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.