sometimes i wonder why i blog.
is it for myself? i don't know that i particularly like to write (although i do enjoy writing in this sort of format). writing is usually something i have a battle with.
i like to entertain, but often my entries are not very entertaining (see june- sept. of this year, to be sure).
is it for other people to read? maybe, but i don't get a lot of readership, and everyone that does read it is forced into it but my constant hints ("i'd tell you that story, but you know, you can just read about it on my blog").
is it to keep track of things? that would be nice, but just a few weeks ago i was scouring the archives for hints of when the hell i last got my period, but i don't seem to talk much about my period on this site (you can all be grateful). i do like being able to read back about things, especially the last few weeks of my grandpa's life. it's written down so i don't miss some of the little details i could have forgotten.
quite frankly, i don't know that i really know why i blog. but i do. a lot. it never takes long and it's probably a little of all of these reasons. in a week, my blog turns one. i'm thinking of registering it somewhere. target, maybe?

one of the best things about being a teacher is times like this:
we are learning the vocabulary word "appallingly arrogant" and i asked the students to come up with a person who is appallingly arrogant. EVERY SINGLE STUDENT HOLLERS OUT "President Bush"! God bless them, I tell you. There is hope for the future.

i have this weird pride about the fact that i'm #1 when you google "boyfriend won't marry you".

posthipchick is officially sick.
well, i've actually been officially sick for like 5 days now, but today was is the first day i decided to take the day to acknowledge my sickness by letting it sleep, watch bad daytime television, sit around with a roll of toilet paper within arm's reach, and ignore the world like it really wanted to do. i'm hoping if i give in to it's wishes, it will quickly find someone else to host it. i'm kind of over hosting.
the problem with all of this, besides feeling like i can't breathe, swallow, or talk, is that i have the day off! and while my little friend just wants to sit around under warm blankets and blow it's nose all day, i cannot help feeling almost giddy with the prospect of time. there's so much to do! i really need to get some errands done, the house could use a good cleaning, i have friends to catch up with, i'm sure bella would appreciate a good hour run up at bernal... but wait! my little friend virus wants me to just eat soup and watch the discovery channel. i haven't quite decided who's going to win this little battle between virus and i, but the day is still young. surprisingly, i'm really good (like really good. like i could win prizes.) at lazing around when i want to, but having a surprise day of time just makes me feel like i need to really do something.
call or write. i'm here (for now).

what do you see here?

ways in which being a teacher sucks:
1. kids are loud
2. it's neverending
3. the pay
4. the fact that your paycheck includes being the teacher, the janitor, the powerpoint guy, the financial manager, the receptionist, the policeperson, and so many other things i can't even begin to list them.
5. kids are loud
6. middle-schoolers say mean things to each other and make you flash back to your own terrible middle-school years which you had successfully blocked out until now. thank you!
7. middle-schoolers are mean to teachers and being a teacher doesn't mean your feelings are exempt
8. kids don't actually want to learn
9. kids are really, really loud
10. sometimes you lose your cool and scream and that doesn't feel so good

i discovered i like talking pictures of water and reflections.


bella does this weird puffy lip thing sometimes. i finally captured it.

spent the weekend up in woodside, eating crab and brie and homemade cookies, taking pictures, learning about photoshop, talking, sleeping, watching monthy python movies, amusing ourselves with the animals. a great time was had by all, but bella seemed to win the 'i had the most fun' award, after running for 24 straight hours. now we're home and she's so crashed out, i don't think she'd even get up for a cookie. which is, after all, the point.
now must go do grades and prepare for tomorrow, as i'm being observed by my principal. oooh-laaa-laaaa.

i'm learning how to use photoshop.


original photo


posthipchick "original"

confidential to the person who found me by googling "blue balls relief":
sorry, i can't help you.

today was the second time i've been to my new doctor. no dire health emergency, thank god. last time the woman saw me i had armpits hanging down to the floor. it actually turned into a rather lovely experience, and we sat and chatted in the examining room for an hour! we just talked and talked and talked-- about schools, politics, dogs, etc. we bonded over having such foul mouths, so the fucks were really flying. usually going to the doctor is nothing short of an irritating experience, but today it was like having coffee with a friend. really, it changed my whole opinion about going to the doctor. next time i might bring wine.

people always think ajmn and i look alike. we've been asked if we're sisters so many times i couldn't begin to count.
one reason i was drawn to ananda after we became roommates has to do with the following...
my mom had this, um, habit of sending me "care" packages filled with CRAP- half-filled bottles of spices, a sample of deodorant, and more couscous than a person could eat in a lifetime. it had become a bit of a running joke with me and my roommates. shortly after ananda moved in, one of these packages arrived- it had been shoved through the mailbox and the package had been ripped open a bit. i saw a bit of an old scarf wrapped around yet another box of couscous and just tossed the package onto my bed, to deal with later. later finally came around and i went to open the love wrapped in an packing envelope on my bed. i turned it over and, lo and behold, this was a package from ANANDA'S mom! you can see why we're friends, no?


do you think we look like sisters?

tonight i made pavlova for dessert. with tangerine zest whipped cream and fresh fruit. YUM! like a cow, posthipchick has many stomachs. no matter how full i am, a separate stomach opens for dessert.

tickets from san francisco to new york are $79

it's another rousing saturday night around here.
we (don't you love the we? as in "we built that ourselves" or "we know how to do plumbing". you suddenly get credit for these skills you didn't know you had!) shaved the lovely beau's beard off tonight. to make this a somewhat interesting event for the whole family, we did another photo essay. what do you think? better with or without the beard?


full beard?


goatee?


clean and fresh?

if anyone has any of the following items and would like to donate them to my classroom, let me know:

1. I really need a rug. The carpet is stained and crappy and not nice to look at.
2. Art supplies of any kind.
3. Books
4. Workbooks

xoxo

comment by a student today:
"ms. brown, your hair is turning white".

hmmm, i wonder why.

can anyone tell me why dogs hide things? who are they hiding it from? why some things and not others? why always in the house plants?

i have a terrible cookie hangover.

sometimes bella reminds me of the little match girl because she sits on the steps and just stares at the neighbor's.

tonight i went to dinner with my friend, j. j & i were roommates in la, almost a decade ago. we lost touch for many years but recently got back in touch. i had to find her after the following incident occurred:

first, we must go back about 9 years. i was living in la, but up in northern california for thanksgiving. i went out in san francisco (before i lived here) and met a guy who was celebrating his 21st birthday. he tried to pick me up, but i didn't bite.
fast-forward a few days j & i are back in la, and i'm telling her about this guy who tried to pick me up with the cheesiest line "you're the kind of girl i'd like to make breakfast for in the morning". j is showing me pictures of her thanksgiving and lo and behold, there is the guy who tried to pick me up! turns out he's a friend of a friend of hers. the chances? slim. the picture? sitting in a pile of mine for the last 9 years, with j's handwriting on the back- "you're the kind of girl i'd like to make breakfast for in the morning".
8 years later I'm sitting on Ananda's bed (a friend who has NO relation whatsoever to j), looking through a photo album her friend had made her of their cross-country road trip the summer before. i come to the section labeled "mississippi" or "texas" or some other unknowing state. there are pictures of ananda, WITH THE SAME GUY FROM THE PHOTO still sitting on my pile.
It is the same guy- Juaquin is his name. why the random guy i met on his 21st birthday almost a decade ago continues to pop up in pictures here and there is further proof that this world is too small. and that j & i obviously HAD to get back in touch.

i have found my people!

Barricades 101
Today I had a training on what-to-do-if-there's-a-shoot-out-at-school. They taught us the procedures to follow, including how to build a good barricade at the door to deter the shooter. Apparently a table or coat closet is the best thing to put up first at the door, but you must ensure that all gaps are filled, so you must then put desks behind the table and backpacks or blankets to fill the gaps. Oh, and that is only the primary barrier. Then you must set up a secondary barrier where you and the students will hide. They also taught us the code (that I obviously cannot pass along!) to tell anyone who calls during a shoot-out to alert them if we have a student down. They did not, however, want to offer advice on what to do if your school goes into lockdown and there is a student outside your door wanting to get in. They just said it would be a very difficult decision. It's days like this I am left to ponder how my life turned out this way.

Quote of the day (just to make sure I didn't forget anything about middle-schoolers after 2 weeks):

"Ms. Brown, if there's a doggie style, why isn't there a kitty style?"

p.s. If anyone has the answer to that, let me know. I was rendered speechless.

you would think it would be impossible to be sad when wearing this:

but today you would be wrong. we just found out that the one american killed in the iran earthquake was a friend/ business associate of ryan's. he was the nicest guy you've ever met, with this really wonderful family, incredibly open-minded. he loved to make people feel comfortable at these parties he threw twice a year and would always try to introduce you to someone he thought you might have something in common with (even if it was incredibly far-fetched). the last conversation i had with him, he was talking about how he wanted a new term for which to go by with his girlfriend. he said partner had a connontation already, and boyfriend sounded so juvenille. he proposed to her two days before he was killed. i've never known anyone to die in an accident like this, so young and vibrant and thriving. it's sort of unbelievable.

Why We Don't Buy Toys For Bella
A PhotoEssay

One Fish


Two Fish


Dead Fish

Note to self for next year:
Don't mix champagne, Theraflu and adivan if you expect to wake up at all the next day.

I woke up this morning at 4 a.m. from a drugged Theraflu haze, desparately thirsty and needing to pee. However, the drug had me sort of pinned to the pillow, so it took more than a little time for me to reach over to the bedside table and actually take a swig of water. Then I really needed to go, and somehow stumbled into the bathroom. Returning to bed, I was wide awake, exactly what I'd been trying to avoid. I considered just getting up, since I have the whole day to do as I please, including going back to bed, but remembered my Teach For America rule that any time in the 4's is unreasonable to wake up. So I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was racing with it's usual middle-of-the-night bullshit. It's just so damn talkative when it's dark out. Oy. Anyhoo, I had to practice my age-old, time-tested approach to this situation, as I have most certainly been on dates before with talkative head. What I do, and also highly recommend, to get myself to sleep, is to call up my trusty elf friend. What? You don't have a trusty elf friend? By all means, go out and get yourself one. He stays in your brain at all times, but is specifically good for a particular task. He puts all your thoughts into a big magic box that he then locks and stands guard over it so you can sleep. You have to come up with all of the subjects that could possibly keep you up at night, and then he holds up the word (i.e., job, family, etc) and shoves it in the box. When you are finally done, he locks it up and stands guard. If you somehow slip a little and think about one of those pesky little words he already locked up, trusty little elf gets very irritated. He has to pick the word back up, unlock the chest, put it back in, and re-lock the chest. Believe me when I tell you that the irritated look on his face when this task comes up is enough to make you stop thinking and go back to sleep. For another 7 hours, no less. God bless Theraflu.

Happy New Year!
xoxo