Friday, April 29, 2011

From the Tard Files

What's the absolute best thing to do after you've worked your ass off to pass literally 5 million admission tests, dropped literally millions of dollars going to interview events, and rocked literally everyone on Earth's asses off with your thousands of witty, engaging, personal statement essays?

If you were me, you would think the best course of action at this point, now that you've gotten into every program you applied to, and have payed the non-refundable admission fees, would be to violently change your mind about ever becoming a teacher.

In fact you would become so vehemently opposed to the idea that the very thought of ever entering a classroom makes you collapse to the floor in a nauseous, hyperventilation heap.

Then, when you were finally able to stand up and move around a little, you would make other plans. So far, I have only come up with two extremely viable alternatives:

1. Marry the F List celebrity that wandered into my sauna the other day. Sure, I might have made a slightly insane first impression on him, but once he get's to know me, he will realize that crazy is just one of my many charms.


2. Publish a novel. Yes, OH JOY FOR YOU! Your intrepid leader does more with her incredible talent and vast amounts of idle time than rant and rave on Blogger. I have written, not one, but TWO novels.

Sure, they probably both suck, but so did the Twilight Saga. Case closed.


Unless one of the above goals are met, I will be leaving for a brand new far away state in less than five weeks which leaves a very small window for success.

It is sooooooooo on.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Like, Weirdo, Scoob

Glenn Beck goes vegan.

What. The. Fuck.

Paradox much?

How do we realign the order of the universe after the dumbest, craziest man in the world does something smart and sane?

I feel significantly less cool now!!! Glenn Beck and I share core values!! We're part of the same extremist group!!

Glenn beck is crazy and dumb therefore I must be crazy and dumb, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Dry Needling = Not As Much Fun As It Sounds

It's been two weeks since my debilitating, life shattering injury. Lucky for me, I have many close, personal friends in the medical industry who are kind enough (badgered) into giving me advice on my many (mostly imaginary) ailments.

One of them is an absolutely amazing physical therapist. He agreed to meet me a few days ago for what I thought was going to be a rehabilitative, fun time.

After showing me around his cutting edge facilities, he took me back to his exam room where I sat on the table. He then began digging his fingers deep into my wounded leg.

After a few minutes of that, he let me know that I had probably, 'strained the shit' out of my quad muscle, but that my ligaments all seemed to be intact. Yay!

Then he smiled and asked, "Are you up for more torture?"

"Yes!" I said enthusiastically, believing that whatever he had in mind could not be any worse than whatever painful thing it was he had just been doing.

He came back in with a box of needles.

I became seriously concerned, but still optimistic that this would end well.

He took a needle out and briefly explained what was about to happen, but I was far too distracted by the needle in his hand to pay attention.

He told me to lay down.

I thought it was probably a good idea as I was feeling a little dizzy anyway.

He then began what is known as 'dry needling'. Basically what happens is someone who is supposedly trying to help you, shoves a needle into your muscle and wiggles it around. If it's damaged, it will twitch and contract. The more damaged, the more electric shock type contractions.

My muscle was extremely damaged.

Rather than dwell on the torture he was inflicting upon me, he decided that now was a good time to start up a conversation.

"So, how's the family?"

"Great! AwesomeCool is still living in-OH JESUS CHRIST!" At this point he hit a damaged area an my muscles began to seize up uncontrollably.

I clamped my hands down on the table and began maniacally giggling. Giggling like a mentally deranged 13 year old girl is the answer I come up with to many of life's difficult situations.

"Let me know if it turns into a general, sharp pain because that probably means the needle is dull."

I broke out into a sweat. Having to worry about dull needles stabbing into my torn up muscle seemed like way to much to expect from me at this point. Instead, I continued with the crazy high-pitched giggling.

He pretended that wasn't happening, preferring instead to continue our pleasant conversation, "I just got back from a training in California where I learned this."

Lucky me. "That's just great! It's so good to continue your educat-OH FUCK!"

A few minutes and a few strings of swear words later it was over.

He warned me that my leg might feel a 'little sore'.

Sure, if a little sore means it feels like it was beat with a baseball bat.

My Teen who was with me during the whole ordeal wanted desperately to buy a new shirt on the way home.

"All my shirts look the same!" She complained, "I only have stripey t-shirts and tank tops!"

"Fine." We went to the store.

I got out of the car, only then realizing that I could barely walk. My every step sent searing pain through my muscle.

I hobbled around the racks of clothes, gasping and swearing.

Understandably, My Teen decided to separate herself from me immediately, "You should go look at 'Active Wear', Mom, I'm going . . . somewhere else."

"Fine." I said. I dragged myself and my useless, throbbing leg over to 'Active Wear', "Shit! Oh god that hurts! Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!"

A few minutes later, My Teen reappeared, "I want these." She announced, holding up a stripey t-shirt and a tank top.

I was in no condition to argue, I bought her the stripey t-shirt and tank top to match her enormous collection of stripey t-shirts and tank tops at home.

Now, a few days later, my leg has improved significantly. I'm cautiously optimistic that I will be back in that spin room, sprinting furiously to Ke$ha in no time at all.

Can't hardly wait.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Spin Withdrawl Sucks.

Day five of absolutely no exercise. It's kind of killing me. You might think I enjoy working out but that's soooooooo not the case. I'm in it for the feeling you get the second you're done with all that nonsense and you don't have to do it again for 24 hours. The harder you push during that hour the better the payoff. Sublime.

Just in case any other exercise junkies have put themselves on the sidelines due to dumassery, I've put together a few pointers to get yourself back to furiously turning that spin wheel to the tunes of whatever pop dweeb happens to be number one on the hit list this week. Trust me, it's waaaaaay cooler than it sounds.

1. You should not go to a weight lifting class hours after a grade two quadriceps strain. Especially if you were channeling your much wiser sister through ESP, "Dooooon't dooooooo iiiiiiiit yooooooouuuuu foooooooool!" She said remotely, her thin wavery voice in my head during every squat. Hey, at least I only went half way down.

2. Don't go hiking up steep hillsides the day after that. Just because your ever absent husband is visiting, doesn't mean you have to spend time with him.

3. Don't go to the sauna. While it's good for your injury, you might find yourself sitting next to an F grade celebrity. Sure, without my glasses I had no idea who he was and was not all that interested in replying to any of his attempts at conversation . . . until my sauna friends reminded me of who we was.

Watch out! Although you've always believed you were equally if not more SuperFantabulous than 99.9 % of any celebrity out there and that the rest of the world just hasn't realized it yet, you might find yourself turning to a slobbery, flirty groupie the second you finally realize one has perched next to you and is soliciting a conversation with you. It will be embarrassing. People will remember it.

4. Try to be less of a space cadet. It is not helpful to your quad injury if the minute you hobble down the stairs, you realize you forgot something and have to drag your gimpy ass right back up there. Alternatively, bribe, threaten, beg your teen to go up and fetch your left behind belongings. So far this has only worked once.

5. Don't convince yourself that instead of a grade 2 strain, you actually have a grade three strain (despite all symptoms indicating otherwise) and require surgery, years of rehabilitation and possible amputation.

This will only serve to depress you and make those around you crazy as you listlessly fake pedal to the latest Kei$ha song, a tear in your eye, whining about how you may never get to go into another cycle class again.

6. Make up some less stupid story about how you strained your quad. Flailing wildly with an unruly bag filled with wood pellets on your shoulder sounds fucking dumb. Even slipping in a puddle of your own urine sounds infinitely more cool. Go with that instead.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Zuz Love Hurts

Ok, so that whole putting Yinzer on the sidebar instantly thing was a slight exaggeration. It took his super sexy reply to my unabashed 'Yinzer Love' post of a few days ago to remind me. But for reals, this time. For really, reals, it's totally going to be there.

I'm just going to say one more thing and then I'll stop the gushing, because this blog love could go on forever and ever. Seriously, he's got to be my much more ambitious brother from another mother.

Of course it's highly probable that we're not the only people who check our fridge (like a thousand times) for our lost gym tracking device, keys, laptop, but who else is comfortable enough with their coolness to admit it?

(I'm also comfortable enough with my sanity to have long, profanity riddled conversations with myself throughout the day, sometimes in an English accent, but that's another story which I'm sure has absolutely nothing to do with my Teen's immediate and absolute "No!" when I offered to be a chaperone on her recent school excursion to an art museum.)

In other less awesome news, this morning my relationship with my beloved Zuz once again turned violent. We're passionate people, so of course it's only natural that one of us would occasionally turn complete dumbass and try to do a 'get up' with their home made, extremely unruly and heavy 'sand' bag! (Mine is actually filled with wood pellets, thank you very much).

It was during my second attempt, while flailing wildly to right myself with a thirty pound lump of wood pellets on my shoulder that I felt a sharp pain in my quad. Luckily, I've learned a few things in my long years (other than not lifting awkward, heavy objects while completely forgetting to keep good form).

One of them is that ignoring an injury will only make it worse. So I had the good sense to stop my workout immediately. As an aside, my 'sand' bag swings with but-clenching hip thrusts were glorious and your life is less complete because you didn't get to see them.

Dr. Google and I agree that it's probably a grade two 'Thigh Strain'. I would get a second opinion from my medically trained, physiologically and sports injury fluent little sister, but she would probably tell me I shouldn't go to my weight lifting class today and who needs that? Not me and certainly not my strained thigh. (Wait, what did I say about learning a few things in that last paragraph?)

Instead I went to Costco, where I actually waited outside with a giant Costco-rabid mob for the store to open. I kinda felt like a dweeb. But I had an injury to attend to! Dweeby feelings would have to be put on hold for the greater good!

The minute the door opened, I shoved my way to the front of the line, masquerading as the extremely tall, but equally brown relative of a group of Latinos that went in first. So what if I was two feet taller than the rest of them? It was a very believable performance.

Once inside I went straight to the freezer section and bought two giant bags of multi-purpose frozen peas. I'll put them on my leg now and eat them later! Huzzah!

I went to the check out, paid, and went to my car. It was only then that I realized that I wasn't going back home for seven hours and that by then these peas would be a melted green puddle. Money. Well. Spent.

I put one of the bags on my leg and sat in the parking lot, watching some serious drama unfold between two Costco shoppers in front of me. They were hugging, kissing and crying. Don't worry, it didn't seem to bother them in the least that I was staring at them with a bag of multi-purpose peas on my thigh.

After they managed to separate from each other and drive away in separate cars, I decided it was time for me to leave too since it seemed extremely unlikely that I would have the good fortune of another love-torn couple parking directly across from me and putting on an emotional show for my viewing pleasure.

So now I'm at the library, where once again the cool people gather around the door, frothing at the mouth, hardly able to wait to go inside and use free internet.

Yeah. That's what the cool people do.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Everyone Loves Me!

I got into every teaching program I applied too. Both the Alternative Certification things and the local University things totally want me. I am just that awesome. So what if I'm 35 and living with family and driving my aunts car. That does not diminish my coolness factor one bit, so please, just accept it and move on.

Mr. AwesomeCool got accepted first so I was seriously pissed off and feeling less hot. Turns out the Alt Cert thing was a little bit miffed that I had a random name change in the middle of my epically lengthy college career. Thanks to my equally epic shiftiness, I changed majors and colleges no less than five times and took about 10 years to get my bullshit degree.

Then eight years in, I finally decided the marriage was perhaps going to stick so I changed my last name (a decision I made rather impulsively and sometimes regret, although AwesomeCool's last name is way cooler than mine which ultimately seemed far more important than anything else.)

In order to make things as complicated and suspicious-looking as possible I decided to change my first name too. Don't worry, it's not weird or anything. I had very, very well thought out, extremely sensical reasons that have nothing to do with escaping from prison or hiding from the mob.

So I faxed the legal documentation, thus proving that I did in fact graduate from college and am not some weird-named impostor and The Alt Cert Thing immediately offered me a position.

But now that it's finally happened, the thought of teaching middle/high schoolers is freaking me the fuck out.

Also, there's that whole moving to the other side of the country part.

Having to go places and do things are really not my thing.

However, I need only go back through my blog a few years to discover that I have completely managed to do just that on several occasions.

Sigh. Why oh why must I be so fucking desirable?

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Yinzer You're Fucking Awesome.

Whenever I find a blogger who makes me question my own degree of fabulousness, I naturally have to share it, so you can also share in my feelings of not quite as cool as I thought-ness. I also have to spend a few weeks gushing and slobbering all over them until they feel uncomfortable and just wish I would leave them alone.

I'm not the type to go out seeking great blogs. That's waaaaaay to much effort for me. The only way I ever find anything cool is if it's dropped in my lap.

As a side note, now that there aren't freaky, uber-angry, Korean netizens foaming at the mouth to kill my entire family because I believe (obviously erroneously) that Apollo Ohno is totally rad, I've disabled pre-approving comments. So comment your little hearts out and feel the satisfaction of seeing it instantly posted before your eyes!

The only downside to this is that I'm not made intensely aware that a comment has been made. I have to actually remember to make the effort to go look for them. So, if you comment and feel horribly neglected, I probably didn't see it or your comment sucked. Either way, don't cry about it, your life is still worth living.

Anyway. I recently had a comment from one James Harrel of Yinzer Please. I have no idea what a Yinzer is, but that didn't stop it from being basically love at first sight. He's cute, he travels, he's clever and best of all a social klutz who, just like me, frequently chooses the most awkward approach to any given situation.

As a huge bonus, his posts are to the point and have lots of pictures! Yay pictures!

So there you have it. Thanks to my dear friend, Husker, I've learned to be more sensitive about adding my new blog-loves to the side bar. Yinzer Please will be added instantaneously. Enjoy!