Subconscious Seeks Ogre

I’ve never understood sex dreams. I remember waking up from the first one I had in high school, horrified, because my sexual partner in the dream wasn’t the captain of the basketball team; it wasn’t Robbie, who played trumpet with me in the jazz band and wasn’t afraid to take improv solos and left notes in my locker; it wasn’t even the principal, which could’ve provided for a naughty authority dynamic.

No, it was the sophomore who wore nothing but

these
and these

and a big chain going from his black jeans with the 52″ waist to his empty wallet.

He wasn’t completely a Hobbit, but maybe halfsies, you know? His head was gargantuan. Tiny hands,

fingers like these.

With rhotacism. That’s an l and r to w speech impediment.

Think

this guy.

I remember being enraged at my own subconscious and walking gingerly into school the next day, petrified that, in a moment of trauma-induced Tourette’s, I might blurt it out in the cafeteria and be ridiculed for the rest of my life.

And though I don’t have sex dreams too often, today I woke up shuddering after having dream-sex with a student’s dad. And no, not the hilarious web designer or the charismatic surgeon with beautiful eyes…instead, the paunchy, awkward one with the mid-western accent (yech), whose residence (I remember from the home visit) looks like his garbage can and clothes dryer simultaneously exploded all over the house. It wasn’t even shame-ridden, back-alley sex; there were witnesses.

What is wrong with me?

Please tell me I’m not alone.

Customer Service

Amy_(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:40:43 GMT-0500 (EST))>

i'm still getting e-statements from my old account.


Donald(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:40:45 GMT-0500 (EST))>

To ensure I am speaking with the decision maker, 
I will need to verify your last four digits of your social security number 
in order to release any information in regards to your account.


Amy_(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:40:52 GMT-0500 (EST))>

----


Amy_(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:41:14 GMT-0500 (EST))>

i just don't want to get e-statements saying i owe $0 for my old address anymore.


Amy_(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:41:18 GMT-0500 (EST))>

how do i cut them off?


Donald(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:41:42 GMT-0500 (EST))>

I would have to give you the number to customer service to stop those statements. 
They can be reached at 919 595 4892. 
I'm showing you have our internet only which is a good thing 
since I can offer you a great bundle at this time.


Donald(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:41:46 GMT-0500 (EST))>

Currently our best package that we are offering includes all 3 of our services: 
Digital Cable with 300 channels, free HD, free on demand access, 
free music channels for 1 TV, up to 10mbps Roadrunner high speed internet 
and Unlimited Nationwide calling with CallerID on TV, all for the new low price 
of $33/ month each.  Plus, by signing up today, you can get DVR and HBO free 
for 3 months.  How does that sound?


Amy_(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:42:12 GMT-0500 (EST))>

stop it. i don't want to be sold anything. i want CUSTOMER SERVICE!


Amy_(Sat Nov 20 2010 16:42:31 GMT-0500 (EST))>

UGH.

Whoster?

On a phone call the other day, the guy I was talking to mentioned a couple he knew…they had met on Friendster…and the woman was—

Wait, what?

Friendster? Who even remembers Friendster?

And, in a weird coincidence, my friend Sean posted on Facebook that day that he gone back to Friendster and found—remarkable!—we were all still there! Just five years younger than last time he looked.

Well, of course I had to take a peek at my 2005 self. Nothing crazy different, except that I had pictures up from when I was still blond. And Friendster itself is pretty dumb; it’s no wonder it tanked. Back in the day, there was no dynamic aspect to it—no “walls” to write on, nowhere to post links, no games, no reason to log in every day. But those Friendster folks had one cool idea: they had a section where people could put up testimonials. Come along with me on my Ego Trip!

My friend from college, Anthony: Amy is one of the good guys. If you walk in a room that she is in, you will be happier than you were before you walked into that room. And I assure you – it’s not because of her choice of rooms.

Another friend from college, Ehren: The first thing you notice about Amy is her voluptuous, no –sumptuous– hotness. She is built for speed. But beneath all that sugar and spice, she is savvy and sweet, and on top of all that, she’s actually a conscientious human being who is actually giving of herself to make the world a better place. I just wish she would invite me over more. *Sigh*

My old roomie, Dan: There is no one in the world like Amy – I couldn’t adore her more. Bright, compassionate, charming and witty, and does she have an ass on her? DAMN. I’m talking bout a ghetto onion to make a brother cry…[Ed. note: Dan is a Jew.] Sweet, smart, and beautiful. Amy has it all in one amazingly-assed package. She may also be one of the prettiest women in the world – though I couldn’t tell you for sure cause I’m still looking at her butt…

Patricia, a gringa friend I met during my study-abroad semester: I met Amy at a World Boggle Tournament in Mexico [Ed. note: WBT took place in her living room.] and she blew me away with her smarts, her salsa, and her use of diagonal tiles. And then I lost track of her and I thought- Anyone who gets to live near Amy is lucky and should never complain about anything. She is outrageously beautiful, funny, generous, real, and has really good vocab. Those third graders are the luckiest of all.

A New York friend, Caroline: Amy has, quite possibly, the very best laugh in the history of the universe.

Yet another UNC friend, also named Amy and probably the funniest woman I know: amy’s heart is as big as her laugh. she is beautiful and thoughtful, she makes lethal baked goods, and she’ll never tell you, but she’s a damn good actress.

And last but not least, TWO from my sister-in-law, Melissa. The first from 2003: amy is one of the most genuinely caring people i have ever known. she is beautiful in every way a person can be beautiful. and her laugh is contagious. and her ass is worshipful. i actually worship at the altar of her ass.

And the second from 2005: amy makes the world a better place, on purpose and with meaning. amy constantly challenges herself. she inspires awe. she climbs mountains, solves puzzles, makes pronouncements and never settles. amy is wicked smaht but will never make you feel small. amy decided i should marry her brother and i decided to go along with it. she just knows what’s best.

What did I learn from this experience?

  1. Back then, I used to laugh a lot. Sad, but I don’t think I do anymore.
  2. My ass was huge. That’s still true.
  3. It’s really fun when people say nice things about you. Let’s say nice things about each other more often!

Those Unsightly Blemishes

Since age 12, I’ve had an epic battle with acne. I was on tetracycline in high school, and Retin-A, which made me so sensitive to the sun that my face would fry off, leaving a pulpy, gory, raw mess where my nose used to be. I used tinted Clean & Clear and really believed it covered up my zits, though I probably looked like I had a pigment disorder since it came only in ‘tanning bed orange’.

I spent the year I was 17-turning-18 in Italy. Not only did my host family members, teachers, and—hey!—even strangers on the street tell me I was fat, but my advisor’s husband looked at my face at one point and said, “Brufoli!” (That’s “Pimples!” to you and me.) And he ran to the pharmacy to get me some medicated face cream.

I’ve tried a number of Neutrogena products:

This one.
And this one.
Both of these together.

I’ve tried stuff As Seen On TV:

Worked for Jessica Simpson!

And knock-offs of stuff As Seen on TV:

Four steps! That’s so many steps!

Alas. I’m 35, and I break out like a high school sophomore.

Last weekend, I caught part of The People’s Pharmacy, and this dude was saying that, in cultures where the people don’t eat refined sugar, even the teenagers don’t break out.

First dairy.

Then gluten.

Now I’m going to have to stop eating sugar.

Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here eating my salmon and alfalfa sprouts. Crying.

Goddamn you, Joe and Terry Graedon!

P.S. Look up their podcast on iTunes. Some are labeled “clean”, which others are “explicit”. Hahahahahahahaha.

Happy Coming Out Day, People

Have you heard about New York Republican gubernatorial candidate Carl Paladino’s precious little speech? What a mensch—he just doesn’t want anyone “to be brainwashed into thinking that homosexuality is an equally successful or valid option” as heterosexuality.

Wow.

And apparently, his prepared text had a line which he omitted when he delivered it: “There is nothing to be proud of in being a dysfunctional homosexual.”

That’s true! There IS nothing to be proud of in being a dysfunctional homosexual.

But I know a hell of a lot of functional homosexuals, and I love ’em! I’m proud of ’em! They’re just wonderful!

18% Country, 82% Rock-n-Roll

urlai.com says that my blog “is probably written by a female somewhere between 36-50 years old. The writing style is personal and upset most of the time.”

For the record, it’s 9% academic and 91% personal, 31% happy and 69% upset. Apparently, I’m dumb, self-absorbed, and histrionic. That sounds about right.

But I am not 36-50! I am 1-15 years younger than that! Their second guess on age is 66-100. Wow. What kind of geriatric shit am I putting down?

Also, in case you were wondering, I am 68% female and 32% male.

[Then I saw that it said, “The analysis is based upon 4 posts that has enough English words,” and the four posts it looked at were My Work Here is Done, A Mock Metal Soldier and a Duct Tape Salad, A Challenge for You, and Zeke & the Bee. Many of the words in those posts aren’t English, as they were written by my students!]

De Oppresso Liber

I joined CrossFit a week or so ago. Do you know about CrossFit?

It’s a gym. Most importantly, it’s a gym on the same block as my workplace. But it’s not like other gyms. CrossFit is all about push-ups and pull-ups and squats and turning over tractor tires. Yeah, I don’t get that last one either.

Anyway, the trainers are all very strong people. I was helped yesterday by (let’s call him) Brutus, a very muscly fellow, with a cartoony-handsome face, a great deal of patience, and a tremendous knowledge of how to lift heavy objects over your head. Brutus looked like he could pick up my Subaru with his neck.

We were doing the clean and jerk. Do you know how many steps there are to the clean and jerk? If you guessed two, you’re wrong, wrong, my friend. There’s eleventy-four tiny steps to the clean and jerk. And Brutus knew every last one. Intimately.

Well, I did about 75 of them, or parts of 75 of them, albeit with a paltry 15-25 pounds on my bar, but fuckin-A, bubba, I kinda teared up at the end there.  I was so exhausted and proud of myself.

My favorite part was when we were stretching out. Brutus, the could-pass-for-special-forces guy, got us into upward-facing dog and told us, “Try to relax your tummy.”

Tummy. Hee hee.

I’m a Blogger. I Blog.

The Ex and I have been playing with the website. He showed me how to change the banner color (Oooooh, magenta! Ooooh, fading into black!) and the visibility of certain posts. Sometimes I’ll put up a “protected” entry and give out the password on Facebook and/or by request.

He also added social sharing buttons so my legions of readers can easily share links to my exquisite prose.

I’d really love for somebody with graphic design know-how to make me a dope-ass banner…anyone?

Fingers Crossed

I was supposed to go in to work today. It was on my to-do list and everything. See?

  • laundry
  • mow lawn
  • weed-eat
  • unpack one box, just one—you don’t have to do all of them, Amy!
  • Home Depot
  • clean out fridge
  • work (plan lessons, get stuff from school fridge, feed hermit crabs)
  • clean out car
  • take stuff to Goodwill
  • cut lattice

All the kids have been have been peeing themselves with excitement about getting the hermit crabs. We set up our crabarium—ha!—early last week. Six or seven of them met me at PetSmart Thursday after school to pick out the hermit crabs. We got one small one, two medium ones, and a larger guy. The big guy has what was clearly supposed to be Big Bird painted on his shell, but wow, at first glance, he’s a dead ringer for Homer Simpson.

On Friday, all the kids looked at the hermit crabs and held them and switched them from the tank to the climbing cage and back. They couldn’t get enough. A fourth grader’s dream.

I mean, I put out water for them. And some food. A little food. Probably enough water.

Man, I hope those little fuckers are still alive tomorrow ’cause I am just not going in to work tonight.