Teachers just don't understand.

One of the menial projects we were forced to complete in kindergarten involved the creation of an "All About Me" cut out. After having your outline traced onto a piece of butcher paper (which inevitably leaves everyone in the class looking like a frumpy white blob), and drawing clothes and features on with crayon, (I was ridiculed for using orange as my skin tone, but when we are only given the 8-pack of crayola there are not a lot of options. Most people left theirs white, which is far more lame.) we were forced through a stupid series of tests that would later appear on the body-shaped poster as a pseudo merit badge. Tying shoes, buttoning shirts, knowing the alphabet - we were all individually quizzed during nap time to make sure we were developing normally.

Velcro shoes and t-shirts got me through most of my trials, unfortunately I had a difficult time determining the difference between my right and left hand. To add insult to injury, my kindergarten teacher did not apprehend the importance of logic. Typically the pattern went something like this:

Teacher: Cliffy, do you want to come over here and work on your About Me?
Cliffy: Not particularly. I'm trying to take a nap.
Teacher: Cliffy, come over here.
(I pretend to be very sleepy and stumble over to the table, accidentally tripping over Molly and Whitney along the way.)
Ok. Now, hold up your hands and tell me which hand is your right hand.
Me: You mean, my correct hand?
Teacher: No, I mean your right hand, as opposed to your left hand.
Me: Wouldn't it be easier for you to ask which hand is my left hand? That way you wouldn't have to clarify.
Teacher: You are the only student I have to clarify for.
Me: Then maybe I am the only student who should be asked for my left hand instead of my right.
(I notice my teacher is getting annoyed, but have to keep going in hopes of getting a hint.)
Teacher: Ok, Cliffy. Which hand is your left hand?
Me: That's not fair, you asked everyone else to show their right hand.
Teacher: Just wave your left hand.
(I hesitate, think really hard about the last time we went through this, upbraid myself for napping while Matt was doing his hands...he always knows his hands...and wave my left hand - and also my other hand just a little bit, in case that is the one she is looking at.)
Teacher: Oh, I'm sorry. That is your right hand. We can try again tomorrow.
Me: Well, why don't we try again right now. Ask me to wave my right hand.
Teacher: (laughing) That wouldn't be fair, would it? You have to have time to forget.
Me: (not laughing) What's not fair is that you want me to forget. Shouldn't you be trying to help me remember? I'll never really need to know this anyway.
Teacher: What about when people are trying to give you directions?
Me: Most people point. I would know which one is my left hand if you would point at it.
(Dejected, I return to my mat...again.)

Eventually Matt Morris helped me cheat. For this I will be eternally grateful. To this day, I have a difficult time quickly identifying my left from my right hand...and to be honest, I'm glad. Serves her right.

p90x

Blogging is hard...for me.

Whereas I constantly have things I think are important enough for everyone to know, I rarely have the patience or attention span to write them down.

You know what else is hard? The first day of p90x. Which, for me, was today.

I should start by saying, I hate working out. I think it is stupid and typically a waste of time. However, since I first heard about p90x I have wanted to do it. I know, I know - it is very difficult and requires extreme amounts of dedication...which isn't exactly my forte. But looking amazing is...and as I was recently reminded, "sometimes we must sacrifice comfort for beauty."

As I sit here on my yoga mat, in my briefs, dripping sweat on my MacBook, I can't help but think ...this was a very stupid idea.

Stay tuned. 90 days yet to come.

My Pomade Smells.

I have, for the past ~10 years, been in search of the perfect scent. One that really captures my essence. I have tried a few out, but have yet to be truly content with one that I can wear for the rest of my life. Most of the contenders are either too sweet or too fruity...neither of which are words I wish to be associated with my presence.

As I am preparing for a life in the medical profession, I realize it is more important than ever to find something that really sets me apart. My family doctor always has, and likely always will, hold the title of "Best Smelling Person I Know." Since I have known him (he delivered me) he has continued to impress me - whether it is on the football field (he was the team doctor), at Mi Ranchito (where it is difficult to distinguish many scents above the bliss) or the delivery room (I still hold to remembering the smell at birth) - he never lets me down. I want to do the same for my patients for years to come.

Currently, my deodorant is coming the closest to ideal - though I have yet to start rubbing it all over my body. And my old surf wax actually got some good compliments - when people happened to be near my head.

However, this will not do. My new pomade is sick. Sick, sick, sick. It smells like cheap rubber, burning.

Needless to say - I will be returning this crap to Walgreens.

Levya

This post contains vulgar and profane language. RAYOR

This past weekend I received a text message from an unknown number...it seemed important, and I didn't want to leave the person hanging...so I responded.

What follows is a transcript of the conversation - not suitable for adults.


Unknown: you made my prom shit nasty ho you stay way from darnell he only like u cuz u weak

Me: bitch, i don’t know what u talkin about

Uk: oh u know don’t pop da cherry if you aint ready to drink ta juice

Me: i dunno. Darnell like doing both 2 me

Uk: o girl this caints be u the ho don’t blame tis on darnell

Me: girl jus cuz u like the taste of his juice don mean u should b a bitch 2 me

Uk: u want to go where you at

Me: im waitin 4 darnell 2 come pick me up when he done wit u

Uk: fur real where you at i coming

Me: i not gonna tell u cuz id feel bad for messin u up

Uk: u know who my cuzin is dont you

Me:

Uk: wait tis aint krina who is dis

Me: who dis?

Uk: levya

Me: o. oops. Wrong girl.

Uk: actually this is [a mischievous married couple I know] – we’re sitting in the airport trying to pass time. Thanks for your help

Josh Pastner...

...is obviously an Affleck brother...

Ok. I'm done with these for now.

Elvis Presley...

...looks like Elizabeth Taylor...

I'm just saying, if things hadn't worked out for him the legitimate music industry, he could have made a killing as an impersonator.

More words

Just a small FYI. I am simply sick of having to think when I type. I am constantly caught in error concerning "a lot" and "no one."

"A lot," I am going to let go of. I am pretty good at just avoiding the phrase all together, there are much better words that can replace it.

However, "no one" is up for a remodel. When writing, I have allowed myself to combine the words, noone, but in speaking this leads to confusion. Fortunately, I have friends who find themselves in the same proverbial (or adverbial) boat. It was recently suggested to me that a slight modification could turn the silly sounding mistake, to a usefully unique word: "nooner."

I have posted this so that in any future posts it will be clear what I am referring to should I discuss, "nooner showing up for the free sai lessons," or, "my intelligence seemed to be surpassed by nooner."

I appreciate your consideration, and do not discourage your implementation.