Salsa Dancing

Have you ever gone to a nightclub wearing yoga pants, a tank top, and tennis shoes?  Of course you haven't.  That is not what you wear to a nightclub.  You wear a sexy dress, high heels, and approximately one gallon of make-up and hairspray.

That is, unless you're me.  Then you go the tennis shoes route.

Right now I'm visiting my dad in Boise, Idaho.  He's got an awesome man cave basement apartment and is having fun exploring the city.  I was so excited to come visit him because we always have a blast together, and I have not been let down.  When I first arrived on Saturday, he said, "Hey, want to go take Salsa dancing lessons?  I've got tickets!"  Of course I wanted to go.  That sounded like a great time.

So my dad and I got ready to go out to this "dance studio" to take dance lessons.  I put on dance class clothes, thinking that would make sense if we were going to DANCE LESSONS.  My first warning that something was amiss came when we got to The Knitting Factory (yeah, that's the name of the place - "The Knitting Factory." Strange).  I walked in the front door and got asked for my ID.  I was pretty surprised that they needed my ID to take a dance lesson.  Actually, I didn't even have it with me and had to go back and grab it.  Once I had my ID to give to the bouncer lady, she let me into the club.  I'm not sure why...she should have told me to go home and change.  Oh, well.  I guess they had a pretty lax dress code.  My dad and I immediately went up to the Skybox, since we had VIP tickets (go Dad!).  From there we could look down on the dance floor and see everyone dancing.  Let's just say they weren't dressed like me.

At first I was mortified.  I thought, "Oh my goodness, I can't believe how weird I look."  Then I realized that I'm never going to see any of these people again, and it was kind of dark in there anyway, so I was probably good.  I took my hair out of its pony tail, slapped on some lipstick, and decided I was sufficiently sexy.  My dad and I people watched for a while before they made the announcement that salsa dancing lessons were about to begin.

We made our way to the dance floor and watched the leader demonstrate the first few steps for us.  Right before it was our turn to try, my dad turned to me and said, "Oh yeah girl, we got this shit."  Ummm...I'm not sure at what age a kid is old enough for parents to swear in front of them, but I'm not that old yet.  Ha ha.  Oh well.  We started practicing the steps, and we were actually pretty good!  My dad's an awesome dancer.

Suddenly, I noticed Salsa Barbie and her fat boyfriend.  Salsa Barbie had her hair teased up into a blonde cloud around her head with a giant red flower above her left ear.  She was wearing a skimpy red and black dress-like-item.  I think I might actually have a similar item...but I got mine from Victoria's Secret.  Anyway, I turned around, and Salsa Barbie was standing there simultaneously grinding and MAKING OUT with fat Ken!  Eeeeeeewwwww!!  I pointed them out to my dad, and we both busted up laughing.  I may not know how to salsa perfectly, but I'm pretty sure they were doing it wrong.  We watched them for the rest of the night, but they never even tried to do any of the right steps.  I may have been in yoga pants and tennies, but I think I fit in better than they did!

All in all, it was a great night dancing with my dad.  He's the best.  :-)

No New Mail!

I recently switched over to a Gmail account from my old university e-mail account.

You may be wondering why it took me three years and a change of last name before I ditched my MSU account...  I really don't have an answer for you.  I don't like when things change, I guess.

Anyway, it looks like I had a good reason to be wary of gmail, because guess what?  It's rude.  I don't like it.  I signed in to check my e-mail today, and here is what it said on the main screen:

No New Mail!

Is the exclamation point really necessary?  I feel like it adds an air of hostility to the inbox.  It like, "Get out of here!  There's no new mail, okay?  Stop bugging me!  I'll send a message to your phone if anyone e-mails you!  Please stop waking me from my cyber slumber and let me have some peace!"

Maybe I'm interpreting that incorrectly.  Maybe the exclamation point isn't hostile.  If it's not being openly mean, though, then I feel that at least it's a backhanded way of telling me I'm a loser:

"No new mail!  That's right, no one wants to talk to you!   You have no friends, and even the junk mail people can't be bothered with contacting you!  No new mail? That never happens!  Hey Lou, call the newspaper!  This girl is SUCH a loser that she doesn't even have one solitary e-mail!"

I get it, okay gmail?  No one contacted me today.  You don't have to proclaim it with excessive exclamatory punctuation.  It's not that exciting.  It's actually kind of depressing.  Why don't you say "No New Mail :-( "  or "No New Mail today, but don't worry - we're sure someone will contact you soon!"  or even "We at Gmail love you even if no one else does."

 I liked my MSU mail better.  They just said, "There are no new messages in this inbox."  No extraneous exclamations.  It got right to the point without judging me.

I think I'm going to go e-mail my gmail account from my MSU account just to get that condescending message off of my screen.  Technology today is so insensitive.

Student Stories

When was the last time I posted student stories?  It's been forever!  It's not because my students are less funny than in past years...  On the contrary, I laugh about a million times a day.  I'm not sure why I strayed from that habit, but I will try to get back into it.  Here is the latest batch:

1. My students and I were talking about "text to text" connections (where you connect one story to something it reminded you of in a different story).  One girl said that when she read "Cinderella," Prince Charming reminded her of the Prince Charming from the story "Snow White."  One of the boys piped up and said, "Why does this Prince Charming guy marry all of the princesses?  The books should say, 'And they lived happily ever after...until the princess realized that Prince Charming is also married to five other princesses."  Ha ha!  How did I never think of that when I was growing up?  Why are all of the princes named "Prince Charming"?  What if it's really the same guy?  That would certainly change the fairy tales that I know and love...

2. I run an extra-curricular publications committee that publishes a fifth grade paper once a month.  We have one boy in the committee, so he is our sports reporter.  At our last meeting, I suggested that maybe he should cover March Madness because that is such an important sports event in March.  Most of the girls didn't know what that was.  I explained, "It's a big basketball competition where all of the best college teams compete to see who wins the championship."  One girl, still clearly confused, said, "What do they do?  Like...an obstacle course or something?"
Nope, they pretty much just play basketball...sorry to disappoint.

3. My little sister came into town for my birthday.  (WOOOT!) I had her come help out in my classroom, and the kids loved her.  All of the girls were fawning over how beautiful she is (because she is), and then one of the boys chimed in with, "Yeah...Mrs. Webb, you don't look like your sister at all."  THANKS, Jerkface. Someone doesn't want an A this quarter.

4. I have a few boys in my class who like to bring their toys to school.  It drives me a bit nuts.  The other day I noticed that one of my boys had pulled out some legos, so I stopped my lesson and said, "Kyle, if you don't put those legos away right now, I am going to eat them!"  Ummmm...where did THAT come from?!  As soon as it was out of my mouth, I thought, "What the HECK was that?!?!"  The whole class looked very startled and a little bit scared, and Kyle put away his legos.  HA HA!  It is a good thing that I'm teaching fifth grade and not middle school, though, because a middle school boy would have said, "Go ahead.  Eat them," just to see what I would do.  Thankfully, I didn't have to live up to that threat.  Phewf!

5.  Many of my students have read The Elsie Files.  For those of you who haven't, it's a story narrated by my cat Elsie. She is fat, lies around all day and thinks no one is as smart as she is.  One of my students came up to me yesterday and said, "You know what?  I've been thinking about Elsie, and I think we should set her up on a date with Garfield."  Ha ha ha!  I never considered that, but he's really right.  I wonder if Garfield's creator also based his stories on a real fat, lazy cat?

6. After school I tutor students three days a week.  The students I tutor are in grades K-3.  Yesterday I was helping a third grade girl with her reading comprehension questions.  She likes to get her answers done as quickly as possible, so she forgets grammar and punctuation details sometimes.  I reminded her to put a capital letter at the beginning of her sentence, and she acquiesced.  Then I said, "And remember...what do you need at the end of the sentence?"  She threw up her hands in frustration, gave a huge sigh, and exclaimed, "I HATE putting periods at the end of my sentences!  It's just too much work!"  I couldn't help it - I started laughing.  I'm hard pressed to think of anything in life that is easier that writing a period at the end of a sentence.  I told this to the girl, and she finally started laughing too (and she also put that darn punctuation in her answers).  Little girls can be such drama queens.

My Life as a Nicholas Sparks Novel

I really hate Nicholas Sparks novels.  I haven't read many, but every once in a while one of my friends tells me "Oh, but this one's different.  I think you'll really like this one."  Except I never do.  They are all the same:  a bunch of romantic schmultz that is highly improbable and unrealistic.  Hazy lighting effects and classical music.  Real life is more like sharp color effects and a soundtrack of traffic horns and radios playing more bad news.

This afternoon, though, I got to take a break from real life and have a Nicholas Sparks kind of day.  Rex had a ton of studying to do for a test tomorrow and I had stacks of paper to grade.  On a crazy whim, Rex and I decided to go have a picnic in the park.  Forget all of our work - we wanted to have a picnic.  Who does that these days?  I felt dumb even as we were getting ready.  A picnic in the park?  Like, with a blanket and sandwiches and a picnic basket?  Well, let me go get my bonnet and feed the horses before we go.

It was a beautiful day - one of those days where the air smells like spring and the wind is just cool enough to keep the sun from baking your skin.  Rex and I spread out our blanket under some trees, and it honestly felt like no one else was around - just us and our dogs.  The clouds floated lazily by.  Our sandwiches tasted delicious.  The dogs played well with each other.  It was a perfect afternoon.  Elvis rolled around in the grass, and Rex and I started laughing at him at the same time.  Then we turned and smiled at each other because it was fun that we laughed at the same time, and it felt friendly and romantic and really pathetically cliched all at the same time.  I guess only Nicholas Sparks can only do justice to moments like that.  They're obnoxious to read about, but fun to live through.  The pug got tangled around a tree-trunk, and Rex went and gingerly untangled her so that she could play better with Elvis.  He then turned to me and said, "You know, I've never told anyone this...but I really do love pugs."

Okay... I made that last part up about Rex admitting his love for pugs.  Sorry, I got a little carried away.  He didn't admit his love for pugs (yet), but the rest of that paragraph was true.  He did help our foster Nora get untangled.  I didn't even have to tell him to help her, either, so deep down he cares about her a little bit.

Anyway, it was a great Sunday afternoon.  I guess maybe Mr. Sparks isn't so ridiculous after all.

Same-Siders

To everyone who reads this blog:  please never be a same-sider.  I hate them.  If you are a same-sider, either cease in your disgusting ways or stop reading this blog because you and I are no longer friends.

How do you know if you are a same-sider?  Well, same-siders are people who sit next to each other side-by-side in a booth at a restaurant and leave the other half of the booth empty.  Rex and I experienced a horrible display of same-siders tonight at Olive Garden.  It was disturbing and horrifying.  I almost couldn't eat due to the grossness, but come on - it's Olive Garden.  I can't think of anything that would gross me out enough to pass up that food.

It all started when we were waiting to be seated.  We had just finished chatting up Tommy, a random Olive Garden host who gave us some free wine.  While sipping our delicious wine (everything tastes better when it's free), I noticed a couple in the corner and pointed them out to Rex.  They looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, and they were awkwardly physical.  The boy had his hands in the front pockets of her skinny jeans, and they were gazing at each other as if locked in an epic staring contest.  Every once in a while one of them would go in for a kiss.  Very strange.  The girl looked like every stereotype that you think of when I say "sorority girl."  She was skinny with fake blonde hair and too much make-up.  She was wearing a hot pink V-neck sweater with skinny jeans and boots.  I think they were Uggs, but I can't really remember.  The boy, on the other hand, had made no effort whatsoever to dress up for their date.  He was wearing a white T-shirt with a pocket on it, baggy jeans, and off-brand Air Jordans.  I think he might have brushed his shaggy brown hair, but that was the extent of his date preparation.

Much to my chagrin, the creepy couple got seated in the booth right behind Rex.  I had a perfect view of them, but Rex couldn't see since he was facing me.  I knew we were in for an interesting dinner when they scooched in next to each other and immediately started making out.  Ummm...HELLO, you're in an Olive Garden!  There are children here!  I almost choked on my bread stick.  Rex wanted to know what was going on, so I started narrating for him.  It turned into a really funny dinner.  I can't possibly transcribe the events to you effectively, because it was so much more gross/funny/pathetic than you can possibly imagine.  I will walk you through the highlights, though, so you can get an idea.

Let's start with their order.  He ordered for her, since obviously he "knows what she likes."  He ordered them both the same dinner, too, because they have "so much in common." *kiss kiss snuggle snuggle*  I bet she hates fettuccine alfredo.  Actually, I really hope she does.  That would make the whole thing even funnier.  The waitress brought out their salad and bread sticks, and they dug in.  The girl giggled and fawned over her bread stick, exclaiming, "Oh my gosh, it's like, so fluffy!  Awwww..."  It's not a pomeranian, chicky babe.  Eat your food.  While she was admiring the texture of her bread, the boy leaned over and picked up a piece of lettuce off of her plate with his teeth.

Wait, I'm not sure you got that.  He leaned over her, put his face directly INTO HER FOOD, and grabbed a piece of lettuce.  Then he lifted up his head and presented her with his puckered lettuce lips, where she proceeded to EAT THE OTHER HALF OF THE PIECE OF LETTUCE OUT OF HIS MOUTH!  Um, NASTY.  I laughed out loud.  I couldn't help it.  Who DOES that?!

They finished their appetizers and continued to nuzzle and kiss.  She got bored, so she pulled out her Hello Kitty cell phone (the cell phone had cat ears on it - I kid you not).  She turned away from the guy and started texting, and he continued kissing her neck.  That's probably the most awkward thing ever.   No wait, that's a lie.  The lettuce thing was way more awkward.

Finally the food arrived for Mr. and Mrs. Nasty.  I thought, "Great.  Now I can get a break from this while they eat their food."  BUT NO - do you want to know how they ate their food?  DO YOU?  They fed each other simultaneously.  Like, they'd both twirl their forks into the noodles, pick up a bite, and then put it into the other person's mouth.  Remember - they're not sitting across from each other, but next to each other, so they had to awkwardly reach over their side to reach the other person's mouth.  It was SO STRANGE.

Rex said, "You know that kid thinks he's going to get lucky tonight."  I responded with, "He probably is...possibly before they even finish dinner."  By the time they finished their fettuccine, her shirt was almost totally off.  It had been pulled down her shoulder to her elbow, exposing her totally not-cute bra.  I mean, if you're going to be showing your bra in public (which you soooo shouldn't...), at least wear a cute one.  I guess she didn't know that yet, seeing as she probably only started wearing bras about two weeks ago.

I wanted someone to tell them to cut it out.  After all, there were little kids in the restaurant!  I think the workers were as amazed as I was, though, as I saw a few of them ogling the weirdness through the leaves of the fake plants placed around the dining area.  

I couldn't hear much of what the couple was saying throughout the night, but I did hear the girl sigh into his ear, "Isn't it amazing how fast eight months has gone by?"  They were at Olive Garden for their EIGHT MONTH ANNIVERSARY.  As someone who has been with the same guy for six and a half years now, eight months doesn't seem that long.  Especially since the guy I'm with had to wait three and a half years and a diamond ring before he got into my shirt, and this guy was up hers in public after eight months.  Ew!!!  I would have told them to get a room, but they're probably not old enough to reserve one.  Therefore they just used their local Olive Garden.  Lovely.

Basically, that was a really long story to make a really short point.  The point of this whole post is this:  DO NOT BE A SAME-SIDER.  No one wants to see that.  I won't be your friend if you do it.  Okay?  Okay.  Thanks.

Gospel Rap

If you've never been to a gospel rap concert, then...well...you're probably just like 99.9% of other people in the world.  I, however, have been to one.  A fellow fifth grade teacher at my school told me that his rap band, Unashamed to Put in Work, had a concert this Friday night.  He asked me to go on five different occasions over the past couple weeks, so I figured I'd better go.  I dragged my friend Elle along because I didn't want to go alone, and Rex refused to go.  I wasn't going to miss it, though, because I had to support LaMont.

First of all, there are some things you should know about this guy:  he's an ex-gangster.  Legit.  He's been shot twice.  He's done every drug you can name.   But then he found the LORD, and now he lives for Him.  It's actually a pretty cool story, but you can ask me about that some other time.  The point is that LaMont is now the leader of a Christian rap group, and I promised to go watch his concert.  Okay, now I think you're caught up.

So Elle and I walked into this old warehouse-building-turned-church to see his concert.  As soon as we walked in, I knew we were in for an interesting night.  The music was ridiculously loud, and the bass was turned up so high that it shook the ceiling.  There were colored strobe lights and disco balls casting pulsing rainbows of light onto everyone.  I had just walked into Club Jesus.

Here's something you should know about me:  I don't like clubs.  I've only been to one, and I hated it.  The music's too loud, people are crammed together, the air smells like sweat...I just don't like them.  Therefore the whole situation seemed unsettling.  Adding to the unease was the fact that there were only two white people at the event:  me and Elle.  I have nothing against black people, it's just that...well...how do I describe this? I'm SO WHITE.  Like, boarding-school-in-Connecticut-and-wear-pearls-to-dinner-every-night kind of white.  (That stuff isn't true, by the way.  I never went to school in Connecticut.  It's just an analogy).  So when I saw "gangsters for the Lord" (their term, not mine) raising the roof and showing off their hip hop moves, I didn't know what to do.  After all, there were three-year-olds there with better dance moves than I could ever hope to have.  I was not about to get out on the floor and attempt to "shake it" with members of the ethnic group that God has blessed with an innate sense of rhythm.  I ended up sitting in a chair in the back of the room with the old people and looking very awkward.

Even though I looked pretty awkward, I have to admit that the music was good.  I mean, if you're into rap.  I'm not really that into rap, but the stuff was catchy.  The lyrics I could understand were good, too.  Here is a small sampling of a couple different songs:

To God be the glory....END OF STORY!
To God be the glory...END OF STORY!
To God be the glory...END OF STORY!

Don't live in strife
Just be a Godly wife
Read Proverbs 31 - twice
Let it be a map fo yo life

Don't give the devil a STRONGHOLD!
If you're smoking the weed, he has a STRONGHOLD!
If you're hitting the sheets, he has a STRONGHOLD!
If you're doing drugs, he has a STRONGHOLD!
If you're holding a grudge, he has a STRONGHOLD!
Don't be givin' him a STRONGHOLD!

After a couple hours of this, Elle and I had sustained some temporary hearing loss so we decided to leave.  It's too bad, really, because we left just as a preacher dude was getting up to speak.  He sounded pretty good, one of those "Can I get an AMEN??" kind of speakers.  I don't even raise up my hands when we sing in church, so I really wasn't about to be the dancing in the aisle hallelujah kind of audience member.  It seemed rude to just sit there, though, so I left.  Maybe I can learn some moves from my black friends and then bust them out at LaMont's next concert.  Maybe...or maybe I'm busy that day.

Seriously, though - if you ever get a chance to go to a gospel rap concert, DO IT.  It will be the weirdest experience of your life, but I now want to be a gangster for the Lord.

To God be the glory...END OF STORY!

My Shallow Moment

Let me take a moment to post about something very important to me:  Rex's hair.

I want to write about it because Rex is talking about cutting his hair again.  Aargh!  Whenever he cuts his hair he cuts it SO SHORT, and then I feel like I have an army guy walking around our house or something.  Not that there's anything wrong with army guys, obviously, but Rex isn't one.  He even says he wants to shave his head bald.  Aaaaah!!  I should have another solid thirty years before I'm married to a baldy.  Plus, I think I've been conditioned to like his long hair ever since high school.  I still remember the first time I thought Rex was "cute."  We were in Spanish 4, he was sitting behind me in the third row, and I turned around to talk to him.  His hair had just grown out long enough to curl a little bit, and I thought, "Wow, he looks really good with curly hair!"  Then we ended up dating and, well, the rest is history.  So curly hair = a GOOD THING.  So here it is, Rex - my public declaration of the fact that I like your curly hair.  Please don't shave it off like a cancer guy!

In case you aren't sure what I'm talking about, I'll give you a quick visual tutorial:

This one is too short

This one is too long

This one is just right

See, Rex?  Now you know how to maximize on your stunningly good looks!  But I guess I have to love you anyway...even if you're a baldy... ;-)