Pronouns, Verbs and Thoughts

Measuring Your Life in Hot Cheetos

2011-10-27T20:25:00.001-07:00

Well ladies and gentlemen, it’s done. I survived planning and carrying out a Homecoming dance. It’s been added to my resume. Which is good, because that baby is thin.

Marilyn Walker

English Teacher*

Special Skills

· Understanding teenage colloquialism e.g. Skiiiiin It

· Explaining Shakespeare’s suggestive jokes to students with a 4^th grade reading level

· Stopping a child mid-cuss word with just a look

· Planning homecoming dances

*May occasionally be found crying in the corner.

Yup, that’s about it.

Last year I had some students come and ask me if I would be their class sponsor. I swore I would never do this, but they were sophomores, and it’s really not that difficult, we sold candy and hot Cheetos at games and planned a Valentines Day dance that was in the school cafeteria. No big deal really. Easy. So I said yes. This was perhaps the most shortsighted decision I’ve ever made. See the class sponsor moves up with the students, which means that this year I’m the junior class sponsor, which means I’m in charge of homecoming and then prom. I’ll let that sink in for a moment. Think about it. It’s painful. So I hit the ground running this year, trying to motivate my little students to fundraise so we can pay for decorations and other such nonsense. They apparently didn’t realize how expensive these things can be. Paying the police force alone will cost you almost $300. So I started doing this thing, anytime they’d want to buy something we would have this conversation:

Student: Ms! We really want sashes for the royalty. They are only $25.

Me: Times 8, which is $200. Can’t we just make our own with red ribbon, glitter and glue?

Student: Ms! You are soooo ghetto. (btw, being called ghetto by my students is the ultimate ghetto teacher win)

Me: Ok, how many bags of hot Cheetos do you need to sell in order to buy the sashes?

Student: Ummm like 60?

Me: Remember to take out our cost of the Cheetos. We only make $14 a box.

Student: Ohhh, so like… 110.

Me: 700. You’d have to sell 700 bags of hot Cheetos to buy the sashes.

*Cut to my students and me covered in glitter, glue, and red ribbon at 6 pm in my classroom.

So this is the way my life went. For months we measured everything by how many bags of Hot Cheetos we’d have to sell in order to get it. Then that translated into my non-school life. My rent is 1608 bags of Hot Cheetos, and now I’m depressed.

So the theme for homecoming was “What Happens in Vegas…” Because why not? I would tell them that this is true for everything but debt, subpoenas, and STDs. That’s golden advice y’all. So the gym was decked out in casino themed decorations with the Vegas skyline made of butcher paper hanging from one wall. I was actually very proud of what they did, and we did this on the cheap. I was talking to my department head about how much money we had made and he pointed out that this is my Mormon girl training in full-force. He’s right, the knowledge gained in every young women’s activity where we made scripture bags, all those wedding receptions in my gym, and all those Relief Society super Saturdays was being accessed on a daily basis.

The dance itself was pretty good. Each student was told upon entering that they couldn’t leave once they were inside (students try to leave and do/smoke/drink things in their car then come back into the dance) and that they couldn’t dirty dance. They had a hard time with that last once, and we ended up having to turn more lights on, which really just ended in me begging to turn them back off, because it really didn’t stop them, all it did was provide better lighting for me to be totally traumatized in. At one point a police officer came up to me and asked if I knew anything about the pool of blood. That’s one of those moments that doesn’t really have a proper response. I wanted to look at him and yell, “You’re the police officer! Why don’t YOU know about the pool of blood?!?” But I went and investigated. You know you teach in the ghetto when your first thought upon finding a pool of blood is “oh good, there isn’t enough centralized pooling for this to be a stabbing.” To ease your mind, I found a very sad girl who had a bad bloody nose. I’m going to go ahead and make the assumption that it was her blood, mostly because I don’t want to think about any alternatives.

So I’m 99% sure that all the students who came to the dance lived to tell the tale of their ghetto booty dancing in the well lit, Vegas style gym that had been hand decorated by a Mormon and 10 juniors.

Crappy cell phone picture of me and my senate.

A Guide to Dating a Walker Girl: Because Apparently We Need a Guide.

2011-09-24T15:24:00.043-07:00

I'm sitting in my bilingual education class, and have decided it's time to quit focusing since someone just said "it literally broke my heart." Really? Is this a graduate level class? I'm doubting my life decisions now. Life decisions always make me think of dating (like that transition?) and dating makes me think of how awesome my sister and I are. We are the remaining single children in the family, even though she's been dating someone seriously for seven months, which in Mormonland means they should be married and have 2 kids already, I still count her as a single Walker girl, cause it aint over till someone says "yes" while kneeling across an altar.

We Walker girls aren't known for being easy to date. We are shrouded in mystery, because that's sexy... right? Anyway, it's not our fault. My little sister and I have a collective dating history that would make you laugh, and cry, for all the right and wrong reasons. But mostly cry.

Case and point: She once dated a guy who broke up with her on myspace (back when that was a cool thing to have) and they weren't in high school. I once dated a guy who couldn't figure out how to play Phase 10. An inordinate amount of time was spent with me yelling "pick up THEN discard." We were both young. I have been dabbling in the world of internet dating, and if you'd ever like to know why you shouldn't date online, just come over with a bag of popcorn one night and get ready for a treat. Actually I'll share one right now.

Once upon a time I used the website ldssingles.com and started chatting with a very nice guy from CA. He was divorced and had three kids. I enjoyed emailing him but had some reservations. After a normal amount of time had passed I allowed him to call me. It was then that I asked how long he had been divorced. "Weeeellll, technically I'm not divorced yet." Yeah, I don't technically talk to guys who are still married to their spouses, so I told him peace out. A few weeks later I got a call, then another call and an email, all within a few minutes of each other. Apparently his divorce had finalized that morning and felt that this meant it was game time. I called him and told him that he had just gotten a divorce, and probably wasn't ready for much of anything but lying around in his underwear eating copious amounts of ice cream. I went about life as normal, and was teaching my classes the next day. I got a call from the office around lunch time and was told that I had a visitor. Can you see where this is going? I walked into the office and there he was, holding pizza and a rose. I suppose this would be seen as romantic by some, but I did not think so. We sat in my classroom, awkwardly eating pizza, until I finally asked him what his plan was. He said, "I just thought I would stay with you and watch conference at your place in my pjs." I had different plans and about 15 minutes later he was back in his car heading west. I'd feel bad about this, but he was married three months later to a very nice girl (I'm assuming, she's probably also mentally unstable).

Megan and I have learned a lot, and so have the men who have shared our company. Dating is weird. It just is. As a 28 year-old single Mormon woman I've spent a lot of time thinking about it. Mostly about how it's weird. I have faith that one day, a guy will come along and he will get past the quirks of dating me, and the dust will settle and then we will high-five over the fact that we found each other.

There is one guy in particular who managed to woo a Walker Woman (the younger Walker Woman) longer than any other guy ever has. Ever. I'm proud of him. I was curious about how he had managed to do this, and upon request, he wrote out a guide to dating a Walker girl. He also wishes to remain anonymous. Probably because that's one secret to dating a Walker girl: Lay low.

So here it is, 17 steps to dating a Walker girl.

How to Date a Walker Girl

A Manual

By: Enrique

1. Buy her chocolate. Lots of chocolate. And make her chocolate things. Of a high quality and presentation.

2. Encourage her indulgence in attractive rock stars, and try to emulate them (i.e. sing her cheesy love songs with your shirt partially unbuttoned).

3. Be sarcastic, make fun of yourself, and joke about how ridiculous that stupid thing you just did was and how lucky you are that she is still dating you.

4. If there is something/someone that needs making fun of, don’t be afraid to make fun of it/them with her.

5. If she wants to pay, don’t freakin’ argue.

6. Show your affection, BUT NOT IN PUBLIC. Hand-holding may be acceptable if you have followed steps 1-5 sufficiently. Tread cautiously or expect to be made fun of in public.

7. You better flippin’ like her family regardless of what they do to you. Eat all the pancakes. Do manual labor. Don’t forget to shower. Don’t do anything that will get you ripped to shreds.

8. Do the dishes, help cook or cook for her, and help with the kids, or there may be suspicions that you are a chauvinistic pig, which is a deal breaker.

9. Live worthy, and leave no doubts that you are. Respect her.

10. Show signs of being on track, at least, to being able to support a family.

11. The goal should always be “How can I get her to laugh until she cries?”

12. If she says “stop it” your approach to step 11 is not working, and you really should stop, she means it. No really. You’re not being funny.

13. If she is crying and had not been laughing, or is overly grouchy, get her food ASAP.

14. Compliment her, but don’t let her think you only like her because she’s beautiful (or sultry, whichever fits the description better).

15. In all things be mildly entertaining. Show off your skillz and be sure to look like a dork in the process most of the time, it’s probably a lot more likely to get a laugh that way.

16. Listen to her, be able to keep a pleasant conversation with her, watch movies with her, learn to love or at least feign liking the movies she loves, don’t take her to Baskin Robbins, love her mom’s pinwheel cookies, encourage her in what she wants to do

17. Make sure she feels needed

Good luck to ya. I am not to be held liable for any content in this manual.

Stay-Cationing. We're Doing It Right

2011-09-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

Well it's Labor Day. The day we celebrate the contributions of laborers by not doing anything. My friends and I took this to heart, and had ourselves a little stay-cation. We went to a resort in Scottsdale, brought pjs, swimsuits, and tooth brushes, and hunkered down for a night of laughter, tv, and yelling at kids in the pool. It was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that this is the only picture that was taken:

Happiness

Disclaimer: I'm On Cold Meds

2011-09-02T00:25:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. Which stinks, but also gives me the opportunity to blog on cold meds. You're welcome world! Every time I tell my father that I am sick he gives me the same advice: "wrap a hot towel around your head." That's right, my father consistently quotes awesome movies from the 80's. Anyone... anyone... anyone? I've never actually followed this advice because it seems like it's not worth the effort. Instead I usually just overdose on a mixture of Aleve D and NyQuil. My sister informed me yesterday that I can get a stronger dose of naproxen and pseudoephedrine by mixing my own cocktail of drugs, which kind of worried me and kind of amazed me and kind of made me want to try it, all at the same time. Instead I'm choosing to write about why my little sister is funny.

The story goes that she was 11, and I was 15. My father and I were exchanging witty banter and Megan tried to throw her two cents in. My father looked at her and said, "you are pretty and smart, but you aren't very funny." Apparently this was the most devastating thing in the world to say to her, she claims she cried herself to sleep that night. In all fairness, being funny is a pretty big deal at our house, and she was clearly the least funny out of us. It wasn't her fault, she was the youngest, by the time she came along the sarcasm quota had been filled. Megan vowed that night that she would become a funny person, and 4 years later, we were driving in the car when she make a joke. My father totally validated her by declaring her a funny person, and 4 years of the study of humor was finally realized. The thing about my sister is that she is really busy, like insanely busy, she didn't have time to stop to think of funny things to say, until recently. Taking a mind numbing job has freed up some brain space and we have been exchanging some pretty awesome emails over the last few weeks. For example:

Her
I like getting my teeth cleaned but it is incredible how many pictures they feel like they need of my teeth. It's like a 40 minutes photo session of my teeth. I have nice teeth and yet they always tell me that I'm brushing my teeth wrong. Whatever. At least I brush them. The dental hygienist told me that there was quite a bit of bleeding. I wanted to say "That's because you were stabbing my gums with that mini pitch fork of yours!" But instead I said ok. And then she gave me a mirror and began tutoring me on how to properly brush my teeth and floss. I feel so patronized when I go to the dentist. I'm really just bitter because they didn't tell me that I have great teeth. They should lie to me to make me feel better.
My Response

Remember the awesome old man dentist who worked out of a house in Moses Lake and had instruments so old he had to use his foot to pump the water? He always said our teeth were beautiful. I loved him. Then he died. Your dentist dying is a totally traumatic experience. Partly because it’s a pain to change insurance info and you have to go to that stupid post appointment evaluation every time you find a new guy, but also because someone is dead and their entire relationship with you had to do with them putting their fingers in your mouth. I think the next time they tell you that you bled a lot you should kick them in the mouth and tell them the same thing.

Side Note: This email thread started by talking about Gypsies and ended with dead dentists.

We also had a discussion about how dating a guy who kills a coyote on Christmas then texts a picture of it to you is a deal-breaker. That's too specific to be made-up.

And this picture was passed around:

I like to send her pictures of things that will make her co-workers wonder about her correspondence.

Dancing with Grandpa: Mid-Singles on a Saturday Night

2011-08-14T01:05:00.001-07:00

What did I do to deserve this?

After a really lovely Saturday afternoon my dear friend Mesh and I decided to spend our evening at a mid-singles dance. Why? We aren't sure. Maybe we thought it would be funny? Motives aside it was an awesome evening of horrible music, awkward flirting, and soft skinned men.

9:15
We enter the dance floor. This is the scene we are met with:

P.S. The song playing when this picture was taken was "I Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore" incidentally, I'm pretty sure fighting feelings was all people were doing this evening.

9:20 A very peppy girl runs up to greet us, clearly the theme of the dance is Hawaiian, as noted by the tiki dudes taped to the doors. She offers us a lai, and laughs hysterically. IT WAS FUNNY WHEN WE WERE 12. Perpetual adolescence ladies and gentlemen, this is what it looks like. We decline her offer. She seems shocked.

10:00 Mesh and I stand in the back corner by a fan that is blowing our hair like supermodels, close to the snack table. The snacks are cheese, meat and crackers. Because who doesn't want to eat stinky cheese and meat sticks before dancing with someone? People are clearly planning on not getting action tonight.

10:05 Friend Blake shows up, he is responsible for the facebook invite to this insane event. He is curious as to why we aren't dancing. We look at the dance floor with it's 3 people and make a blank face at him.

10:06 Mesh and I decide to embrace the awesomeness of the evening.

10:08 A girl sneaks up behind us to ask why "two pretty girls aren't dancing" we laugh nervously and quickly nickname her "frizzy braid" she is asked to dance and as she is walking away she grabs Mesh's butt and declares, "you're next!" We promptly re-name her "creepy ass-grabber."

10:09-10:30 Mesh and I happily give all the people in the room awesome nicknames, ranging from "backpack dude" who was clearly gay and wearing a jansport, to "short girl" who was clearly not aware of what makes you a "mid" single and also knew how to line dance like a total bad-a. We watch them dance awkwardly. One guy looks totally stoned, another is dancing like a duck. A woman in a leopard print shirt is clearly well versed in the song "party in the u.s.a."and has her hands in the air far too often.

10:30 We decide to get our groove on, because nothing we could do would be worse that what we were seeing. "We have nothing to lose." Blake asks me to dance, and upon "returning" me to the awesome fan corner asks Mesh to dance. Boom, dancing accomplished. Also, at some point someone threw a beach ball out in the mix. Memo people: you need more than 10 people to keep the beach ball in the air without making a concerted effort. Luckily for us, stoned dancer dude made sure that ball stayed off the ground.

11:00 Clearly we were wrong, we had our dignity to lose.

11:05 We spy a soft couch to lounge on, and I head over with Mesh behind me, I asses the seating arrangement and a strange dude is lurking on the right side of the area. I sit on the left side. Mesh sits down next to me, looks at the dude, turns to me and calmly states "you are an amazing friend." Clearly we are in survival mode. If you don't want to sit next to the creepy guy you have to speed walk ahead of me, or take me down from behind. We sat and played a game where we have to decide who we would kiss if everyone died but the people in the room. There was a lot of silence. Mesh comments that a dude in Hawaiian shirt was trolling the couch.

11:10 Hawaiian shirt dude makes his move. Asks me to dance. Thus begins the most painful 3.5 minutes of the evening. He escorts me to the floor and starts to dance, staring and me and not speaking. He is clearly older and missing several important teeth. Here is how this dance went:

Me: "soooo what's your name?"
HSD: "David" *Stare*
Me: Long pause "Sooo what do you do?"
HSD: "Oh I'm unemployed"
Me: "Uhhh ok, what did you used to do?"
HSD: "I taught stuff"
Me: "Ok, I'm a teacher too"
HSD: "Cool" *CONTINUES TO STARE NOT SAYING ANYTHING*
Song ends and I say thanks and it was nice meeting him, he asks if I'd like to dance again, I politely decline.
I just want to say that dancing with a 65 year old, unemployed man, with horrible breath was a low point in the evening, and my friend was texting another friend about it. I assume she said something snarky like I'd found my eternal companion. I'm watching her text as I'm dancing and shooting death rays through my eyes. She was too gleeful, she didn't notice. Also, all I was thinking when we were dancing was that he smelled like my grandpa, who regularly doesn't shower for days and that his hands were really soft, but not in a good way, like in a "you're so old you've lost the elastin and now your skin is all mushy" kind of way. I ponder how someone can smile and say they are unemployed at the same time. Mesh informs me that old men think being unemployed is a plus, since they'd have more time to spend with you. I don't question how she has gathered this intel on old men dating habits.

11:15 I curl up in a ball on the couch and cry softly while Mesh continues to text people about my new boyfriend.

11:20 We position Mesh so I can take a picture of Hawaiian Shirt Dude without being to obvious, and in case you thought I was kidding, here he is:

You're welcome blogging world.

11:25 Last call for dancing, they say a prayer then play a Boyz 2 Men song. Mesh and I sneak away from Hawaiian Shirt Dude who is still lurking nearby. We make a run for it, stopping only briefly to get a business card from the DJ since I'm in charge of homecoming and while the music was lame, he did play "Give me Everything" by Pitbull when we requested it. I asked him if he could play for inner-city kids and he said that he would rock my world. I told him that I had been promised that a lot and was always left disappointed. He seemed unfazed by this. Pretty sure he thought I was hitting on him. I'm not entirely sure I wasn't. My standard for dating had been compromised at this point. You have a job? Your hands don't feel like gak? You win!

The overall feeling as we drove off into the night was one of gratitude. Our lives are awesome, we don't own any leopard print shirts, we have cute boys to date, and we brush our teeth on a regular basis.

Arizona is the only place where you run out of cold water in the shower.

2011-07-29T13:05:00.000-07:00

Either that or my shower hates me.

Clearly I'm back in the land of the hellish heat. Hiding out in my apartment with two fans blowing directly on me at the same time. I wound up eating banana chips and grape tomatoes for dinner yesterday because it was too hot to go to the grocery store. Yup, feels like home.

The rest of my Washington trip was delightful. There is something inherently therapeutic about spending time in a farm town. Especially since I spent most of it curled up in the recliner in my parents room watching movies with my mom in my pjs. Yeah, good times. Once I walked into their room to find them watching Gladiator. So I sat down to join them. Then my mother started fast forwarding, but not through the gory scenes. Turns out we were only watching the battle scenes. That's how awesome my vacation was. I went to Spokane to see my brother, his wife and their new baby. My brother plays a game called "Where's Duncan?" Basically I close my eyes, he hides the baby and then I look for him. In case you are wondering how this works, here is a video of what I turned the corner and saw once while playing said game:

Yup, that's a baby under a coffee table. My mother felt the need to rescue him while I felt the need to take a video of his freaking adorable kicking legs.

In other kid news, my niece loves to be filmed. I took what felt like 100 videos of her telling stories about cowboys and pirates and something that lives in the tree at Grandma's house. In the end though, my questions about who was who in the family was my favorite video.

Sadly, I asked her this the first time without a camera and after she declares that I have no boyfriend she adds "you just have your mom." Good thing my mom is awesome.

Work starts again next Tuesday. It's both tragic and exciting. Tragic in the sense that I can no longer stay up until midnight or later on a weekday watching 30 Rock and Project Runway and exciting in the sense that I get to go back to teaching, which I love. Also, crazy things my students say. I got a little preview this week at Freshmen Orientation. A student told me that I look like an evil vampire when I laugh. Not the first time I've heard this, I am unfazed. I also threw a packet of A&D ointment at a kid who said I was old (I was in the nurses office, I don't have packets of burn/diaper ointment in my classroom, but I'm thinking now it's a good idea). My new year's resolution, as always, is to write more bloggy posts, so look forward to that.

No More Secrets

2011-07-06T16:48:00.000-07:00

I've had a secret for about 6 months, and it was fun to have, but the cat's out of the bag now, so it's safe to blog about.

Right after my birthday this year I decided it was time for some life changes, so I started meeting with a dietitian. Turns out I don't mess around with this stuff and now a little more than six months later, I've lost almost 80 pounds.

This picture was taken on my birthday weekend, a week before I started my diet and about 10 minutes before eating the best chocolate napoleon I've ever had. I highly recommend the chocolate shop in the Bellagio, just saying.

For good measure, here is the picture of me eating said chocolate dessert.

For the record, I thought this was a crazy flattering picture of me.

And here are the after shots:

This is me on Monday with my newest nephew Duncan, who I affectionately call D-dubs.

I love that kid. Seriously. And here is my face, just for fun:

It's strange, most of the time I don't think I've changed much, but then sometimes I see a picture like this or see myself in the mirror and stop and stare. Who is that?

I've been traveling lately, the above picture was taken in New Orleans, a place that I now love. I should have taken more pictures there but I was busy falling in love with the city. Now I am visiting Washington, staying busy with activities such as:

Dragon hunting with my niece, she takes this stuff seriously, as indicated by her face, and she is 100% certain that this rock is really a dragon.

And baking cookies for my mother's achievement day's activity.

Because nothing says vacation like being told that you need to make 100 star cookies. By the end of this venture the star shape looked very strange to me.

I love spending the 4th of July with my family in Ephrata. There are no city fireworks so we buy some from a sketchy looking guy at a booth that has the word "Discount" displayed prominently one too many times to bring comfort (seriously, why would I want to buy something that could blow my arm off at a discount price?) and then sit on our porch and watch the men in the family put on a show for us. The porch sitting continues as we watch the neighbors light all their fireworks late into the evening. It's low-key and calm and everything that I love in life. This year my mother and I sat on the porch and talked and would occasionally point in one direction or the other hoping the other would catch the firework that had just gone off. You never know where the next one will be, it's part of the fun.

This weekend I am heading to Seattle to see the little sister and the guy she currently spends her time with. I hear there is promise of Thai food and a pedicure. What else does a lady need in life? I'm sure I'll be blogging all about it.

That One Time My Sister Got a Job

2011-05-17T16:19:00.000-07:00

My little sister Megan graduated from The University of Washington with a degree in Molecular Biology. I thought that her only option for a job with a science degree was working at Crate and Barrel, but I am proud to say that she got a real-life grown up, full-time job with benefits. Now this post isn't really about her, although I am proud of her. It's about these people:

My parents are by far the most amazing people I've ever met. I know everyone says that about their parents, but seriously, mine are extra special. The two of them managed to raise four children who all served missions, graduated from college and got jobs that didn't require a food handlers permit. On Sunday we were talking in Relief Society about raising children to make good choices and the teacher asked if anyone had advice on how to accomplish that task. I racked my brain trying to find a succinct way to convey the kind of parents that mine were but instead it brought tears to my eyes and I sat missing my wonderful family.

So here's to my parents, people who raised their children to have faith, to be educated, and not to live in their basement forever. And here's to hoping that some other parents did that so I can find a man who is a functioning adult.

My mother is the kind of woman who would do anything for her kids. I know this because I have watched her do anything for us. She is the kind of lady who will fly down here when I am having surgery to take care of me for a week, clean my entire house while I am in a drug induced coma and make sure that I am fully stocked in a year's supply of m&ms when she leaves. She is the one who helped me study science terms in college late into the evening. I still remember her saying "ribosomes are bumpy" and laughing over and over again. I have no idea what ribosomes do, but I will never forget that they are bumpy. She is the one who I run to when my heart is broken, who will let me cry for hours and who makes the world's best pancakes. Through her example, she taught me to be graceful, beautiful, spiritual, loving and compassionate. She taught me to be a woman of faith and dignity, to respect myself and to live up to my heritage.

My father is the best example of love I have. He's the kind of person I can talk to for hours, who will listen to me whine and complain about life's ails, sit quietly for a moment then throw down an amazing piece of advice. He is the one I go to for advice and support. He is the one who during my senior year of college when I was panicking about my chosen profession gave me the best advice I'd ever received. He's the one who sent me awesome emails my entire mission. His entire life has been about his wife and children. He's the kind of father that would do anything to make my mother happy. I have cravings for his smoked turkey and hamburgers on a regular basis. He's the kind of person that I would never want to let down, because you just don't let down the people who love you that much. He taught me to be smart, witty, thoughtful, and firm. He taught me how to love someone while demanding that they give you their best, a trait that I use daily in teaching. He taught me how to communicate effectively. He taught me how to carve a turkey and change a tire. He taught me that some things in life are worth giving your all for.

They are the kind of people who shared their testimonies, who gave 100% to their causes, who showed me what hard work was and what it felt like to be successful. They gave me a perfect example of what I what to be when I grow up.

And so it begins, and ends.

2011-05-13T12:01:00.000-07:00

It's the last Friday of the year, the very last Friday I will look out at these particular little faces and tell them to shut up or wake up or listen up. Next week I will only see them for one day. I get mixed emotions about this, part of me is really really excited that it's summer and I get more free time and can work on my killer tan. But part of me is sad that I won't get to wake up every morning and wonder what craziness will ensue that day. Luckily for me, I'm teaching summer school this year, so I get an extra month of this insanity, only with kids who failed this class before and therefore will be SUPER happy to be taking a class again during their summer, AND I have them from 8-12 in my classroom. I'm imagining this will be pretty epic. So while I won't get to teach these kids, there will be kids to teach, and torture, and laugh with. Because seriously, laughing is the only way to survive this business. Luckily they make it easy by giving me things like this:

Yup, that's a space dog-cow-hamster with an f'd up star.

I'm also going back to school in the fall to get my Masters in Curriculum and Instruction. Whatever that means. I'll be heading to ASU, and not that I have ever had any kind of school loyalty or spirit, but I will be a Sun Devil. I have mixed feelings about that. I went to my very first official meeting last night to meet and greet with the cohort of teachers from my district that got the same scholarship as me and will be taking these classes with me. My co-worker Nick and I are clearly the cool kids. My two favorite things about this program are:

1. The downtown campus where all my classes are is 2 minutes from my new apartment
2. I get a free membership to the YMCA

Be jealous.

And I know, when I get discouraged, I can look to my students for support. Because they give me things like this:

Please ignore the your/you're error. They are working on it. Sort of.

Lists

2011-04-27T09:40:00.001-07:00

Things I've Learned in the Past 4 Days:

1. I do not want to date someone who gives me a hug, smells his fingers and says, "Man! You smell so good, I could smell you all night long."

2. Sometimes, the best thing for your mental health is to skip Sunday School, find a nice grassy spot beneath and orange tree, sit, and drink a Diet Dr. Pepper.

3. In a moment of total despair, a well timed hug from two gangly, awkward, teenagers accompanied by the words "we love you Ms. Walker, everything will be ok" is one of the most comforting things that can happen. It will also make me cry a little.

4. It's good to have friends who love you enough to kick your trash every so often. It's even better if they tell you that you have impeccable lunging form. It's not as great the next day when your thighs are on fire.

5. Zin Burger has the best burgers around.

6. If you walk into your classroom and they have cleaned the carpets, it isn't because they love you and want you to have nice floors. They are going to try to take your classroom away for a fancy three day training.

7. I'm alarmingly possessive of my classroom.

8. If you shake a little dog enough, he will barf on you.

9. Apples from Trader Joe's are mealy and gross.

Things I'm Excited About:

1. I'm moving to a darling studio apartment.

2. The school year ends in 3 weeks. Summer school starts in 3 weeks and 4 days, but we are ignoring that fact.

3. Flying home and eating fresh fruit from my parents trees.

4. Starting my Masters program in the fall, for free!

Not a Date

2011-03-18T00:17:00.000-07:00

I often start discussions with friends by saying "What is wrong with Mormon boys?" These discussions often lead to further head scratching and general dismay in the dating department, but they are therapeutic to have anyway.

Last week I ran into someone I haven't seen in awhile, let's call him Collin (because most of my silly romantic notions come from a Collin Firth movie). So Collin and I chatted up a bit and he mentioned that we should get together and do such-and-such this week. I was a fan, mostly because I've always been intrigued by Collin and because, hey, it's spring break so why not? It was only after the activity was fully underway that I remembered, while I am interested in Collin, I very much hate Mormon dating. I left the evening wondering if it was a date at all, and as my wonderful roommate pointed out, if you have to guess the answer is no. Boy's shouldn't be allowed to blur the lines between dating and not and if he wants to date then he should make it clear. So on behalf of Collin and I, I present the great date debate:

Facts that point to a date:
-He planned an event
-He paid
-He suggested more activities after the initial activity was over
-He made dinner
-We spent 11 hours together, which he said was "really fun"
-He remembered inconsequential details about me that I told him 2+ years ago

Facts for Not a Date
-He talked about some 24 year old who "is probably too young, but is there as an option" and other odd dating comments
-He regularly checked his email and facebook on his phone
-Never actually used the word date

The evening ended with a hug, a "that was really fun," and a "drive safe." He stood in the driveway and watched me head down the street.

Here's the thing, I like Collin, I would like to get to know him better, I think he is a genuinely wonderful person. But I don't want to invest in something that isn't real. So, my 10 dear readers, I ask you, date or not a date?

Love Note to my Students

2011-02-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

Someone was asking me the other day if all the teachers at my school have stories like mine. The truth is, probably not. It seems like the other freshmen English teachers don't have the stories I do. Which begs the question: Do I foster an environment where crazy things get said? Perhaps at the beginning of the year when the first crazy thing is said and I just look at them and smile I am encouraging the continuance of the insanity. Perhaps the other teachers are better at keeping a straight face and correcting their students without added sarcasm. I am not. My classroom is generally orderly, the students know what they should be working on and, for the most part, are respectful of me, the classroom and the other students. On my last evaluation I was told that I have a special way of joking with the students, but still showing them that I am there to teach and I mean business. It was one of the best compliments I could get. Maybe my joking, relaxed attitude allows them to feel comfortable enough to be themselves, and since they are 15, being themselves means saying crazy stuff. I don't really know, but I do know that I love it. I wouldn't change a thing.

I love hearing students talk about Hot Cheetos being the best Valentine's Day gift, or how they want to be a pony so they can fly, or how the Mexican version of the zoo is a front yard full of chickens (all conversations from today). I love teaching the freshmen. I love how they think it's funny when I do the running man (even though they think I'm crazy). I love planning silly dances that involve helium tanks and streamers for them. I love watching them learn something.

Perhaps it's the extra dose of patience the Lord blessed me with (but for the record Lord, I have enough, no need for more!) that makes it possible to smile at the end of every day. I've discovered that if I put my heart into teaching I will feel just about every emotion every day. It's a regular roller coaster of happiness, joy, sadness, and love.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to teach in an upper-class, or heck even middle-class, neighborhood. To have students who don't wonder where their next meal is coming from. It got cold in Phoenix a few weeks ago (like in the 30's! Every one was freaking out!) and students came to school wrapped in blankets because they don't have coats. But these are the kids who face their trails with a smile. The jock talked about how chicks dig his blankie because he is ready to cuddle at any time and my 3rd period had an entire discussion about how one girl in my class was Dora the Explorers twin (she was on the blanket). I'd like to see an upper-class kid wear a Dora the Explorer blanket with pride. I'm exactly where I want to be.

On another note, Valentine's Day is insane at school. Soooo much sugar. I had two kids running sprints in the back of my classroom 7th period because they couldn't sit still. Several others stood the whole time. Sometimes you just can't fight it and you have to adapt. But no worries, I was making sure they were listening, they answered my questions perfectly. Maybe there is something to this running thing.

Love Notes

2011-01-21T09:38:00.000-07:00

Grades are due today.

No, because you don't know how to capitalize.
But nice try.

Motivation

2011-01-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in a long time. There comes a point where you don't want to do it because it has been sooo long that you have sooo much to write about and you lose motivation. That is where I am. So I am forcing myself to do this. To make myself feel better about wasting time blogging I am multi-tasking by also teaching. Boom.

First of all Christmas.

Christmas this year was awesome. It was just Megs and me since our siblings were at their in-laws (lame-o). So we had a single ladies Christmas. It was mostly about sitting around looking pretty but it was also about getting giant diamond rings.

Ok, they might be fake.

And also about dance parties in the kitchen while listening to Keri Hilson's "Pretty Girl Rock"

Yeah, we are totally gangsta'

We took a lot of naps. It was glorious.

Next, the car.

So one day right after school had started again I was looking online at vehicles. I have been driving a super awesome ghetto car. I love my parents, they are the most kind, giving people I know. They would go out of their way to give me anything I needed. That being said, I took the caddy from them last year with the understanding that it was a great hot weather car, with a wonderful air conditioner and it never breaks down. I wasn't exactly thrilled about driving an old man car, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. It broke down in the first two weeks and the air conditioner needed to be totally replaced this summer. I spent more time sitting at the wheel of that car crying while trying to get it to turn on than I ever wanted to. It was time. So I found a replacement. A 2003 Honda Civic Hybrid. I figure that this would balance my carbon footprint since the caddy I'd been driving couldn't pass the emissions test. Also, I may have forgotten to tell the dealership that.

It's a hybrid.

It's weird to come back to school, the kids act like they've never been in a classroom before and I have to totally retrain them. Plus as a a bonus I wound up getting a ton of kids that failed the first half of freshmen English from other teachers. Today I assigned more than half of my students to mandatory tutoring for failing my class. This is going to be awesome. I will not go down without a fight. The thing about teaching freshmen is that if you make something look official enough they will get scared and do it. The fact that the sign-in papers for tutoring are in triplicate make it look totally legit. Also, threatening to call their moms works too.

Finally (yes I am using transitions like I teach my students to use) my birthday.

I would like to take a moment to give a little shout out to my parents, Martin Luther and the Mrs. for managing to coordinate their son's birthday and mine. I love having a three day weekend for the birthday. This year I went to Vegas with some friends. We had fun. A lot of it. We got pulled over on the way there for straddling the line, which really is an awesome thing to say. So of course we took pictures.

It was a great start to a weekend full of shenanigans.

So now I am back at work, trying to explain a three-part thesis statement and trying desperately to get 150, 15 year-old, high-schoolers to pass, or at the very least just be quiet for an hour. Mostly just be quiet.

Do You Want a Cookie?

2010-11-18T09:22:00.000-07:00

There are moments where I feel proud of my students. Sometimes it is over small things, like getting 100% on a grammar test or actually answering a question correctly. Sometimes it's bigger, like when they decide to not rip out the hair extensions of the girl they are fighting with or not beating up one of the private school kids that go to school next door just to get a pencil. There really isn't a day that goes by that I am not proud of at least one of my students. Working with inner-city kids is special. There is a fine line between making them feel proud of their accomplishments and making them feel entitled to the rewards that come from being good little students. It's difficult because some of the students have really difficult lives, they sleep in the park, live in fear of being deported, or having their hot cheetos go stale.

The teacher across the hall from me had all of her students show up to class one day. None of them skipped or were tardy. She had that moment where she was proud of them. So she told them all that she would buy them pizza. I was ok with this because hey, I'm across the hall, and the chances of me scoring a slice or two were pretty good. But she and I share some students and they started whining in my class. "Ms, how come you never buy us pizza?" I may have ranted a little, but this was my response:

Pizza? For being on time? I don't buy you pizza because you don't get rewards in life for doing things that you should be doing anyway! It's your job to show up on time, not something that I should reward you for. You know what I give you every single day when you are here? KNOWLEDGE! You're on time? Oh, let me make you a smarter person. There are starving children in Russia who don't get knowledge for being on time to class. You think you deserve a reward for doing the bare minimum? You're breathing right now, do you want a cookie for that? Sit down and prepare to learn something!

I then proceeded to teach them about pronoun-antecedent agreement. I'm not really sure about the starving children in Russia, but I did love the line about breathing to get a cookie. I'd like to think that they were happy about their reward of knowledge, but they probably just thought I was crazy.

It's getting close to the end of the semester. This means that there are some students who are finally deciding to care about their grades. I take their grades from the second quarter and average them with the first quarter to make their semester grade. This means that to pass the class you must have had at least a 22% in the first quarter. Otherwise it's mathematically impossible to pass the semester. Every year I have students who fall below that line. One student, we shall call him Jose, got a 12% the first quarter. The thing is, he is here every freaking day, he has no reason to be failing other than plain old laziness. So Jose came to me the other day asking for make-up work. He has a 33% for this quarter. I momentarily thought that I should tell him he has no chance at passing. But no, not this teacher. If you are going to come to class everyday and make my life as miserable as possible, I am going to give you work. So I gave him a huge stack of papers. He won't pass the class, but at least he will have gained some stinking knowledge so next time he takes the class he might pass. That, and I like torturing students.

And to end the post, this conversation:

Student: Ms! Why is there salt in the ocean? Me: A very long time ago, an ancient Chinese man spilled all the soy sauce in the water to give it flavor. It's tasted like salt ever since. Student: Wouldn't that make the ocean a funny color? Me: Soy sauce used to be blue, but he changed the color so no one would figure it... out. Student: Sneaky Asians! He was smart!

While the Teacher is Away

2010-11-18T08:48:00.000-07:00

This past month has been an eventful one for me. First I took a business trip to Florida, and I saw this:

I love the ocean!

We flew out on Monday morning at 5:00 a.m, which meant that my awesome roommate woke up at 3:30 to take me to the airport. (thanks Lauren!) I hate Florida, I really do, it's gross and muggy and there are alligators. But the ocean was nice. One of my co-workers got wasted and offered to give everyone (including the principal) a piggyback ride. That's the kind of entertainment you just can't buy. We flew back on Thursday and my flight got in to Phoenix at 3:30. By 4:30 my roommate and I were in the car on our way to San Diego. I got to spend a couple of days with my friend Jimmy.

This is Jimmy. Ladies, he is single, has a good job and drives this:

if interested please contact me.

*Pictures used without permission.

Jimmy and I went all over San Diego and I got to see this:

Man I still love the ocean.

We drove back Sunday and I had to go back to work the next day. But I did find this in the classroom:

Can you feel the love?

If you can't read the little boxes, the one on the left says, "What's a pronoun? -A noun that's lost it's amateur status" Maybe my favorite student response of all time. The students were good all week long, they didn't try to kill the sub and they didn't steal any of my books, even the Diary of a Wimpy Kid. That's a pretty big deal in the land of inner-city high school kids.

Noses, Moms, and the Miracle of Fall Break

2010-10-14T18:36:00.002-07:00

It's been a few weeks, I know. But to be fair, I was in a codeine induced coma for some of that time. I have never been able to breathe through my nose, like ever. I've pretty much had a cold for 27 years. It's been awesome but it was time for this to end. I have been to a few ENTs over the years, which are now called Otolaryngologists (yeah, I know) and they have told me two things. 1. I have a deviated septum and 2. I have tiny little nasal passages. I would have had the surgery at a much younger age but because I had a bad reaction to some anesthesia when I was younger I had to be awake for the surgery. This caused me to feel queasy and involuntarily cry. But, as I have gotten older, I have decided there are some advantages to being able to breathe properly. I put on my big girl pants and had it done. Amazingly I even got to go under for it, so really I was freaking out for nothing. So I had my surgery and several totally awesome things have happened because of it.

1. My mom came to visit me. I love this woman. We don't spend enough time together. Having her here makes me want to quit my job and move home. We laughed, cleaned, listened to conference and watched entire seasons of Project Runway. It was good. I cried when she left.

2. I can breathe! You know how they say that kids don't know there are leaves on the trees until they get glasses? They thought everything was fine before, but they had no idea what they were missing. I walked to the Dr. to get the stints removed and on my way back I only breathed through my nose. It was FREAKY. I got home, sat on my couch and breathed through my nose. Then I cried, I had no idea.

3. I can taste things. You know how when you have a cold you can't really taste things? Yeah, that was my my whole life. Did you know that milk has a smell? I didn't, until last Thursday. My toothpaste is extra minty, chicken is extra chickeny. Now I am scared I am going to eat something I love and discover that I hate it. It's very scary. But I didn't cry.

So now I am back at work, with my awesome students, teaching them awesome things. We are working on summaries in my "regular" English class and Poe in my honors. Kids make me laugh, every stinking day. I have the best job. Next week I am going to have my honors class memorize part of "The Raven" they will get extra credit if they recite it in costume, they will get bonus extra credit if they dress that way all day long. It's going to be awesome.

I need a new hall pass, mine disappeared (what kid would steal a bathroom pass?!?). Any suggestions? My friend Amy is doing a give-a-way on her blog, http://www.agoodlifeblog.com/ for a giant stuffed animal thing. If I win, maybe I will use this. But tons of people read her blog, so I probably wont. I could also use a border patrol hat, but that just seems mean.

A Side Story

2010-09-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

So it has been muggy lately, gross muggy. It needs to rain. So I check the weather reports every morning, because that's what the cool kids do. Today's hourly weather report said that it was going to rain at 11 am. I was excited and spread the news to other teachers. One teacher told her first period class this news and this was the conversation with a Mormon student in her class:

Teacher: Ms. Walker said it was going to rain at 11.

Student: How does Ms. Walker know it is going to rain at 11? How would she know that?

Teacher: Because she is Mormon, just like you.

Student: Oh, ok.

It's good to know common beliefs make me a valid source on weather knowledge.

PS- It did not rain at 11.

Baseball? Sure, why not?

2010-09-22T09:34:00.001-07:00

So those of you who know me, which is all five of you who read this blog, know that I do not do the sport thing. In high school I hung out with the stoners who walked slowly from one fence to another just so I wouldn't have to run. The only time I've ever hit a ball with a bat was in the MTC, and that was only with a lot of encouraging from the Elders, and possibly a desire to be hit with a ball so I could go home. So when my roommate asked if I wanted to go to a Diamondbacks game I said, sure, why not?

My roommate plays the organ, a talent which got us our awesome tickets. It has been her lifelong dream to play the organ at a Diamondbacks game (ok, maybe not lifelong, but it is an awesome goal) so her mom made some calls and got in touch with Bobby, the super cool organ player. He hooked us up with tickets and we were on our way.

Awesome Seats, Hot Baseball Players

I really wanted a pretzel with cheese, so during the 2nd inning (see how I have learned words!) when we all went to find food I located a lovely salted carb with cheesy fat to dip it in. It was $3.50 for the pretzel, and $1.50 for the cheese, the cheese was a total rip-off, but who wants to eat a soft pretzel without cheese? I picked the medium drink because it was $5, so the total would be $10 and I wouldn't have to deal with pesky change. We all headed back to our seats with our respective food and settled in for the game.

In the bottom of the 3rd a foul ball was hit our way. I did not stand up, because what the heck am I going to do? Try to catch a ball?!? The thought is laughable, on many levels. Plus it was sailing clean over our heads anyway to the upper tier. What I didn't see was that it didn't quite make the upper level, instead it hit the railing, made an about turn and headed directly in our direction. It was at this moment that I wanted to take the last sip of my drink, so I leaned forward, and the ball made it's landing. It hit my back and rolled down to my butt. I was trying to think of a clever way to say that, but in reality there is none. My butt caught the ball. Someone dove in to steal it, mildly violating me in the process, but I figured at this point, it belonged to me. I leaned back and hit him until he gave up. I am now the proud owner of a baseball:

We also got to wear a World Series ring that belonged to the organist and sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" with the giant bobble-head guys, which was filmed for tv.

World Series Ring

The moral of all of this is to always buy the medium drink. If I had bought the small, I would have saved $1, but I also would have been out of lemonade by the bottom of the 3rd and would not have had any left to reach for when a foul ball was heading my way. I would have been reclined in my seat and that rouge ball would have hit me right on the head, rolled behind me and some sticky jam hands kid would have picked it up. Then I would have been in the hospital with doctors saying things like "minimal brain activity" instead of teaching today. Or maybe they would let me teach with minimal brain activity, who knows? The students have it, why can't I?

Things I Get Blamed For

2010-09-17T18:04:00.000-07:00

Growing up I was a good kid, a freakishly good kid. I didn't break rules, get dirty and I hated to see my parents get mad. Some would say that I was a bit of a tattle-tale. I may have been known to go to my mom and say, "Mom, I don't want Ryan to get in trouble, so don't yell at him, but he did just punch me in the arm." Ryan maintains that I did this so I could have a clear conscience about ratting him out. But I clearly remember not wanting my mom to yell at him because I hated to see the conflict, but I also knew that bad things should be reported to the proper authorities. Ryan and I had a touch and go relationship until I worked out my tattling issues in my early 20's. I was innocent, I mean come on, look at this:

Seriously, could that kid do anything bad? Apparently as an adult I do not have the same reputation.

Someone has been pranking the men's staff bathroom in our building. The state test in AZ is called the AIMS test, and someone may have put a baggie of fruit loops by their toilet with a little note that said "this is the real aims test boys!" I heard a rumor that a picture of George Castansa wearing nothing but boxers and lounging on a chaise was hung on the wall. A rather large frog was placed by their door that has a motion sensor so it ribbits rather loudly when they open their door. All in good fun. Apparently as an adult, people assume that when trouble is afoot, I am clearly part of it. Yesterday a student came into my classroom with a handful of soggy fruit loops, with a message "Mr. K. said he passed." GROSS! The gauntlet has been thrown. I may or may not have been a part of the original prank, but I'm in it now.

Teachers frequently get blamed for the bad behavior of their students. I am proud to report that today, during an observation, my students were good, like Stepford good, for freshmen anyway. They raised their hands, they worked together, they completed the assignments without even whining. It was alarming. It was one of those moments where everything comes together in a perfect storm of awesomeness. Luckily my 4th period is always there to bring a healthy dose of reality. Last week a kid asked me where they speak Pig Latin. I told him it was a made up language. Apparently another teacher is screwing with him, because he asked me again today. I told him Piggonia. He spent 5 minutes looking for it on my map.

The Beginning

2010-09-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

We are not a ghetto school. This is something that gets said a lot around campus. Now, I didn't think that the school was too ghetto until I started hearing this. It seems to me that if a school isn't actually ghetto you wouldn't need to keep saying it over an over again, on the loudspeakers, in the middle of my English class.

Gangs and gang related things are not allowed on campus, makes sense. But yesterday I went all kinds of gansta'. I am white, not just pale, but very white, sometimes I do something that forces the students to point out how white I am. They will say, "Ms.... you are soooooo white!" Doing the running man while teaching, listening to "Juno" music as they call it, and saying that Hot Cheetos are, in fact, disgusting and way to spicy for me, are all things that have led them to the announcement of my whiteness. But they say it in a loving way, which is nice. They accept it because I am the nice white lady who will feed them PB&J sandwiches when they forget their lunch, and repeatedly tell them with upmost patience that double negatives are only ok in Spanish.

Yesterday all my classes had to take a hearing test. I am sure there is an easier way to do this, but we are not a ghetto school, so we have not figured it out yet. Our plan is to take the entire class to the nurses office and wait our turn to get our hearing tested. The nurse can only have about 8 kids in there at a time, so the rest of us sit in a little hallway by the front office and wait. Now I don't know how many of you have tried to keep thirty 15 year-olds quiet in a confined space with nothing to do, but it is no easy task. I told them to whisper, to read a book, to listen to their music, but that all only lasts about 15 minutes. Their attention span isn't that long. Also, I am not sure how I learned to whisper, it seems like I have just always know how to, but apparently the next generation didn't get the memo. First period was ok, they always are, mostly because they are still asleep. But all bets were off by 7th. My 7th period class were getting rilled up, they were losing focus. So I started telling them about the awesome trends of my generation. Then they mocked me. They mocked us. So I did what any self-respecting teacher does. I mocked them back. I rolled up a pant leg, buttoned only the top button of my cardigan (cause that's super fly) grabbed a kid's hat and struck a pose. One of the vocab words this week was "askew" I told them that ganstas' like things askew, their hats, their faces and their walk (or swagga' as it's known to them). So they taught me to walk like a g, and I taught them how to whisper. They taught me to jerk, and I taught them the running man. We were probably too loud, we probably bothered the front desk ladies, but dang it, those kids are never going to forget what askew means.

That's what teaching in a "not a ghetto" school is like. I love it.