to compensate by always dressing up. My motto: I’d rather be overdressed than underdressed. I think more people should make that their motto, too. Just sayin’.

So there I stood in the gym with my dress and heels taking attendance. But this was not the first time I found myself in this situation; last time it happened, I was wearing a pencil skirt and heels. I guess it stands to reason that no matter how old I get, I will NEVER feel comfortable in a PE class.

The students today were to practice throwing a football using the right techniques. Right techniques? Like don’t hit anybody in the face? That’s about as technical as my football-throwing knowledge gets. But on the lesson plan that the teacher left, she said for me to “demonstrate throwing a football for the students to see.”

OH HELL NO.

I don’t throw footballs. I CAN’T throw footballs. And doesn’t it seem a bit unfair that she would assume I could? What if I was a handless substitute? Or someone who is unable to do anything athletic? I’m good at bocce ball, and that’s about it.

So I found two boys who demonstrated for the class. And this is what I learned: opposite foot forward, fingertips on the spiral, hand near the back of the ball. Piece of cake.

And what did I add? Don’t hit me in the face.

Being Sandy

Last week I had a couple of bad days dealing with life changes, unemployment, and impatience. There’s a lot of emotion running through me, and I’m trying really hard not to fall into The Funk. Matt is also trying to keep me from The Funk, and he kindly offered to do anything for me. So last night we watched Grease together.

Now, if I do say so myself, I have pretty good taste in movies. I know Grease isn’t exactly a movie you add to your list of favorites on Facebook, but it’s my weak spot. I can’t help it, the awful lines and the cheesy songs and the silly dance moves get to me every single time.

We watched the movie, and I sang along the whole time. My favorite part is the moment Sandy appears at the carnival and says, “Tell me about it, stud” in that breathy voice she uses. As soon as she says that, my heart gets all jittery and I’m suddenly overcome with the idea that I too want to be an actress, need to be an actress. Strangely, it only happens when I watch Grease.

I turned to Matt and said, “The little girl in me is about to run and make some very important phone calls.”

“What??”

“To find an agent.”

When I was around nine or ten, I used to sneak into my dad’s office after watching Grease and make a few phone calls on his business line, as if that made the whole thing more serious. The big yellow phone book was open to A, and with my heart racing, I’d pick a few that sounded promising and start dialing. I didn’t quite know how to go about all this, but I knew that I had to become an actress ASAP. After someone picked up, I always started out with “I’d like to be an actress.”

“Okay, why don’t you send us your headshot?”

“Great! Where do I get those?”

“Well, we can refer a few places for you.”

“Okay, and about how much does that cost?”

“On average, around $1,000.”

This is when I would abruptly hang up. I did this four different times, until I finally decided I didn’t care to be an actress; I just wanted big hair, black spandex, red heals, and some sass - I wanted to be Sandy.


Coincidentally, my babysitter gave me a few hand-me-down unitards from jazzercise, and I would push the sleeves down and walk around the house in my mom’s shoes. It satisfied the craving to be an actress. Last night, though, when Sandy walked out all I could think was WHERE’S MY UNITARD, I NEED IT NOW.

AND OH YEAH, CURL MY HAIR MATT. YOU SAID YOU’D DO ANYTHING FOR ME.