spill the purse (bag)

A while ago I was tagged to spill the purse. So, I took the pictures and promptly discovered that the camera cord had slithered away into the world where all lost things go. We mourned it's loss.

But then! That little black camera cord decided to venture back into our world. It must have really missed us. And so, a belated spill the purse.

To be honest, I don't really like the word purse. It's like how my sisters hate the word moist or pamphlet. So, when people talk about purses, I generally tend to change the word to bag in my mind. So, here is my bag.

I got it in Arizona over Christmas.

It came with a white bow on one of the straps.

I took that off.

It's a pretty common bag seeing as I got it at Target [plug for Target] but I really liked the little round trees and their skinny white trunks. And besides, I like trees.

And here are the contents of my bag.

Well, that is: here are the contents of my bag last March.

They include the journal I got for Christmas from my older brother, a few paycheck envelopes, (They told me I'd have direct deposit, however, for the several months that I worked there, that magical deposit thing never happened) A Tale of Two Cities which I have long since finished and loved, a small notebook with the grocery list, my hand-me-down Eagle Creek wallet from my sister who has one that looks pretty similar, my check book, my homemade day planner, my glasses, some C.O. Bigelow Apothecaries Cinnamint Mentha lip shine which was given to me as a gift and that I really like, the Shuffle (we caved and are now ipod people) we purchased for ourselves for exercising but which I used to keep focused at work, and a penny that I probably picked up for good luck; it's a shiny one.

Whew! That is quite a bit of stuff!

So there we have it...

My bag in nutblog.

vocab vagabond

I misused the word lucrative the other day.

Boy, did I feel sheepish.

Apparently it doesn't mean "prestigious".

You know, deep down, I knew that... right?

So... I won't be defining any words for you this post.

I don't think I've earned it.

So maybe YOU could define some words for me, eh?

Any cool words you want to share?

Who knows... you may just save me from another embarrassing vocab blunder.

Please do.

Apparently, I need the help.

misfits

To be honest, it took me a little too long to realize our apartment wasn't livable anymore.

And that was even after the sewage pipes backed up and flooded the kitchen, bathroom, and the small extra room in under 10 minutes.

Come to find out, the reason our bathroom had been periodically flooding (clean water those times... don't worry), and water kept trickling down from the apartment above us was tree roots.

Apparently these tree roots were old "friends" to our landlords who were twice informed about the flooding bathroom and of our suspicions that something was greatly amiss.

Their teenage sons did a tolerable job of removing the carpet and vacuuming up the sewage water with an old Shopvac, but sadly lacked the judgement to refrain from placing soggy boxes and contaminated objects on our previously (and quite luckily) unscathed bed saying they needed to, "get them out of the way".

In the end, it was kind family members, whether it be a kind word over the phone, or giving us a place to stay for month before we make the move we were actually planning on making, that made it possible for me to fully comprehend the sanitation craziness of it all without completely losing my cool...

heck...

I might still be living there if it weren't for you all!

So, here's to first apartments and impositions upon the ones you love!

And to the festering sewage (that I'm sure the appropriate disaster clean-up crew will never see) I can only emphatically say, "See you, suckers!"

mael·strom

-noun

1. a large, powerful, or violent whirlpool.

2. a restless, disordered, or tumultuous state of affairs: the maelstrom of early morning traffic.

to the tune of glass figurine

I used the word tomfoolery today.

I was granted a speeding ticket on my way to work.

It was given in the usual manner. Did I know the speed limit? I did indeed know that the speed limit changes as one turns onto this street. Did I know that it doesn't change until after the overpass? I did not. Yes, indeed, the speed limit remains at 35 until after the overpass and the picks up to 50 thereafter. Is that so? It is. This pleasant exchange of getting-to-know-you questions ended with me handing over my license, registration, and proof of insurance.

This is how I would have liked to end the conversation:

"Well, thanks for clearing up my misunderstanding of the speed limit in those few yards of space," roll up my window and drive away...

You'll be happy to know that I didn't respond in this manner and that I was offered Traffic School (indicated by the "TS" the officer wrote on my citation, he told me).

I'm obviously thankful, however, I've been issued so many speeding citations (not that I'm proud of it by any means) that I'm pretty sure they're soon going to be asking ME to conduct traffic school. And I feel like the police officers and I have a bond. You know,

"hey, you're speeding again."
"bah! you're right! silly me."
"you know, you're not supposed to."
"yeah, yeah, I know."
"well, I'll go get your traffic school invitation for you."
"thanks."
"you know the drill right?"
"yeah, I know the drill."
"ok, drive safely."
"you betcha."

You can bet your boots I won't be speeding anytime soon. But the officers know I'm out there, and I'm sure we'll meet again during a period of speeding weakness. Let's just hope the intervals in between our get-togethers get exponentially larger, eh?


tom·fool·er·y
noun
1. foolish or silly behavior; tomfoolishness.
2. a silly act, matter, or thing.

tomfool
"buffoon, clown," 1650, from M.E. Thom Foole, personification of a mentally deficient man (1338), Tomfoolery is recorded from 1812.

two weeks to make a habit, eh?

I'm hungry.

I mean, really hungry. And it seems like all I can think about is a hamburger and fries!

Blast!

I mean, after three years of attempting to train myself to steer my hunger toward healthy things, my thoughts are still going to fries?!? (hamburgers can be healthy, so I'm not too worried there, I mean pickles... right?)

So here's what I'm proposing. Can you send me some good ideas of what to think about when I get really hungry like this? I mean, to take the place of greasy fries.

Thanks. You're a gem.

proclivity:
noun
natural or habitual inclination or tendency; propensity; predisposition: a proclivity to meticulousness

sundowner at shell house

There has only been one other time when I read an entire book in one day.

That was Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and boy did I have a knot in my stomach after that one. Thomas Hardy can sure make a bad situation MUCH worse. I mean, time sensitive notes going under door mats! He obviously didn't think of me, a procrastinator in my senior year of high school, starting his novel at 8pm and needing to finish it by 4th period the next day. Had he indeed thought of me, that book may well have been several hundred pages shorter.

But that was then.

Just yesterday I took a break from reading A Tale of Two Cities (I'm not too worried. That book seems to lend itself well to small breaks) to read Roald Dahl's Going Solo.

It's the sequel to his first installment of autobiographical stories, Boy, which I read on a on a Thanksgiving extravaganza in 2004, and it is wonderful. So I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Going Solo sitting untouched on the school shelves where I work. I couldn't resist.

I read the first few pages during silent reading time at school and, well... couldn't keep silent. I was laughing, and pretty hard too. The students were nice to ignore me for the first few minutes... but I was distracting them quite a bit. They let me retell the story I was reading and laughed with me.

I then took it home with me and finished it later that evening. And guess what: no knot in the stomach. I loved it.

So, I'm sharing this with you... go out and get both Boy and Going Solo (don't worry, you can take a break from [insert book you're reading here]) and give them both a read. You'll be glad you did. And then you'll wish you could go to a sundowner in the African evenings and eat brown rice and bananas... seriously, I'm going to try this.

and a new word for me from this book:

benighted
adj.
1. overtaken by darkness or night
2. being in a state of moral or intellectual darkness; unenlightened

i would just like to thank...

... the brookses for good music.

Sometimes a good song is all it takes to make a bad day good, or a good day better, or a grand day best.

Recently it has been:

Mushaboom
by Feist

and

Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity
by Gustov Holst

What about you? Any good tunes to send my way?



serialsim
noun

20th century music that uses a definite order of notes as a thematic basis for a musical composition.

why yellow?

Probably because it's been snowing for three days now.

Don't get me wrong. I'm really glad it's been snowing so much. At least the drought will be thankful. But, I find that I haven't seen blue sky, not to mention the sun, in far too long.

And yesterday my hair froze.

And that darn "check engine soon" light came on... again... after [insert large amount of dollars here] in repairs, and having it turned off again, a day later... etc. etc.

And I've had way too many near misses on the snowy roads.

See!

Do you see what the drear (not a noun) has done?!

And therefore, yellow. Coincidentally, my favorite color.

mi·lieu (ml-y, ml-y)

n.

pl. mi·lieus or mi·lieux (-ly)

1. The totality of one's surroundings; an environment.
2. The social setting of a mental patient.

"well, why don't we look it up?"

I love my dad.

I mean, not just because he is my dad. But I am really glad he is my dad, because if he wasn't, I'd probably wish he was.

One of the reasons I would wish that my dad was my dad if he wasn't indeed my dad would be because of a conversation we had a few weeks ago:

dad: "Hey jo, I know how you like words; do you know the word, malapropism?"

geri: "Oh no. Here we go. He's been talking about this for days."

jo: "Hmmm... how do you spell it?"

dad: " m-a-l-e-p-r-o-p-i-s-m, I think... but I'm not sure." (I'm pretty sure I inherited my poor spelling abilities from my father. I've always marveled, along with my little brother, how someone as naturally and easily intelligent as my dad could be so terrible at spelling. Maybe I didn't inherit it from him... but it's a good excuse anyway.)

jo: "Hmmm, I've never heard of it or read it. What does it mean?"

dad: "Well... (I could see the excited grin my dad was trying to conceal as he began telling me the story behind this word. My dad has an extraordinary memory that you can tell is used way more often than he lets on. Though he has never told me before, I'm pretty sure my dad loves to share these little glimpses inside his memory and leave us in awe of what is found there.) ... it is when someone uses the wrong word, a word that sounds similar to the right one, in a phrase or saying. Your aunt used it in her write-up about your grandma, my mom, only she called it a spoonerism which I think isn't it. I think the word is malapropism. It comes from a play by, oh... um... Sheridian where the character, Mrs. Malaprop makes a lot of this particular kind of mistake."

jo: (by this time, I was flattered that my dad ever thought I'd know that word...) "What is a spoonerism?"

dad: (he looks at me for a split second with a look of, "you don't know, eh?" then continues) I'm pretty sure a spoonerism is when you mix up the first letter of two words... oh, what was the example the dictionary gave...? And I couldn't find malaprop in the dictionary, but I think I'm spelling it wrong." (He heads for his trusty dictionary that he's had since way before any of us kids were born. Ever since I can remember my dad has made me look up words in this same dictionary. I'd have a question about a word and he'd say, "Well, why don't we look it up?" which meant, "Go get the dictionary and look it up for yourself. I'll help you once you have it." My sister had it rebound for Christmas one year I remember. It's still one of my favorite things about my dad. I don't think it's moved from it's spot on the top shelf of the bookshelf for years. We've got to know where it is at a moments notice, you know.)

chad: "Why don't we use my computer to look it up?" (Said in his always cheerful way. Anything is possible with chad I've noticed. My little brother and I have talked about that too. I like his way.)

geri: "We need to get to the bottom of this!" (She says with her delightful sarcasm)

dad: "Oh, you can do that? Yeah, let's do that." (He looks up 'spoonerism' for me in the good ol' paper and ink dictionary and shares the example they give so that I understand. I'm loving every minute of this.)

jo: "I've never heard of either of these words, but you can be sure I'm going to try to use them." (I say with a laugh, knowing that it isn't every day you come upon a chance to use the word 'spoonerism').

dad: (dismissing my harmless gibe) "Yeah, they're great words."

With chad's help we discovered that dad was indeed spelling the word wrong and that, owing to the definitions, my aunt probably should have used the word 'malapropism' instead. This conversation lead to absorbing stories about a grandmother who died when I was only 1 year old and who I never knew. I loved it.

And I love my dad.

I bet you wish he was your dad.

malaprop |ˈmaləˌpräp| (also malapropism)
noun
the mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one, often with unintentionally amusing effect, as in, for example, “dance a flamingo ” (instead of flamenco).

ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from the name of the character Mrs. Malaprop in Sheridan's play The Rivals (1775) + -ism .

spoonerism |ˈspoōnəˌrizəm|
noun
a verbal error in which a speaker accidentally transposes the initial sounds or letters of two or more words, often to humorous effect, as in the sentence you have hissed the mystery lectures, accidentally spoken instead of the intended sentence you have missed the history lectures.

ORIGIN early 20th cent.: named after the Rev. W. A. Spooner (1844–1930), an English scholar who reputedly made such errors in speaking.

This one is for you, kel >> "Lorraine, my density has brought me to you."; "Yes! I'm George! I'm your density!" —George McFly, Back to the Future

but I can't wait until I'm eight

eight

-noun
1. a cardinal number, seven plus one.

8 things I am passionate about:

1. my husband
2. my fam
3. biology
4. definitions of words/grammar (though not as good as I'd like to be)
5. conversations!
6. writing in a journal (for some odd reason)
7. insects
8. necklaces (though I rarely sport them)

8 things I want to do before I die:

1. dive in a shark cage
2. learn how to bake all kinds o' bread
3. do a field study on a certain insect
4. learn how to oil paint... for real, not just guessing
5. learn how to talk without pausing, saying, "um" or "uh" or searching for the right word
6. raise a family
7. learn to play the violin well
8. write a book (me too, ash!)

8 books I have read recently:

1. My Antonia - Willa Cather
2. National Geographic- January 2008 (not a book... shoot)
3. The Idiot - Dostoevsky
4. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows- J.K. Rowling
5. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
6. The Avacado of Death - Daniel Pinkwater
7. Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
8. Scrambled Eggs Super - Dr. Seuss

8 things I often say:

1. truth be told
2. rock that candy shop
3. you know what I'm saying? (a bad habit... I'm trying to quit)
4. let's look it up!
5. are you sure?
6. indeed
7. I can't decide...
8. hey love

8 things that attract me to friends:

1. sincerity
2. positive attitude
3. kindness
4. likes to talk
5. sense of humor
6. doesn't mind random inadvertent puns...
7. likes to laugh
8. don't take themselves too seriously

8 songs and albums I would listen to over and over (this is a hard one for me... I love the "repeat" function on the music player):

1. Anything by George Gershwin
2. Claire de lune - Debussy
3. Lull and Weather Systems - Andrew Bird
4. Always Asking Questions - Howard Jones
5. Neighborhood #2 - Arcade Fire
6. New Day - The King's Singers
7. Chan Chan - Buena Vista Social Club
8. Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles

8 things I learned this year:

1. being married is grand
2. I love red-orange wild flowers
3. car airbags can cause the windows to come crashing down (see! those inadvertent puns!)
4. teaching is as difficult as they say it is
5. airguns are quite fascinating (though I neither have or want one)
6. good friends are a true blessing
7. working on not being anxious is worth it (even if it seems futile)
8. the future, though unknown, is always better than you think it will be

8 random things about me:

1. of all God's creations, earthworms are my least favorite
2. I am fascinated by left-handedness
3. I secretly like a Nelly Furtado song
4. I was in a small film festival winner film
5. I was in a commercial when I was 5
6. thinking I was some sort of stuntman, I broke my collar bone at age 1 1/2
7. if I take notes in a certain pen color one day I must use a different color the next day
8. I'm not a big fan of ice cream

8 people I tag:

Taggity-tag tag!

ok... so I don't have have the courage to tag anyone... but did my strange exclamation distract you from that fact?

not scottsdale

I used to think Raspberry-Peach Snapple was the ambrosia of all beverages. It's true.

People used to come into the Great Harvest where I worked and ponder the beverific choices (of which there were many) and believing that it was my job to spread the joyful news, I'd declare, "You should try the Raspberry-Peach Snapple; it's the ambrosia of all beverages."...

Most of the time those customers didn't hear me. Or maybe they ignored me because declaring that something is the "ambrosia" of anything is a bit, well... presumptuous now that I think of it.

At any rate, it is the ambrosia of all beverages... or I thought it was until my first Christmas away from home. This Christmas.

And now, I have a new ambrosia-of-beverages. And it is ambrosia. I mean, look at me! I'm even risking sounding presumptuous!

And here is my declaration:

Freshly-squeezed orange juice made from freshly-picked oranges. And not just any oranges... oranges picked from the orange tree growing in the backyard.


A moment of reverence, please.


I'm not sure I need say more.



p.s. raspberry-peach snapple is still held high in my esteem... If you happen to find one, let me know, for they are few and far between.

ambrosia |amˈbrō zh (ē)ə|

noun Greek & Roman Mythology

the food of the gods.

• something very pleasing to taste or smell : the tea was ambrosia after the slop I'd been drinking.
• a fungal product used as food by ambrosia beetles.
• another term for beebread .
• a dessert made with oranges and shredded coconut.

ORIGIN mid 16th cent.: via Latin from Greek, ‘elixir of life,’
from ambrotos ‘immortal.’

and incidentally...

beebread |ˈbēˌbred| (also bee bread)
noun
honey or pollen used as food by bees.

And A Merry Christmas To You...

... From Snowman Teddy Roosevelt.

stonefly nymphs have two cerci

I am still a student teacher, but I haven't been teaching for the last week and a half. Today I made paper ornaments for our first Christmas tree, and filled up a notebook page with geometric shapes.

Yesterday I asked my mentor teacher and received permission to print the words "Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species" on paper in 500 point font down to 150 point font and then pasted them onto poster board. After that I had them laminated... and then, just because I had time I outlined the words with Crayola marker. They're really cool markers, by the way, sporting colors like "iguana green" and "tiger orange". Then I put them up in the front of the class thinking I was contributing to the lesson and providing my mentor teacher with a service only to overhear another science teacher saying to my mentor teacher, "Hey, cool kingdom-phylum-class-order-family-genus-species... don't you already have a set of those?"

For five days before that, I had been grading assignments, putting them in alphabetical order (because... well, for no other reason than because I like them that way), and updating both the online grade book, and my own personal grade book just in case the computer grades get erased (which they did a week before that, and I was very grateful for my ol' paper and pencil method). I even tried to pass those assignments back to the students for them to rework for 100% credit. I found most of them in the recycling bin. (At least they care about Mother Earth, if not about their grades.)

From what I've heard about student teaching, this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing. Luckily, I have no other reference points so I can't really be frustrated and am therefore not. Ok, maybe slightly.

en-nui
noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom: the lecture produced and unbearable ennui.

measuring cups

I teach seventh grade life science at a local public school.

Yesterday I attempted to demonstrate osmosis to the class by looking at a thin piece of red cabbage under a microscope (projecting to the class through video to the television) and letting salt water run through it using capillary action between the slide and cover slip (it's actually pretty cool and worth the time if you've got a spare microscope, slides, and cover slips at home).

I was having a bit of trouble getting the salt water to flow over the cabbage sample (by that capillary action I was telling you about) and, mildly frustrated, I let out a loud, yet controlled, "SCIENCE!".

And I thought, "Hmmm.... did I just do that? Yep-- yes I did. I did give a good 'Science!' just then..."

And I had to think fast to explain myself.

So I convinced my fourth period class that if you yell, "SCIENCE!" every now and again during a lab or experiment, you will find quicker results.

Soon thereafter, I heard one hesitant, "Science!"... then another, and before I knew it, several members of the class were cheering on the experiment with a "SCIENCE!" here and a "SCIENCE!" there.

And it was then that I realized that this teaching thing wasn't so bad.



semipermeable
|ˌsemēˈpərmēəbəl; ˌsemˌī-|
adjective
(of a material or membrane) allowing certain substances to pass through it but not others, esp. allowing the passage of a solvent but not of certain solutes.


but of course... you already knew that.

halloween candy taxes

What is your favorite Halloween tradition?

My older brothers used to make us pay taxes to them on our Halloween candy. That's right... TAXES! We used to try and get away with giving them Bottlecaps and root beer barrels, but we never got away with it. I remember one time having to give up a coveted Milkyway and really being peeved about it (darn taxes!). But it's actually quite a fond memory for me now. My older sister, younger brother, and I still in our costumes with our candy strewn out in front of us to make it easier to sort into piles of similar candies (whether it be by type or quality) and my brothers strolling in to evaluate our income. If they felt we had one too many excellent candy bars--you guessed it--we were taxed more heavily in that area. If not, they would pass your pile with a grunt of disapproval. In truth, it was the only time I was proud of the crappy candy I got.

I love Halloween.

how do you say Nastasya Fillipovna?

Right now I'm reading Dostoevsky's, The Idiot.

At first I thought I only liked Dostoevsky because I had the endurance to get through Crime & Punishment at the distracted age of 17 (I wasn't much into reading then). But after getting into this new book I think I have to say I like Dostoevsky. I do. I would go into a literary discussion about why exactly I like Dostoevsky, only I don't really know. Even now, I've written, "Perhaps it's the way he..." three times without successfully finishing that sentence.

I've heard that The Brothers Karamazov is one of Dostoevsky's best, but my book says The Idiot is "his masterpiece". And who can we trust if we can't trust the summary on the back of a book, eh?

Can anyone weigh in on this for me?

And now that I think of it, there is a picture that describes the reasons why I like Dostoevsky, but, again, I can't put words to it and for this I apologize. But here's the picture for what it's worth:

syn·es·the·sia:

-noun

a sensation produced in one modality when a stimulus is applied to another modality, as when the hearing of a certain sound induces the visualization of a certain color.

thee caken

i think we're almost to the top... no, really this time

Ok children, come gather around my big big big skirt, and I'll tell you a tale.

When I was young and naive, I used to think that I could go gallivanting about the open country with nothing to protect my weakly pink skin but the clothes on my back and the flimsy arm hair left to me after years of evolution and of course the consequences were sometimes dire.
I remember one particular occasion when I toasted my back after a day of body surfing at Huntington Beach. "It is cloudy..." I said. My logic was clearly poor (pronounced poo-er, a la Eric and now Trevor... has anyone noticed?) and I spent the rest of our vacation applying the cooling balm of alcohol free aloe and the like.
However, after years of maturation and growth I am pleased to report that I have since kept myself burn-free-- at least extreme burn-free-- until now.





It was a cool July morning when I woke up at the crack of dawn to travel to the base of Timpanogos mountain and attempt the 9 hour extravaganza to its peak and back. It was beautiful. Truly, after the last few wisps of the sleep demon had gone, I was glad that I was up where the sun had only come up "over there" and the mountains kept me cool and shaded. Ah, to hike.

And after four and 1/2 hours, we reached the summit.

Here's a view toward Heber where we waved to Dad (perhaps).

I was happy as a clam as we ate the traditional salami and cream cheese and contemplated the surrounding area below. Now, I fancy myself a fairly intelligent person, but on this day I neither proved nor provided evidence toward that fact. As I sat and feasted upon apples and granola bars I willingly forced the lingering feeling that I was getting burned (within an inch of my life) out of my mind*. I could feel it. I knew my skin was no match for the thinning atmosphere. But I decided to spend my time mapping out the valley below with my good friend instead of seeking the much needed (and scarce) shade.

On the way down we traversed the glacier and ventured to Emerald Lake where our two liters of water each ran dry and we met up with our friends, the mountain goats.

After leaving that lovely oasis, however, the hiking adrenaline began to wear off, and the fact that we were tired, thirsty, and--yes--burned to a crisp began to sink in.

As we descended I could feel the eyes of fellow hikers upon me. A couple brave souls even ventured a, "You've been out in the sun, missy!" and I would weakly smile in return, and mumble some lame comment about, "white skin" and "making mistakes". And about a half an hour to the bottom of the trail a friendly group of hikers offered me some sunscreen which I thankfully, and sheepishly, accepted.

After a week of pleasant convalescence (I know I don't have the luxury to tell you how truly awful the healing process was. Suffice it to say, after many days of swollen ankles, aloe, cold baths, and vinegar... I learned my lesson) I spent the next week and a half leaving a nice trail of peeling skin in my wake and repulsing all who associated with me ("I think there's skin in these chips..." and the like).

*Come to think of it, I must have known I was getting slowly toasted because I forgot to sign my name in the log at the top... no one will ever know I made it to the summit... ever... hmmm... I suppose I'll have to make this adventure again, this time with 30 SPF in hand.

my three friends...

... are picasso.

the little symbols of your devotion

Blogs are for posting and I seem to be doing less than my fair share.

This could be for one of many reasons, the first being that I'm reading the book Jane Eyre (for the first time... yes) and underlining every word that I need to look up, whether it be for the definition, or for history's sake. Either way, my book, Jane Eyre, is covered with small green marks. The pen (of which I was complimented by kel, which, for those who know her, is a real compliment) even sits contentedly inside my book as my bookmark. There are just so many words and I want to carefully analyze them all before I choose one to use in my posts. I often picture myself pulling out a brand new notebook (the non-spiral kind with what seems like super thin paper... these may only exist in my mind now that I think about it) and a wonderfully fresh pen and carefully logging each word and it's definition or explanation; kind of like that man in the library back home I'd see almost every day taking some sort of library resource book and colorfully logging it's contents in a notebook full of graph paper. I secretly envied that man and I never knew exactly why. Perhaps it was the way he seemed so genuinely occupied and happily busy in his endless task of copying data from one book to his own. To be so satisfied seemed so foreign. But I digress.

Another reason might be that I work in a warehouse. This is not a complaint. I work for a wonderfully respected establishment, with excellent superiors, and extremely entertaining coworkers one of whom is a mildly obsessive compulsive twenty-something who taught me how to rip a phone book in half today ("...then you take a firm hold... and... if you get it just right... for some reason it's not wanting to... well it's supposed to rip, right down the middle"). But honestly, I can just see a post entitled "The Ins and Outs of Shipping" where I detail my daily duties, the frustration of running out of certain box sizes, and the wounds I incur from the tape gun (is that what their called?). See, I'm already losing interest.

I went to a rodeo. They had the usual. I felt the usual pangs of animal activism. I let out an involuntary, "Yeeeehaw!" however, which both surprised and pleased me.

I also spend a lot of time thinking about my next huge I'm-an-adult-now task--being a teacher. Ok, I'm going to be a student teacher, but I find it not only daunting but consuming. So, I think about it of course. It's actually quite fruitless because I rarely get past, "Ok, I'm going to be a teacher... wait... I'm going to be teacher! I don't know anything about biology! And I'm going to have to teach it! Ok, I'm going to be a teacher... wait..." and so on. But you'd be surprised how much time that swallows up during these hot summer days.

And so my friends, at long last, my final reason. My chacos of seven years, while still showing minimal signs of wear and tear (though used almost daily since the day I purchased them) have now reached an outstandingly fetid personality and can hardly be taken out in public without embarrassment. I am saddened to the point of despondency and cannot update my blog because of it. Of course, it's not that sad, really. But I could sense that this post was lacking some drama.

My friends! We dance!

fet·id

adj.

having an offensive odor; stinking.