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Who does that??

19 Sep

So one of those dear newly-befriendeds sent me a thank you note for accepting her friend request. I’m thinking she might notice if I suddenly drop her–will have to go with the hide/block for now.

But seriously, a thank you note? I’m trying to decide if that’s incredibly sweet or incredibly creepy. I think I know which direction I’m leaning.

Where the frick am I??

1 Mar

Do you ever find yourself wondering if you’ve been transported to another planet—one that at first seems exactly like Earth with all of the same places and all of the same people, only then you start to notice that something about these humanoid lifeforms is just a little off and then more than a little and then all of a sudden you’re thinking, “Where the frick am I?? Who the frick are these…people?!?”

That’s how I felt last week when I stumbled on a Toddlers & Tiaras marathon.  I watched four consecutive episodes.  Chuck was so disgusted, he had to walk away, but I was hypnotized.  By the horror.

Sweet.  Mother. 

Is commentary really necessary?  I’m thinking we’re all on the same page here.  We’re on the same page, and these other humanoid lifeforms are not even in the library (or some other place one might expect to find something with a page or something even resembling a page).

And I have to show you this…

so you can better appreciate this…

…the most hilarious thing I’ve seen all month.

Happy March!

Making me laugh this morning

23 Nov

*On my Comcast home page:

I’m not sure I understand.  Is there supposed to be some kind of implied warning here?  Get educated or end up like this?  Or with this?  Are they trying to say Jesus told Obama to ask moms to return to school?  Explain please.

 

*A good bloggy friend of mine, WoobDog, shared this link with me today:

amazon.com

In case you haven’t already seen this, you have to read the reviews to reach full enjoyment potential.

A few of my favorites:

16,467 of 16,618 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars Dual Function Design, November 10, 2008
By B. Govern “Bee-Dot-Govern” (New Jersey, USA) – See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)

This item has wolves on it which makes it intrinsically sweet and worth 5 stars by itself, but once I tried it on, that’s when the magic happened. After checking to ensure that the shirt would properly cover my girth, I walked from my trailer to Wal-mart with the shirt on and was immediately approached by women. The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to ‘howl at the moon’ from time to time (if you catch my drift!). The women that approached me wanted to know if I would be their boyfriend and/or give them money for something they called mehth. I told them no, because they didn’t have enough teeth, and frankly a man with a wolf-shirt shouldn’t settle for the first thing that comes to him.

I arrived at Wal-mart, mounted my courtesy-scooter (walking is such a drag!) sitting side saddle so that my wolves would show. While I was browsing tube socks, I could hear aroused asthmatic breathing behind me. I turned around to see a slightly sweaty dream in sweatpants and flip-flops standing there. She told me she liked the wolves on my shirt, I told her I wanted to howl at her moon. She offered me a swig from her mountain dew, and I drove my scooter, with her shuffling along side out the door and into the rest of our lives. Thank you wolf shirt.

Pros: Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women
Cons: Only 3 wolves (could probably use a few more on the ‘guns’), cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.

 

1 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
Chuck Norris Owns One, November 21, 2009
By John M. Simmons “Outlaw Programmer” (Guarding the Texas Border) – See all my reviews

How do I know? I gave him a Mountain Men’s Three Wolf Moon Short Sleeve Tee after I kicked his a*s so that he could at least LOOK like more of a man instead of standing there – bleeding.

 

496 of 507 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars Video Proof of the Shirts Power!, May 27, 2009
By D. Drury “Three Wolf Man” (Haines, AK United States) – See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)

The Three Wolf Moon shirts power is obvious. This video is living proof that you will get women, and fly. Most importantly my son was born without bones and when I put this shirt on him he grew bones. Don’t ask me how it happened but the magic is there. I wish I could hug the designer of this shirt and thank them for everything they have done for my family.

 

Some not so happy customers:

1,725 of 1,869 people found the following review helpful:
I think some of the benefits are exagerrated, May 8, 2009
By Go Down, Moses (Austin, Texas) – See all my reviews

So I got this wolf shirt because of, you know, the sweet wolves on it.

However, having owned this shirt for three weeks now and having tried it out in a variety of situations, both formal and informal, I’m beginning to believe that some of the benefits —- as described by other reviewers —- are exaggerated. For example, not ONE supermodel has approached me. Some of you may be used to having supermodels approach you on a regular basis but, believe me, I am not: I would notice one should she appear in my vicinity.

Similarly, I have not been invited to a vision quest, even though I wore my wolf shirt in New Mexico.

There is one thing, though, and that is that whenever I wear the wolf shirt I have a lot less issues with involuntary urination. I have not studied it long enough, however, to establish a cause/effect relationship.

Once, however, while wearing the wolf shirt I was mistaken for Schneider, the building superintendent on “One Day at a Time.”

So I guess the jury is still out.

 

127 of 145 people found the following review helpful:
Defective!!!, May 21, 2009
By Matthew D. Shanahan – See all my reviews

I ordered this shirt for my brother’s birthday and it only had TWO wolves on it. When I called Amazon customer service they informed me that the third wolf was on back order. They said the could ship me out another moon, but that would make for a ridiculous t-shirt.

I recommend staying away from this one.

 

What’s making you laugh lately?

Thanks for the chuckles, Woob!

Only in my dreams

17 Nov

So the other night I had this dream that was so bizarre that I felt compelled to write it all down when I woke up.

I was taking a road trip with three other gals in a car.  I didn’t recognize them.  Well, in my dream I must have known them, but I can’t think of who they would be in real life.  The girl driving the car was lesbian.  I had a very distinct feeling she was interested in me.  Very interested.  There were two more girls in back.  I don’t know what their “interests” were.  I was sitting in the front passenger seat with bags of leftover Halloween candy on the floor.  I remember thinking we were almost out of the good stuff, so I was glad that the bags were by me.  We were driving down the road at night.

I don’t know where we were planning to go, but the friend driving (who I was pretty sure was crushing on me–majorly crushing) had to make a stop along the way to return her Halloween costume.  She had been a sexy pirate wench, but when we got to the costume place, the costume she returned was not a sexy pirate wench.  It was a flesh colored furry body suit with a hat/mask that looked like the guy from Fat Albert who had the long stocking cap pulled over most of his head, only instead of being a stocking cap, it looked like it was made out of banana peels.  The dude at the costume place was trying to pick up on her, which I thought was funny since she was a lesbian and totally not interested, if you know what I mean.

As we were walking back to the car from the costume place, I was trying to decide how I should tell my lesbian friend I did not return her feelings.  I did not want to embarrass her in front of our other two friends, but I wasn’t sure how wise it would be to ask to be with her alone.  I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea or false hope or anything.  I wanted to let her down easy so we could still be friends.  For some reason, it was taking us a long time to walk back to our car.  We had to go up a flight of stairs and through a field.  While walking through the field, I spotted a small, ceramic house sitting on the ground.  I pointed at it and said, “Oh look!”  My friends all stopped to look, but I kept walking.

When I finally got to the car, it was parked in some kind of RV campground with RVs and trailers and stuff.  I caught an Asian girl burying the tires of our car in dirt.  I thought, “What the?”  I mean, what the H was she doing burying our car tires??  It looked like the car was up on some kind of embankment, and I decided I needed to pull it down so we could get out of there.

I unburied the tires then got down from the embankment to pull the car down from behind.  Only when I started pulling the car down, it was no longer a car, but a picnic table (like others scattered around this RV campground) covered with art projects and little tubs of paint and paint brushes.  This eccentric, middle-aged artist-type lady came up to me and said that our little tubs of paint were inadequate to finish our art projects, but that she had some in her trailer that she would gladly let us use.

I followed her into her trailer and she went into another room while I looked around.  She had a shelf of stuffed animals she had made out of yarn pom poms.  I leaned in to admire one particularly life-like siamese cat yarn pom pom stuffed animal and was just about to tell the eccentric middle-aged artist lady how impressed I was with her handiwork, when the cat suddenly jumped out, scaring the crap out of me.

Then I woke up.

What could it mean?  Do I want to take a road trip?  Dress up as a furry banana peel head next Halloween?  Become an artist?

Do I subconsciously distrust Asians?

Could I be a lesbian??  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

What are you dreaming of lately?

Things to scratch off the bucket list

13 Nov

#381: See Scar do a double axel in spandex.

 

IMG_2691

 

IMG_2692

 

I wasn’t prepared.

Second notice

21 Apr

Oh Jorge, Jorge.  Is there no end to your social ineptitude?

My husband received (via Facebook) a second “invitation” to contribute to the groom’s gift for the bride:

Subject: Help for my Wedding Surprise

Dear Friend,
As you may know I am getting married soon. Elektra is a wonderful young woman who is everything I’ve ever wanted. Because of my current circumstances I am unable to buy her a nice wedding gift. I am writing this to see, if possible, if a few of you can donate just $10 to us so that I can buy her something nice.

If you can, please go to (some website) and donate just $10 so that I can have something nice for her to enjoy. On the site just put in (some number) as our registry number and then using a Credit card you can donate.

I want to thank you all in advance for your generous help. You have all been great friends to Elektra and I.
Thanks,
Jorge

Sound familiar?  Yeah, basically it’s just a condensed, cut-to-the-chase version of the first e-mail.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and say he probably hasn’t had the response he’d hoped for.  He’s coming off a little desperate.  I’m halfway tempted to go to the stupid website and add $0.01 to his account, but there’s probably a minimum amount you can charge to a credit card, and there are limits to the lengths I will go to thumb my nose at someone—even someone as deserving as our friend Jorge.

I predict the next e-mail will say, “I want my ten dollars!”  We’ll never know if I’m right, though, as Chuck has had enough and unfriended him today.  I only wish he’d thought to send him a parting piece of flair:

shun-flair

No solicitors please

14 Apr

My husband forwarded me this message he got from a Facebook “friend” (names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty):

Subject: Wedding Surprise Help!?!

Dear Friends of Jorge & Elektra,
As many of you may know I am getting married soon. Elektra is a wonderful young woman who is everything I’ve ever wanted. Because of my current circumstances I am unable to buy her a nice wedding gift. I am writing this to see, if possible, if any of you can donate just $10 to us so that I can buy her the thing that she wants most. The thing she wants is a nice Kitchen Aid Mixer. She loves to bake and cook in the kitchen but without the right tools she get frustrated, so I wanted to get this for her as a wedding gift.

If you can, please go to (website) and donate just $10 so that I can have something nice for her to enjoy after we come back from the honeymoon. On the site just put in (a number) as our registry number and then using a Credit card you can donate.

I want to thank you all in advance for your generous help. You have all been great friends to Elektra and I.
Thanks,
Jorge

p.s. Don’t let Elektra know about this email. I want it to be a surprise.

A little background: Jorge was a missionary who served in our area a few years back.  Chuck served in our church congregation as mission leader for several years, so he has a few former missionaries as Facebook friends.  So we kind of know him.  Actually, one time when Chuck was giving this Elder and his companion a ride home after eating dinner at our house, he pulled out his camera and took a picture of DynaGirl in her carseat (she was three at the time).  Chuck thought that was kind of odd, but whatever.  Then the next time he goes to pick up the Elders from their apartment, he sees that this Elder has that picture of DynaGirl framed on his desk.  Super odd!  And creepy!  We didn’t know what we were supposed to do about that, and then he was transferred to a different area before we made up our minds.

Does anyone else find this more than a little tacky or is it just me?  See, my eyes read that, but my mind sees:

Subject: Wedding Surprise Help!?!

Dear Friends of Jorge & Elektra,
As many of you may know I am getting married soon. (For those of you who didn’t know it’s because you’re not invite-worthy.  But you’re certainly “can you give us a handout since we’re such good friends” worthy.) Elektra is a wonderful young woman who is everything I’ve ever wanted. (See, she is really deserving.)  Because of my current circumstances I am unable to buy her a nice wedding gift. (I’ve blown all my money on pyramid schemes and video games.)  I am writing this to see, if possible, if any of you can donate just $10 to us so that I can buy her the thing that she wants most.  (I need to sweeten the deal a bit.)  The thing she wants is a nice Kitchen Aid Mixer. She loves to bake and cook in the kitchen but without the right tools she get frustrated (that’s what he said), so I wanted to get this for her as a wedding gift. (Don’t just give us a gift, help me buy a gift that I can put my name on and get all the credit for.)

If you can, please go to (website) and donate just $10 (just the price of two lattes, you selfish b*******) so that I can have something nice for her to enjoy after we come back from the honeymoon. (She’s probably going to need some consolation.) On the site just put in (a number) as our registry number and then using a Credit card you can donate. (No personal checks, please)

I want to thank you all in advance for your generous help. You have all been great friends to Elektra and I. (Great friends give money.)
Thanks,
Jorge (Prince of Nigeria)

p.s. Don’t let Elektra know about this email. I want it to be a surprise.  (I don’t want Elektra to know it isn’t from me.  Plus she’d be totally mortified if she knew I was panhandling on the internets.)

Apparently, it’s snarky Tuesday.  Wow, sometimes I think I’m really not a very nice person.  That’ll teach Jorge to ask for a favor when it’s that time of the month.  Don’t mind me.  Just go about your business in your usual generous, compassionate way while I slather on the SPF 5000.

Adventures in birthday-partying

17 Nov

Have you ever been offered hard liquor at two in the afternoon at a 7 year-old’s birthday party?  Yeah, me neither.  Until Saturday.

So Friday Goose comes home all excited because she’s been invited to her not-so-secret crush’s (we’ll call him B) birthday party the next day.  She hands me the invitation.  It’s a scrap of notebook paper with an address, date and time.  She says B’s mother handed it to her personally, so I figure it’s probably legit.  She adores the birthday boy, so I don’t see how I can get out of taking her to this one.  On Saturday we go to B’s house.  It’s in a decent neighborhood, the house is well-kept, and the parents seem like normal, responsible adults, so I’m not too worried. 

There’s only one other guest–another little boy from Goose’s class.  It’s a pretty low-key party.  They just expected the kids to play.  I’m a little surprised at the number of birthday parties that do not include any sort of organized games or activities.  I’m beginning to think I’m kind of a freak about the birthday parties as the ones I throw always have something going on.  But I think that’s mostly because I’m afraid to just let the kids run loose or get bored.  In my experience, bored kids can be dangerous.

Anyway, every 20 minutes or so B’s mom says to your husband “Where’s Crazy Grandma?  Why isn’t she here yet?”  Crazy Grandma?  They explain it’s the nickname they’ve given his mom.  I’m thinking this must be a fun lady—the life of the party—to have earned such a name.  Finally about an hour and a half into the party, Crazy Grandma shows up.  She drives up in a big ol’ truck and comes to a near shrieking halt at the end of the driveway.  And she’s brought a “friend” who I suspect is actually a “life partner”.  Though no-one specifically spells that out, it’s seems pretty obvious.  But hey, that’s cool.  Crazy Grandma has a girlfriend–no big deal.

Crazy Grandma comes bearing gifts–grocery sacks filled with all kinds of packages wrapped in Christmas wrap and newspaper.  She chucks most of them on the floor of the garage (that’s where the party was), and then takes the last bag filled with cylindrical newspaper wrapped items into the house.  She comes back out with a tall glass of somekind of non-carbonated brown liquid on ice and proceeds to introduce herself.  I tell her I’m Goose’s mother and she says, “Oh, the girlfriend!”  Pardon?  Apparently, B’s family gets even more of an earful about Goose than we do about B.  I knew that there was a mutual affection there, but it was still a little disconcerting to have my 6 year-old be referred to as the “girlfriend” by Crazy Grandma.

Crazy Grandma is a lovely woman.  Very lively.  Very friendly.  A very gracious and attentive hostess even at someone else’s home.  About 2 minutes into our conversation she says, “Can I get you a drink?  I have some vodka in the house.”  I politely decline and then instantly feel like I’ve been transported into some kind of alternate reality.  Is this normal?  The service of hard liquor at 1st graders’ birthday parties?  I don’t have a lot of friends who drink, so I’m wondering is it just me or is being offered vodka at a kid’s birthday party at 2 pm not totally whacked?

I don’t think I see much of a long-term future for this Goose and B romance.

What did you do this weekend?

I’m grateful, but I still don’t like you

4 Sep

Yesterday DynaGirl came home with her first homework assignment for third grade.

Dear Parents,

This year I am going to live as a writer.  I am bringing home my writer’s notebook to decorate the covers as homework this evening.  I can use copies of pictures, stickers, scrapbooking paper, magazine pictures, or anything that is flate, tells something about me and is important to me.  I can put clear contact paper over the covers to protect my pictures, if I want to.

My teacher shared her writer’s notebook with me today and she explained how the items on the notebook were important to her.  She also told me that I can jot down ideas (or story seeds) in my notebook.  We are starting a unit on personal narratives, which means that we are writing about things that have really happened in our lives.

Whenever I bring my writer’s notebook home, it is becase I have homework in it.  I will not write entire stories in my notebook, but I will get down some ideas that I might want to write more about in class.

Any way, could you please help me gather some items that I can put on my notebook?  I need to decorate it tonight.  I want to be proud of the work I do and I need to bring it back to school to share in the morning.  I am not ever supposed to leave my writer’s notebook at home.

Here are a couple of example.  (Two pictures of students holding they’re notebooks up that you can clearly see.)

Thank you,

Ms. V

 

I can already tell I am going to love this teacher (despite the fact that she started out the letter as one of the kids and then signed her own name).  There is nothing more frustrating as a parent than dealing with vague homework instructions.  OK, there are probably a few things more frustrating, but this is definitely a pet peeve of mine.  I can’t tell you how many times my kids have been almost completely clueless when it comes to a specific project or assignment.  I ask for details and the response is inevitably, “I don’t know.  Maybe.  I don’t remember.  She didn’t say.  I don’t think we have to worry about it.”  But I always worry about it.  This teacher thoroughly explains the assignment, what is expected and suggests how to accomplish it.  She tells me exactly what this notebook will be used for in very specific terms and even makes it clear where this notebook should be (school/home).  And she provides examples!  In color!  I love it!  Plus, it just sounds like a great idea.

So DynaGirl and I spent all afternoon on this thing, leafing through magazines, cutting out pictures, printing stuff out on the computer, arranging, pasting, etc.  I do not keep a supply of clear contact paper in my crafty bag of tricks (aka the laundry room), and while the teacher said that the clear contact paper cover was optional, it occurred to me that glue-stick and magazine cutouts and frequently handled notebooks was not a recipe for durability, so I decided to make a quick run to the store. 

I headed to my friendly neighborhood Freddy’s because it’s conveniently close, and there’s always the possibility I might run into Jananne (I did give her another chance and she has not let me down—yet).  I searched high and low in Freddy’s for clear contact paper.  They didn’t appear to have any, so I looked around for laminating sheets.  They didn’t appear to have any of those either.  I headed up to the customer service desk just to make sure they didn’t have some stashed some place that had never occurred to me to check.  The gal said, “I don’t know.  I guess if we had some they’d either be in (the first place I checked) or (the second place I checked).”  She didn’t know.  And didn’t offer to try to find out.  Customer service my…

We do have a Staples, but it’s across town and it was already 8:30 pm and I really needed to get home to get the kids in bed.  I had one other option—a last resort I don’t usually bother to even entertain the idea of using unless I’m seriously desperate.  Seriously.  I’m speaking, of course, of Kmart.  The Big K.  As in Krapfest.  I hate Kmart.  Despise.  Detest.  Loathe.  I don’t know what it is exactly about that store that so disgusts me.  Maybe it’s the haphazard stocking of aisles (not shelves, aisles) with random wares.  Maybe it’s the lack of prices on 75% of their goods.  Maybe it’s the fact the Kmart is more expensive than more desirable places to shop.  Maybe it’s the distinct Kmarty smell—a moth balls meets body odor meets picked up fast food in my car three days ago but the ghost of crappy meals past lingers on kind of smell.    I don’t know.  I just don’t like it.

But I was a woman on a mission—a mission to safely encase her daughter’s customized writer’s notebook in a protective cocoon of clear contact paper.  And flip-dee-dippin’-hurray, what do you know?  Kmart had what I needed.  I checked in office supplies first thing, and found a 10 pack of single-sided 8 1/2×11 laminating sheets perfectly suited for the protection of my daughter’s notebook.  It was a Krapfest miracle.  I paid for my item and got the hell out of there.  (Incidentally, the woman ahead of me was purchasing a padded toilet seat.  I hadn’t realized that they still sold padded toilet seats.  A beige padded toilet seat with pink roses with mint green leaves.  She had the toilet seat and a small package of trash liners.  Who goes to Kmart at 9 o’clock at night to buy a padded toilet seat?  Who buys a padded toilet seat?!)

Long story short, Kmart had what I needed and I breathed a sigh of grateful relief and then vowed (again) never to return.  Because I hate you Kmart.  Yes, I’m grateful, but I still don’t like you.

Honor, my Great Aunt Fanny!

10 Jun

Last night was Mr. T’s honor roll awards recognition night at his middle school.  He is just finishing up his sixth grade year.  He doesn’t usually care about stuff like this, but it was his first one so I thought it would be nice to check it out.  Originally we were going to take the whole family, but with BigHugs not feeling well and passed out on the couch we decided I would just take Mr. T and Chuck would stay home with the girls.

We live about 2 minutes away from the school by car, so with the event starting at 7 pm I thought leaving at 6:50 pm would be plenty of time.  Plus I figured how many people would be at this thing anyway?  When we arrived at the school, the parking lot was practically full.  We wondered if there was something else going on at the school on the same night—surely all these people weren’t here for the honor roll thing.  Oh, but they were!

The gym was packed and when I looked at the program we were handed at the door, I understood why.  There were 6 pages full of students to get awards!  They were giving out awards for the students who had made honor roll first semester and the students who made honor roll in the third quarter.  The program was divided by grade and further divided by grade point average and then by semester/quarter.   They had three grade point average categories:  4.0, 3.5-3.99, and 3.0-3.49.  So everyone with a 3.0 average or above made honor roll and they were all getting certificates that night.

The program opened with the pledge of allegiance and the school choir singing the national anthem and then a few words from the principal and then a “stirring” rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings by a sweet girl who forced me to channel my inner-Simon and think “I don’t think you’re nearly as good as you think you are”.  Then the vice principal got up to thank all those who had helped in planning and preparing for the evening because it had been quite an undertaking as there were some six hundred certificates to pass out that night.  Six freaking hundred?!  There are only 1000 students in the whole school!  Six hundred of them made the honor roll?!

And here’s where I’ll surely offend someone—since when does a 3.0 land you on an honor roll?  No offense to those B average students.  A 3.0 is a very respectable grade point average—good for you!  You should be proud of yourselves.  I’m sure many of those students worked very hard for those grades.  And not to take away from their accomplishment, but I’m also pretty sure just as many got there with very little effort.  I mean, it’s middle school.

So what exactly is the purpose of these recognition nights?  How meaningful can this honor really be when you’re more likely to be recognized than not?  And what was with the cheesy certificates?  They also recognized the top 6 students from a “how many pages can you read in a three month period of time” contest.  They received certificates with a gold seal in a gold-embossed black cover.  The honor roll certificates were printed out on plain old cardstock from one of the school’s computers and were bordered with paw prints (the school’s mascot is a timberwolf).  Although, obviously if you’re giving out 600 certificates, you can’t do anything special.

Twenty minutes into the program they began handing out the certificates.  They started with the 4.0’s.  There were 13 eighth graders, two seventh graders and 11 sixth graders who had 4.0’s, and only five of these had 4.0’s for the entire year, including Mr. T.  (Yes, I am bragging just a bit, but hey, being one of five students out of a school of 1000 to get perfect grades for the year is a noteworthy accomplishment, right?)  Then they moved onto the 3.5-3.99 category.  It was 7:30 pm and they were just finishing up with the 7th graders for this category from 1st semester.  Next they would do the sixth graders and then they would go back to the 8th graders for this category for 3rd quarter and then to the 7th graders again and so on.  Mind you, they still had all those to do plus all three grades from first semester and third quarter who had a 3.0-3.49!

I could feel the life draining out of me (and my butt—Holy cow those bleachers are uncomfortable!).  I turned to Mr. T and said, “We’ve got to make a run for it.”  We looked around—the bleachers were packed and we were sitting at the opposite end of the gym from the exit.

Mr. T:  But what about all these people we’d have to climb over?  We’ll never make it.

Me:  We’ve got to try.  We can’t stay here.  As soon as this group goes to sit down, make a run for it.  You go first.  I’ll be right behind you.

Mr. T:  But what if you can’t get through?  What if you get stuck?

Me:  Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be OK.  Whatever you do, don’t look back.  Just keep going.  If we get separated, I’ll meet you at the car, OK?  Just stick to the plan.

All of the 7th graders with a 3.5-3.99 first semester started to sit down.

Me:  Go, go, go!

Mr. T and Me:  Pardon me.   Excuse me.  Sorry.

We almost took out a kid’s head on the way down and nearly sent a lady’s purse flying, but we made it to the gym floor.

Me:  Walk.  Just keep walking.

The exit was blocked by all the people who had arrived late and didn’t have a place to sit.  I caught one lady’s eye and she looked at me knowingly and opened the door.  “Thank you,” I mouthed.  “You’re welcome,” she said quietly with a mixture of compassion and bitter envy.  I wanted to ask her to come with us, but when I noticed her kid didn’t have a certificate yet, I just couldn’t ask her to make that choice.

We pulled out of the parking lot at 7:35 pm, and all I could think of as we drove off was, “See ya, suckahs!”

Six. hundred. certificates.  Ridiculous, right?