Omigod

Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod.

So I'm telling my parents about this whole girlfriend thing tomorrow.

Omigod.

I'm really not sure if I'm ready to make this step, but a) I'm fairly certain my mother suspects something. She's pretty damn intuitive and can read me like a book, and b) 40's brother knows, and although he's sworn not to say anything to his parents, (who are close friends with mine) I simply cannot risk my parents receiving THIS kind of information from anyone other than me.

Omigod.

Omigod, omigod, omigod.

Redeeming qualities of Houma, Louisiana

First of all, let me mention that I had to actually sit down and write 5 pages with pen and paper while in Houma because finding much technology there is like finding a needle in a haystack. I had a bajillion thoughts flitting between my ears, and I had to get them out. When I have a few moments, I will eventually sit down and transcribe the thoughts I was having at the time.

Secondly, here is the list of redeeming qualities I discovered in the tiny little armpit called Houma. (Not a fan of small towns, btw...)

1. The drive-through daquiri store that was open at 11 on a Sunday morning. (SCORE!)
2. The food. (They can cook!)
3. Sandbagging
4. Long red lights (don't ask...)

I am glad to be home, but honestly, in retrospect, it wasn't all THAT bad...

Flood Damage

So Xanadu survived the over-hyped hurricane.

However, we still got some flood damage.

Due to the mass exodus from Houston and everybody needing to make their way back home, most of the school districts decided to give us until Wednesday to return to school. A nice break, but we'll be paying for it later...

Anyhow, 40 decided to utilize this time to the best of her advantage and take care of some household things. Like cleaning. And running the dishwasher. Unfortunately, we were entirely out of dishwasher detergent, so 40 filled the little cups with dishwashing soap.

Shortly after the load began, I wandered into the kitchen and noticed a good sized spewing of suds oozing from the dishwasher. (It was at this point that I inquired as to the nature of the cleaning element used for that load of dishes, and discovered what she'd done.) Having once performed a similar experiment, (granted, at the age of 8) I warned 40 that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Nah," she says. "We'll just use it to mop the floor later..."

Feeling a little precarious, I head to my bedroom and take a shower. Thirty minutes later, I return to the kitchen.

It's completely flooded.

40 awakens from her nap, and it took the two of us a good hour to dispel all the water from the kitchen.

And yet, the vinyl tiling still squishes a little and spurts pockets of suds when we walk.

oh joy.

Grr... Argh...

So Rita barely hit Houston. My dad still had to put the sprinklers on his azaleas because they didn't get enough rain. As I sit in the Houma (Louisiana) Public Library trying to plan a safe route home (along with 1.8 million of my Houstonian brethren who evacuated the city), I'm wondering if Safe really is better than Sorry.

Especially since this time yesterday, I was helping to sandbag a levee. (However, I can't really complain about that... it was kinda fun...)

I wanna go home!

Gotta love Global Warming...

So we've got a huge freaking hurricane coming.

Already, Rita's at a category 5 with sustained winds of 165 mph, and still has several hundred miles of churning over a hot ocean before she lets loose on H-town.

School has been cancelled for the next two days. I'm so very getting out of town. I'm not in a mandatory evacuation area, and I do love a good storm, but there comes a point where you wonder how sane it is to stick around. Mostly, I just don't want to be without power (read air conditioning) for the three to five days they're predicting. I also don't want to be one of those fools that I kept thinking about in New Orleans... ("Dude, they told them to leave... why didn't they leave?")

This morning, I spent 20 minutes calming down my first class. I had two little girls bawling because, "Miss, we're gonna diiiiie...." (Oh good lord... 12 and 13 year old girls are SUCH drama queens!) I even had to rearrange the furniture in my classroom, getting things away from the window that up until a few hours ago, I was so very thankful to have. Thank goodness for burly 8th grade boys with nothing better to do...

So in 20 minutes when I'm allowed to leave, I will be leaving at 4:00 for the first time yet this school year. I'm going home to pack, and then I'm hitting the road with my girlfriend (tee hee...) as we head 5 hours east, to Louisiana to stay with her father.

I know we're all a little gun shy from Katrina, and I know Houston is in much better shape than New Orleans, but I'm a little nervous...

Here's to hoping my apartment, car, and classroom are all still intact when I get back....

yeah...

I am horrendous at communicating.

I have pretty much always been horrendous at communicating.

Don't get me wrong. At times, I can talk with the best of them. Mostly, I say stupid things. (Half the time, I'm embarrased of the banalities I spew forth.) As far as actually creating understanding in others as to the productions of my mind, I suck.

I think it may all go along with that introverted thing...

Anyhow, I'm pretty psyched that I've discovered that I can kinda write. I feel like I'm finally getting me across.

Yeah.

Making my way in a foreign land...

So I have some slightly disturbing insight to the touching letter from earlier this week. The student who gave it to me also handed me an addendum, full of even more sappy thank-yous and I-love-you-so-muches. It's still sweet, but now we're bordering a little on the disturbing side. My girlfriend (tee-hee... it feels funny/cool to be saying that...) claims her gaydar is pinging at full tilt around this student, and she's convinced that we'll be running into Krystle at Chances or the like in a decade or so. She's certain that Krystle is experiencing her first crush on a girl, and has identified me as the object of her affections.

At first I thought such an idea was total craziness. But then I considered all the evidence:

• Krystle loves me. I mean, LOVES me. I counted: today she hugged me eleven times.
• She stopped by my classroom after school yesterday and played with my hair for a full hour before going to the gym for the volleyball game.
• (During which time she hugged me at least a dozen times.)
• Once I showed up for the volleyball game last night, she came and sat next to me with her arm through mine for over an hour instead of sitting with her friends.
• She's enraptured with the details of my personal life. She knows I'm seeing somebody (there are flowers on my desk) and wants to know all the sordid details about "him." [I've tried to convince her I don't have a boyfriend, but she's not buying it. Her: "Miss, you got a boyfriend." Me: "No Krystle, I don't." Her: "Of course you do. Who else but your boyfriend would send you flowers? Why won't you tell me about him?" Me: "Krystle, I swear to you I don't have a boyfriend." Her: "Why you lying, Miss? Why won't you tell me about him?" We've been through this song and dance at least 5 times in the last two days. What truly amuses me is that she went up to the giver of said flowers and said, "Miss Flipside has a boyfriend, Miss, and she won't tell me about it..."]

Anyhow, I'm thoroughly digressing. I totally see it know. It's kinda cute, but the proliferation of Krystle-hugs are starting to grate a little on my nerves. They're becoming more and more common...

Oh well. Hopefully, she'll get over me soon enough...

Being Flaky

It's been nearly two weeks since I scorched my sensitive Scotch-Irish skin at the beach.

And I'm still peeling like a snake. I have been exfoliating with a rabid abundance each morning in the shower, and have been drenching my skin in lotion several times a day, but with little success.

I look like a leprous freak.

Ack.

Krystle Clear

There's this student at my school, Krystle. Krystle is a very loud, boisterous, and outgoing child, almost to the point of obnoxiousness. Let me rephrase. Way past the point of obnoxiousness. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Krystle likes me. I've never even had her in my class, but yet she comes by several times a day to get a hug from me and comment on my choice of shoes. To be honest, I have a soft spot in my heart for Krystle. She's a little nutty, but she's always smiling and cheerful.

Last week, Krystle was very upset and crying, so I let her come in and sit at my desk for a few minutes so she could calm herself down before going to class. I had a class of my own in the room, but after about 3 minutes, she let herself out and I didn't see her again until today.

When I did see her, see hugged me (of course) and handed me a note.

"2: You
4rm: Me
When: September 9
Where: At home (in room)
Time: 8:05
Reason: say how I really feel
Request: don't matter
Relationship: Best Friend (a person near my heart)

Hello, I'm sorry about today. Thanks for being there for me today. That was sweet of you. I never really had a teacher like you. Just so you know, I'm here for you also. You're sometimes the reason why I come to school. You let me know to keep my head up, and my dreams will come true. Thanks for letting me lean on your shoulder when I need to. Don't think I don't love you cause I do. I love you with all my heart. You're the 1st person eyes I evered (sic) look into when I talk to someone. That's a good thing. When I look into your eyes, I see I have a future and I love you for that.

Love always, Krystle."

And this is why I love my job.

On Limerence

I get a kick when I can learn new vocabulary words in the most unusual of sources.

I read the comics religiously. Not all of them, mind you as I generally avoid the boring serialized ones like Mary Worth and Prince Valiant and what not. The Houston Chronicle has a fairly stellar line-up, boasting a full four pages of print devoted to the funnies. I've heard that people who read the comics live longer than people who don't, so I'm prepping to live to a ripe old age...

In yesterday's paper, Funky Winkerbean's Tom Batiuk introduced me (and I'm sure many other educated people) to an expression with which I was completely unfamiliar, but that I really like. (Apparently it's a rather obscure word, as MS Word doesn't even recognize it.)

Check it out....

I love learning new things!

Bordering on fearless...

So I met with my friend Dr. Pheelgood last night, whom I miss greatly these days. He is no longer at the same school as I am. We had margaritas (well, I did...) and I took advantage of his counseling skills. We talked about life, but mostly, we talked in great depth about my left-handed confusion. (Remember, we're dealing with an allegory...) He truly helped me see things more clearly.

I'm not so stressed anymore.

And also I'm rather sure of something: I don't want these feelings to go away...

An Allegory of Confusion

So I'm right handed. I've always been right handed. Never in my life have I ever considered being anything other than right handed. Granted, from time to time, I've thought about using my left hand, and wanted to use my left hand, but not very often. However, there's a strong possibility that I've thought about using my left hand more than most right handed people would...

I have a lot of left handed friends. I hang out with left handed people all the time. Sometimes, I feel more comfortable around my left handed friends than around my right handed friends. Even though I've spent a lot of time with left handed people, I've never contemplated that I could actually be left handed.

Recently, I've been spending a great deal of time with a left handed friend with whom I had only spent small amounts of time with in the past. This is nothing new; like I've said before, I've hung out with left handed people all the time.

Herein lies the confusion. The more time I spend with this particular left handed friend, the more I find myself thinking about wanting to use my left hand. I'm not saying that I think I'm fully left handed, but I'm thinking there's a strong possibility that I may be a little more ambidextrous than I thought I was.

Although this confusion has thrown me for a huge loop, I can't say I'm totally surprised. A little bit of the urge has clearly always been there. I guess it's all just surfacing more in this new friendship.

The question is, what do I do now?

Do I mention this to my left handed friend? (Or have I already by writing this post?) ... I don't want to look like a complete and total idiot...

Do I ignore the impulse to use my left hand and hope it goes away? Do I even want it to go away?


*sigh*

Any input on the subject would be greatly appreciated...

Wide awake and staring at the ceiling...

I can't sleep.

I'm horribly confused about something I never imagined I'd be confused about. I'd go into details, but I wouldn't even know where to start.

Where is the Ambien when I need it most?

You could fry an egg on my forehead...

So I've returned from a weekend at the beach and I'm miserably sunburned. I'm crispy red... it's awful. I've bathed in cool cucumber stuff, but my skin is still horridly ablaze...

Anyhow, there's something that's eating at me right now, and quite frankly, I'm pretty damn edgy.

As I've alluded to in previous rants, I am a painfully introverted person. I've almost always preferred and been thankful for my solitude. For the most part, being around other people has terrified me. I like being alone. For years, if given the opportunity, nine times out of ten I would chose solitude over social interaction. I've never gotten lonely. Ever. Seclusion has always been Option A.

But I'm suffering a feeling I've never in my adult life experienced. Right now, for the first time I can lucidly recall, I feel lonely. An episode of Family Guy was a nice bandage for a 30 minute fix, as were a few phone calls. But I'm still jittery and anxious, and I don't like it. I guess this is normal, this concept of loneliness, but it's never happened to me.

I'm physically trembling.

But that could be the sunburn, too.

Shout out for the Big Easy

So my school enrolled a couple dozen students from Louisiana yesterday, and are expecting several more today. I've already had two added to my classes. I just can't fathom what these kids are going through. You're told to leave your home for a few days, and then, whoops, just kidding, you can't go home until December. And that's if you even have a home to go to...

On the radio this morning, one of the news reports talked about how these displaced people from New Orleans are no longer considered "evacuees." They're full fledged "refugees." No homes. No jobs. No belongings. Just the clothes on their backs. The newspaper (and 40's brother) mentioned that the city will probably never be the same. Many refugees will find new homes and jobs elsewhere, (like here in H-town) and will most likely never go back. Why would they...? There is nothing left...

On a more disgusting side of the story, our local street beggar people are totally pissing me off. The same guy I saw by the overpass last week with the "Will Work for Food" sign is now toting a piece of cardboard claiming "From New Orleans. Please help." Mother fracking leeches. Get a MF job.

And on an ever so slightly related note, 40 got a new phone a few weeks ago, and chose "When the Saints Go Marching In" as her new ring tone. Although I've never really cared for the song, particularly in the metallic rendition offered by LG, I now am finding it to be awfully distressing and rather macabre when her phone rings.

My heart goes out...