♥

true friends are the ones that literally carry you on their back so that you don't ruin your shoes walking through the snow.

thanks, grace.

al...most...therrrrre.....

how to avoid getting murdered by imaginary serial killers and/or furnaces

so i've had the house to myself since wednesday, which all in all, has been pretty nice. i can play my music as loud as i want, i can leave my socks all over, and i can even walk around naked if i want (whether or not i have chosen to do so is entirely my business and not yours).

however, all this revelry takes a sharp turn into pure terror whenever the sun goes down. then my house starts making all sorts of noises that i didn't seem to be aware of during daylight hours. with every creak and crack that older houses are wont to make, my mind recalls more and more scenes from every horror movie i have ever seen or heard about, and i become more and more convinced that there is a killer in my house and i am inevitably going to be murdered. then it turns out it's just my heater. or is it? i came up with a plan to avoid the basement, because that is the scariest part of the house. but herein lies two problems: one, my room is in the basement, so i eventually have to go down there at some point (to sleep or get more socks to put on and then leave lying randomly around the house), and two, the bathroom upstairs is out of toilet paper, so if i have to pee, i have to go downstairs.

so then what i generally do is this: turn on every light in the house, and close every door. that way, if there's a killer lurking in a room, i'll hear the door open as he tries to creep out and kill me. in general though, i just try to stay in one spot (preferably in a corner so nothing could surprise me from behind) until i absolutely have to move. like last night, for example, when it came time to move from the upstairs couch into my bed downstairs, i tried to streamline this process as much as possible by just running downstairs to my bed. bam, done. but then, i was like "dangit, i have to pee." nope, stayed in bed. then woke up three consecutive hours in a row this morning, really having to pee. but i didn't go until it was light outside. because i am one of the most neurotic people you will probably ever meet.

thanksgiving recap

so as it turns out, even though i didn't go home for thanksgiving, it was still about the things that it's always been about:

food


and being with people you love.


thanks for helping me have an awesome thanksgiving, meg.

dear "blizzard,"

you were more overrated than "titanic." don't bring that weak crap around here anymore. when the weather forecast says there's 100% chance (although that, as my cousin julie pointed out is rather oxymoronic) of snow, i expect more than a powder-sugar dusting. don't get my hopes up that school will get cancelled and that i'll get to spend the day cuddled up in a blanket reading harry potter 7.

you're lame,
amy

this is not something i like to see.

about how i almost died three times.

so two people almost killed me on the freeway today. both were big trucks that tried to switch into my lane WHILE I WAS STILL THERE. hell-O have you ever heard of side mirrors? i honked my horn twice in the span of 40 minutes.

the third time i almost died was at my own hands, but i maintain that it was not my fault. so i'm driving home, and i look over and i see...

A SPIDER HANGING FROM MY CAR CEILING. i literally screamed. this was my thought process:

"what do i do. what do i do. do i pull over? what do i do. i can't keep driving with this spider 7 inches away from my head. if i let it crawl away i'll be paranoid for the rest of my drive home. what do i do."

this is what i did: i took of my shoe (the left one, the right was still on the gas pedal). i waited until the spider safely landed on the passenger window. i carefully took aim while watching the road out of the corner of my eye, then BAM! killed it. dead.

then i forgot about it and when got home 20 minutes later and i was like "hey...where's my shoe?"

freeway-0, amy-3. booyah.

notice that crazy look in my eyes?
one. more. real. day.

monday is my last day of real teaching. then tuesday and wednesday are party days. then thanksgiving break.

i am so close i can almost taste it.

sweet, sweet victory.

the weak boy.

so today i made a sweet slideshow for my students. it's a fairy tale. i'll paraphrase.
weak boy wants to be strong, goes to see the local witch.


witch is ugly, boy buys potion to get strong.


potion is gross, boy is scared but drinks it anyway.


boy turns into velociraptor and he's like "whaaaa?"


then he eats the witch. because he's a dinosaur.


then he turns back into a weak boy and he's like dangit. (note: there's supposed to be a picture of arnold schwarzenegger in the thought bubble, but for some reason it didn't work.)


so he starts working out and then wins the mr. universe competition. the end.


they liked it, but after it was over they realized that i was going to make them do work again.

kid: "if you tell us that we're going to have to write our own stories now, i'm going to shoot myself in the head."
me: "well i guess you better get your gun out..."

i just could not help myself. i feel like if i was a real teacher, i'd probably get sued for that.

bloggers, unite!

by the way. if you're interested in making your blog awesome, go read this blog. it will help you.
http://www.bloggingbookshelf.com/
doooooo it.

avoidance maneuvers

you look at the clock. it's 7:24--FHE is at your house at 7:30. people are going to start showing up in 2-6 minutes. what do you do?

step 1: fly into a panic. shut your computer, jump up from the couch, and run downstairs.


step 2: agree to grace's plan to make ourselves truly unavailable by leaving the house altogether to go to jimmy johns.

step 3: look for your coat. don't find it, because it's upstairs, but you can't risk being trapped into FHE to go up and get it, so find the nearest alternative: full-length blue fuzzy bathrobe.


step 4: peek out the side door to make sure you won't be seen running to the car.

do all of this in under 2 minutes.

step 5: go to jimmy johns. while going through the drive-thru, look down after the adrenaline has worn off. then look at grace and say, "uhm...i'm wearing a bathrobe." grace will reply, "yeah...that's why i chose the drive-thru, honey."


step 6: when going back home, do a slow drive-by of the house that you yourself live in, just to make sure that no one who will try to make you go to FHE is still there.

step 7: walk back into your house victorious.

i ain't the pope.

what is an appropriate response to an apology? i'm always at a loss. i see potential problems to anything that comes into my mind to say, because i always feel like anything i think to say would be a lie. or mean.

response 1: "it's ok." i never want to say this, because i don't think it's ok, otherwise the person wouldn't be saying sorry in the first place.

response 2: "it's not a big deal." but what if it was a big deal, to me?

response 3: "i don't believe you." well that just gets us no where.

response 4: "i forgive you." first of all, that sounds pompous. like i'm the pope or something, crossing the offender and sending them on their way. second of all, i'm rarely ready to forgive people when they first apologize, because i'm a vindictive person and sometimes i just want to be mad.

i generally avoid this dilemma by just not telling people that i'm upset, and then i go and take a nap instead. or eat something. but occasionally feelings do bubble over (which may or may not coincidentally coordinate with a certain week of the month), and thus my dilemma is presented. maybe from now on i'll just grunt and punch people in the shoulder, like boys do.

money down the toilet.

i had a thought today, about something that really strikes me as quite odd.

toilet paper. i'm not saying that i don't like it or don't want it in my house. since we ran out downstairs two weeks ago and have been in a guerilla war with the upstairs girls to steal their toilet paper, i have become profoundly grateful when i walk in to see a roll on the...roll...thing. BUT. when i finally caved and went to the store to buy an $8 pack of toilet paper, the thought occurred to me: this is weird. i'm paying money for something that i'm literally going to wipe my butt with*, and then flush down the toilet.

it's kind of how i feel about paying rent, too. except it's less literal, of course. at least i get a place to live, i guess.

also, grace and i just watched four hours of gossip girl. we look like this right now:

judge all you want in your glass houses, haters.

*i apologize for potentially offending your reading sensibilities. but come on. everyone does it.

today: a photo essay.

mischief is my middle name.

let me tell you a tale of how i won over the hearts and respect of my fellow teachers with some witty words and cut-out butcher paper.

it all started when the english teachers were taunting us about how we wouldn't have any fun at lunch because they were going to be gone for the next two days at a conference. we replied that we would have TONS of fun, and we would even bring treats. and we did. and we sent them pictures of the treats. and then we started joking about all the fun we could have with their rooms while they were gone.

so we did. and not to brag or anything, but i pretty much impressed the pants off of the teachers with my mischievous ways. they had no idea i had it in me. probably because i never talk during lunch. i guess the whole "amy actually has a personality" cat is out of the bag now...

the crew and the costco cake:


here are some samples of my handiwork:

for the teacher whose favorite thing to tell other teachers is "gird up thy loins...", on her flip chart to be discovered in approximately 4 days.

and my personal favorite,

in the soccer coach's room

the students have no idea how funny teachers can be.

viva ponytails

recent conversation with one of my students:

student: "miss hansen...do you ever wear your hair down...?"
me: (pause) "no."

i didn't bother going on to explain that when given the choice between sleeping for another 25 minutes or taking that time to do my hair to impress a bunch of kids who will still probably think i'm mean and weird no matter how good my hair looked, there really is no contest. they don't need to know that i look like a normal person on the weekends. all they need to know is how to form coherent sentences (in both french, and english).

(which they don't)

i then realized, i had become one of those teachers. i had them in high school, the ones where i would think "i want to help her! she could be so much better looking if she just...(a,b,c)." and now i am that teacher. and now i understand that teacher in high school. and i salute her.

l'amour instant!

guys, i'm in love.

*tortured sigh*

i'm a serf.

it's been a while since i've ranted about student teaching. and when i say "a while," i mean like 2 posts. whatever.

anyway, the other day, i was thinking about student teaching and how it's sucking the happiness from my life, when i realized, student teaching is like serfdom (happy, tristan?): being worked like a dog and not getting paid to do it. and then i realized, wait a second...i'm not only not getting paid to work like a dog, i'm paying the MAN to work like a dog! full tuition! what is this, america, or feudal russia?!

in other news, i found out that my last two days of student teaching are what the man likes to call "informed observation." which basically means that i don't teach, but sit and watch. so my last official day of teaching is november 24th. then thanksgiving break, then two days of informed observation.

so i only have 13 MORE DAYS of teaching left. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

the apple doesn't fall far...

today i realized that in at least two areas of my life, i am my mom.

area 1: sleeping. in high school, whenever i would come home at night, i always had to go in and wake up my mom and tell her that i was home. i always hated doing this, because waking my mom up was like walking through a mine-field in which i always inevitably got blown up. this is pretty much how it would go:

me, whispering and lightly touching my mom's arm: "mom. mom. mom...MOM (louder whisper)"
mom, sits up, looking terrified like i'm some kind of serial killer.: *HUUUUUUUUUUGE GAAAAAAAAAAASPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP*
me, terrified: "...i'm home."
mom, suddenly aware that i am not a serial killer: "oh. ok. night."

every time.

so this morning, this scene was replayed, except instead of my mom thinking i was a serial killer, i thought my roommate grace was a serial killer. gasp and jerk-upright and everything. (sorry, grace)

area 2: driving

i think this is a general "mom" trait, but gasping, grabbing the side of the car, subtly putting down your foot to brake, and throwing out your arms whenever something comes near the car are all common things that my mom does when driving.

and i do it, too. all the time. like today, for example, when driving by a park, i see out of the corner of my eye a little white thing running towards the car. and of course i involuntarily let out a body-wrenching gasp as if there was a torpedo headed for the side of the car. nope, just a puppy. sorry, tristan.


so now i can join the ranks of the many women worldwide who say "i'm turning into my mother!" good thing i think my mom is freaking awesome, so it's not really problematic for me.