We're funnier than I'm allowed to say.

Our book club scribe posted our quotes from the last meeting. I cannot post most of them here, what with all the professionalism, but I will share a few of appropriate ones.

-"Hagrid! I call Hagrid!" (Jodi, when discussing who would dress up as which book character for Ski to Sea)

-"I wish I had a younger sibling to torture. Would it be bad if I tortured my kids?" (Kris)

-"My brother once gave me a paintball and told me it was a gumball." (Kris, which explains her psychological state evident in the previous quote)

-"I believe... horses can talk." (One of Jodi's students)

For further proof of Kris's desire to inflict pain, I have included this photographic evidence of Kris trying to hit me with the giant pencil.

Breakfast cereal

Oh Muesli
You're so fine
You're so fine you blow my mind
Hey Muesli
Hey Muesli

Scooter Season!

I would take my Panda everywhere.

Overheardinmiddleschool.com (if there were one)

Teacher: Okaaay, who's in the "Axis of Evil"?
Student: Marcus!



Please note that the teacher was asking about the Axis of Evil not to spread silly propaganda, but rather to address some perceptions we have of Iran.

Oh, and guess what else! The students were researching Iran a little TOO seriously last week; Homeland Security called the school district to investigate.

Weirdencountersinmiddleschool.com (if there were one)

Today, the eighth-graders decided to talk about gleeking. All day. One believed that his friend created the word.

But that's not as funny as the kid who humped the door.

Barbara Kingsolver and adult beluga

Barbara Kingsolver is the sea star of my touch tank, the flying duckling of my Planet Earth. No one can write like the Kings. I'm reading a collection of her essays right now, High Tide in Tucson, and just a few minutes ago, "Civil Disobedience at Breakfast" made me guffaw alone on the couch. Here is a supershort excerpt that is out of context, but will still rock some gooey sections of your brain:

When my mother is canonized, I will testify that she really did sit through a hundred virtually identical productions, staged by my siblings and me, of the play titled approximately "The Dutch Boy Who Saved His Town By Putting His Finger in the Hole in the Dike." I have no idea why we did this. It seems truly obsessive.

Yes, Barby Barb gets billions of points for making my heartless self laugh, and then several billion more points for inspiring this Kingsolver obsession. I've always wanted to be one of those people who goes out and reads everything by a certain author. (Ok, in high school, I went out and read everything by J.D. Salinger, but word on the street is he's a creepy alcoholic. Thus, I decree that high school author obsessions don't count. Same with high school friends and high school pants.)

If I were Barbara Kingsolver, I would end this post with eloquence and humor. But I'm not Barbara Kingsolver, not even a little bit. So, I will end with this beluga:

Cookie Haiku (say it aloud!)

Snickerdoodles, woot!
Delicious, Cinnamony,
But without a home.

30-minute meals > 30-minute biographies

VH1 does "Behind the Music" instead of "Behind the Food" because chefs are boring. Here are some details I learned about Rachael Ray in an unriveting "Chefography" episode:

-When Boo, Rachael Ray's pit bull, died, it was one of the saddest times of her life.
-It should have only taken Rachael and her mom four hours to get to the set of The Today Show, but it was snowing, so it took seven hours.
-Rachael Ray paid $575 a month for her cabin. She rented to own.

I have nothing against Ms. Ray, although I would have appreciated an opium addiction or something to spice up the biography. Healthy, stable people shouldn't be on television.

Pwning the dance floor.

Ocassionally, I want to watch Montell Jordan sing "This is How We Do It," but I can't because he's washed up somewhere. Maybe Reno or Hoboken. Fortunately, Space Band fills this Montell Jordan void.

Thanks, Space Band. You da bomb.

Guitar Hero is the new Cribbage.

Someone at NPR says the gaming industry is stunting men's personal growth and maturity.

Haircut, with decent swoop.

Here I am at 7:24 AM. Self-portraits are a better use of my time than driving to school, donating money to charity, picking up fancy cat food for Abraham Lincoln, etc.

SASSY soccer mom, monk, language arts teacher.

One of my classmates told me my new haircut looked "sassy." I think it's because of the swoop. Yesterday, Friendly Hairstylist didn't swoop it. This morning, Friendly Me DID swoop it. Apparently, a simple hair swoop adds a lot of sass.

In alphabetical order.

I love these people a lot:
-Bro
-Ma
-Oats

Birthday News

The haircut. Hm. It is a mix between soccer mom, monk, and Language Arts teacher. Hm, again. Too short.

But the shoes! Oh, geeze! There was a colorful shop next to BabaLouise called The Sneakery so, of course, I explored it. Any store that is a noun with a "y" added at the end deserves my business. (Examples: The Printery, The Murdery, The Beefy.)

I stroll in, peruse the merchandise, and laugh with/at the salesfolks. We discuss educator shoes and my birthday. I finally select coffee/honey-mustard KangaROOS that, yes, boast a wee pocket! (What will I put in there?!?)

But it gets better. As I was finalizing the financial irresponsibility, the friendly, hipster saleslady said, "Pick some socks! It's your birthday, so pick some free socks!" We were choosing between plaid and hearts when the friendly, hipster salesguy hollered, "Apples! Because you're going to be a teacher!" (He knew this because I told them, not because of my Language Arts teacher haircut.)

So now I have a too-short hair, comfortable shoes with a wee pocket, and light blue knee socks dotted with tiny apples.

Happy birthday, me!

If I worked at a boring seismic station, I'd have time to write this awesome lead, too.

Did you know the Discovery Channel could be hilarious? Because it can.

A subtle and mysterious global hum has been detected by seismologists studying records from Earth's most boring seismic stations.

This was undoubtedly written as a special gift to me.

I will save minutes, MINUTES!, blowdrying.

Today, I am 22. As a 22-year-old, I've had lots of bad haircuts.

Tomorrow, I am 23. As a 23-year-old, I will have lots of good haircuts. I am being proactive about this: BabaLouise, 5:00.

I will not look like this:


But I will wear that little bell around my neck.

I will argue this, and you will only get half.

A cruel parking attendant gave me a $60 parking ticket on Friday. My violation? "Parking in a reserved spot." Ok, that is true, I did park in a reserved spot, but it wasn't like I did any harm. I was sharing it with a boat trailer that was already crammed in it. I made one parking spot into two. They should pay me $60.

That is why I am angry with The Man.

Half truth

So, I'm pretty bruised.

Bruise Reason #1: Friday, I cross-country skied for the first time in my life. Don't let anyone make you think that cross-country skiing is flat. It's not. And even if it were, you'd still fall a little.

Bruise Reason #2: My Grizzly Bear best friend and I had a few thumb wars. Bear can't understand English, and even if he could, he can't count, so he kept jumping the "1-2-3-4, I declare a thumb war," gun and beating me up with his bear paws.

Even though I don't like Brits

I love Mary Poppins. Here is how I am just like her:

-Rosy cheeks. No warts. You might not actually notice the rosy cheeks on her, but they must be there because that is one of the requirements Jane and Michael had when they sang that "What We Want in a Nanny" song at the beginning.

-"Ah ha HA ha ha" laugh. I intentionally adopted this. It is so expressive!

-Practically perfect in every way. Unlike Mary Poppins, I do not have a measuring tape to prove this. However, I don't think anyone would disagree.

-Ownership of an umbrella that is part talking parrot. You thought you knew everything about me, but clearly you don't. My umbrella that is part talking parrot is far less sassy than Mary's.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go snap at my laundry so it will fold itself and fly neatly into the drawers.

Cute Overload does it again.

This is an exciting story about stairs, sweat, and a bus.

As you know, Pumpkin, seven book clubbers and I have a Ski to Sea team. Like my pals, I have been trying to use the next six weeks to get in shape for the race. My routine includes twisty sit-ups, the elliptical machine, and only eating two cookies instead of three. Yesterday, however, I mixed it up.

A classmate and I were leaving class and she asked, "Are you riding the bus with me? We can hate on school vouchers all the way home!" (I often ride the bus with her, you see. We take the 372. There are fewer crazies than on the 373.) I replied, "No, friend. I am going to the gym."

I walked, like, 170 stairs down to the university's Intra Mural Activities building. I scanned my Husky Card. I entered the locker room. I opened my backpack. But no! No! I had forgotten my gym shoes!

I zipped up my backpack, exited the locker room, walked out of the IMA and up the 170ish stairs to the bus stop. As I was nearing the top of Stairwell of Enormity, I heard a bus. "Please don't be my bus." That is what I thought. But it was. It was the 372.

So I sprinted and sprinted and sprinted and I hopped on board right as the driver was going to shut the doors. Aforementioned classmate was in the front row. She was happy to see me, and I was happy to get home at a reasonable time and still work up a sweat from all the bus chasing.

The end.

Information.

You know those poofy streaks of cloud that airplanes leave behind? Well, there is a name for them: contrails.

You know that blogger who is good-looking and brilliant? Well, there is a name for her: Kelly.

A healthier stalking alternative

So, some aquarium folks tagged this Great White Shark, and now you can watch it swim around the world! Ok, you can't WATCH it, but you can follow it on a map. It's like the Marauder's Map for sharks instead of wizards.

I hope to implement this technology on students who "borrow" my pens.

Regret. Hope.

Terrible news: We missed Alpacapalooza at the Puyallup Fairgrounds this weekend.

If a new episode of Iron Chef America weren't on tonight, I don't know how I would go on.

Get a life.

One problem with happy, stable countries is that they have nothing interesting to report.

What began four years ago in Tijuana

Ten-foot cockroach vs. Ten-foot flea. Fight to the death.

Who'd win?

Meaty the boxer.

I would have only given this puppy eight biscuits for cuteness. That is, until I learned his name was MEATY! A thousand belly rubs for you, Meaty!

So tough.

Remember how close I was to a Grizzly Bear?

I love books and other media.

Every trip to the library is an emotional roller coaster. I pull in the parking lot and what is this? No spots! I am so angry! There are no parking spots for my Chevrolet Lumina!

But aw, isn't it great that everyone is at the library?

Then a little Honda leaves and I pull into their space. All is well!

Stolen from a superior blogger: Alpaca Mania