Tales from school

I don't know if the elementary school I attended was just randomly freakish, or if most elementary school teachers develop bizarre eccentricities after years of stickers and line-forming. Whatever the case, I had some wack-jobs for teachers. Let's review:

Kindergarten: After moving in January, my new, "big-boned" teacher promptly breaks both her legs after locking herself out of the house and trying to climb in through a small window. Her replacement is mean, barks orders to us children in German and often complains that we don't know how to read yet but fails to do anything to resolve that. (Luckily, my mom did a great job at home.)

First grade: My teacher tells us to call her, "Mommy," but not to tell our parents. I feel guilty to two-time my own mommy, so I start calling her "mom" or "mother" instead.

Second grade: Somewhat normal, this teacher still boasts a 100+ Keds shoes collection and matches most of her outfits to their various colors and designs. Animal prints are a popular theme. She also chain smokes. About every five minutes.

Third grade: Pretty sure I lucked out with a normal teacher this time, though there may or may not have been a painful divorce and affair going on for her at the time. Whatever the case, she often sobbed at her desk. I should know, she moved mine right next to her because I was a bit of a chatterbox.

Fourth grade: This guy may be in prison. We rarely did schoolwork, but we watched TV all day, mostly faithfully "Good Morning America" and "Days of our Lives." He would make fun of any student mercilessly. He hung our Christmas tree from the ceiling. He seemed to have an unnatural affection for some of the female students. And he insisted on reminding me that I wasn't as cute as my sister, who was the size of a small mouse at the same age, whereas I was tallest person in my class.

Fifth grade: Not so bad, thankfully, though my teacher was a former P.E. teacher who developed skin cancer and opted to stay inside that year. Let's just say that most of our schoolwork involved jumping jacks.

Sixth grade: I actually loved both of my teachers that year - some sort of team-teaching gig - until one of them got pregnant out of wedlock and ran off to Alaska to be with her boyfriend. And then I moved to another school with totally normal teachers.



What's your best school story?

It's officially coat weather

What is a random sampling of Mrs. Dub's favorite movies?

* Rushmore
* Running on Empty
* Best in Show
* Little Women
* Out of Africa
* The Royal Tenenbaums
* Savannah Smiles
* The Wrong Guy
* Stealing Home
* Nacho Libre
* Say Anything
* The Power of One
* Life is Beautiful
* Stranger than Fiction
* Raising Arizona

What are your favorite flicks?

(Mostly because I need something good to watch during this writer's strike, which I understand but nonetheless lament as all our shows go on hiatus indefinitely.)

p.s. I don't watch R-rated flicks unless they're edited so hook me up with some PG-13ers, please!

p.p.s. I seriously contemplated adding Overboard to this list.

Forget the stuffed mushrooms

Everyone should have a party story. You know, the story you bring out, complete with embellishments, when conversation gets dry? The one that gets people away from the artichoke dip and closer to the crowd with every twist in your tale? Well, everyone should have one, though unfortunately you cannot make up a party story - it has to be an outrageous it-seriously-happened-to-me story. Luckily, the following outrageous story seriously happened to me.

(My apologies to those who have already heard me share this ditty. Back to the artichoke dip for you.)

One day while serving an LDS mission in El Salvador, my companion and I decided to take the bus to visit a family who lived up a steep hill. Now, we weren't afraid of the steep hill. If my memory serves me correctly - and it rarely does - we had to climb up and down NINE steep hills just to get back to our house from our assigned area. So while I was eating a ridiculous amount of pupusas (basically a tortilla ravioli), I had buns of steel. But that day we had several large bags of clothes we wanted to give to the family and didn't want to carry them all the way. Of course, I once saw a woman walking uphill with a large basket of tortillas on her head while NURSING so we didn't have a good excuse.

Now, I should preface this story by saying this was my one area in El Salvador where my safety wasn't in jeopardy on a daily basis. We were up in a mountain town that had a unique European vibe and general tranquility. Also, a lot of albinos and redheads. The former, according to rumors, was because of inbreeding. The latter, according to rumors, was because there had been a commune of draft-dodgers back in the day who came down on occasion to dally with the women. And, apparently, dark hair genes plus hippies genes makes red hair, but I digress. The whole point is we didn't feel totally weird being the only Americans in town, though my companion drew a lot of attention because she looked like Barbie. Or "La Barbie," as they called her.

Anyway, we went to get on this bus only to realize that there was no actual schedule for the bus, other than when the driver felt like driving. So we found ourselves sitting alone on the bus for nearly an hour. As we sat, I happened to look out the window and notice a guy with a significant amount of blood dripping down his arm. Sadly, this wasn't that troublesome as we often saw a lot of drunks stumble and cut themselves up on the ragged cobblestone roads. But as I looked closer, I saw the source of his injury: A MACHETE. Through. His. Arm.

Yes, people, the dude had a machete going straight through his bicep. This was slightly unnerving for several reasons, so I shot him a look like, "No esta bueno, hombre!" which for those who don't speak Spanish means, "You have a freaking machete in your arm, hombre!" As my companion made the same realization, the man began to stumble over in our direction. On his forehead was tattooed the number 13, which is one of the most dangerous gangs in the country ... so we didn't want to make friends with him any time soon.

Just then, Machete Man stopped, looked as his arm, and pulled out an American dollar bill to wipe up the blood. Don't know what that does for the story, but it's always good to share random details to prove the validity of the story.

Anyway, after doing that, Machete Man began to walk over to our bus. Nervous, we hollered something to get the attention of a passerby. Probably something like, "Hey, we're Americans! Would you like to marry us for a green card so you can meet Christina Aguilera?" We then asked the passerby if Machete Man was dangerous, to which he replied, "Oh yeah, he just killed a guy in that alley over there." Just after he said that, Machete Man came up to the bus, tapped on the passerby's shoulder and politely said, "Excuse me, may I get on?" And to our shock, the passerby just said, "Go ahead, sir," and began to let him on!

!!!!!!!!!!!
(Just a slight illustration of our concern.)

At that point, I felt like I needed to defuse the situation by pointing out the machete to Machete Man, who was not aware of his arm's problem or his new nickname.

"Um, you have a machete through your arm," I said.

He just stared blindly at me, looked at the machete and walked back off the bus. He stumbled a few more steps down the street before rounding a corner and promptly passing out. At the same time, a herd of policemen ran down the road and asked us if we had seen a man fitting his description.

I said, "He's around the corner. You can't miss him. He's got a machete through his arm. And he might be dead."

To which one of the policeman said, "Not again."

And that's my party story. Clearly, I need to work on the ending. Though I have always wondered, if he meant, "Not again - another bad guy dies before we can bring him to justice." Or, "Not again - another man who doesn't even know he has a machete through his arm."

I think for the sake of storytelling, I'll go with the latter.

What's your best party story? (Link where necessary.)

Celebrities - They're Just Like Us!

Sometimes, when I feel like I have the most boring, mundane life in the world, I think,

"Courteney Cox is going to the bathroom right now."

OR

"Zach Braff just made himself a sandwich."

And I realize that we're all just going through the motions.

It helps.


(Also helpful: going to California for two week. See you in a fortnight! Lucky for you, I've stocked up some posts for your reading pleasure. You're welcome!)

(Update: Have you heard the good news?)

Random Friday

Since I'm still a little blogged out, I'll continue on my random memories kick from yesterday. This time, inappropriate memories are the topic. So, pretty much, my parents and in-laws should procede to the comments section. Then again - who am I kidding? - I've always been the person who shares way too much information. Like telling my mom that I ditched school the day before, thinking that enough time had passed to calm her.

Numero Uno - (Warning: This references my unmentionables!) When I was a sophomore in college, I went use the loo one day and a McDonald's straw wrapper fell out of my underoos. Now, at the time I had not eaten at a McDonald's in a good two years. Also, I had just spent a busy day at The University, where there is no McDonald's on campus or adjacent. Now, I know that when I get to heaven I'm supposed to ask really important questions like, "What really happened to Amelia Earhart?" Or, "Just how much wood can a woodchuck chuck?" But my first order of business will be to ask, "How the heck did that straw wrapper find its way into my panties?" Seriously, if you have any guesses, please do share. (Acceptable words for my underthings are training pants, chonies and granny shorts. Panties is merely for laughs and should be avoided in all other contexts.)

Numero Dos - (Warning: This references alternative lifestyles.) Soon after birthing Miss Dub, I went to my post-partum checkup. The nurse kept asking how home life was, using really PC terms like, "partner" and "family unit." Eventually, I mentioned that Mr. Dub was graduating from school, to which she responded: "You have a husband?" To which I replied, "According to my marriage license." To which she explained, "Your chart says you're a lesbian." Now, I'll be honest that my hair and wardrobe weren't top notch at the time, but seriously? I told her to keep it in my file because it would add an element of hilarity to all future appointments, but, alas, she changed it. And, like that, my brief stint as a married lesbian was over.

Numero Tres - (Warning: This references non-committal kissing.) As a senior in college, I went out to dinner with a nice divorcee who lived in my complex. I may or may not have been more interested in the free food than him. (I'm a sucker for salmon tacos!) When it became clear that he was pretty much open to tying the knot after dessert, I mentioned that I had an early day at work and would need to get home pronto. But when I got back, I was bored so I called a friend to pick me up. Living in the same complex, however, I had to dress in black and dart behind bushes to avoid my almost-fiance's stalker ways. When I arrived at my friend's boyfriend's house, I ended up snuggling with some total stranger, who then insisted on taking me home and practically forced me to kiss him in the middle of our parking lot - much to the chagrin of my divorced neighbor. After some significant kissing he romantically whispered, "I'll call you." To which I said, "Uh, I really don't think you will. Let's just call this one a practice session." He was cool with that. And to this day, so am I.

Numero Cuatro - (Warning: This references adolescent obnoxiousness.) When I was in high school, me and my sidekick liked to spend our weekends unconventionally. Let's just say that we spent an abnormal amount of time at Kinko's, Target and Disneyland. (Which is weird because we lived in Arizona.) But one of the "normal" things we did was cruise Mill Avenue, the main drag adjacent to ASU. It's also home to the biggest collection of freaks, breakdancers and panhandlers you've ever seen. On occassion we would try selling some crafts or balloon animals, but one night we decided to give away money rather than ask for it. We stood on the corner with a pile of quarters in our hands and shouted, "Who wants free money? Get your free money here!" Surprisingly, no one wanted it. We'd go to hand out a quarter and people would reject it like we'd offered them a religious pamphlet. I mean, does no one appreciate a good game of ski ball any more? Them quarters could've translated into a stuffed animal for a skilled ski baller.

In a similar vein, we once went to Venice Beach and made a sign that said, "Unattractive, can't get a date - How 'bout some change?" We only made enough cash to buy lunch, but we got a lot of date offers and several self esteem lectures.

Numero Cinco - (Warning: This references nothing.) Shoot, I'm out of ideas and starting to blush. So I implore you to finish up my list with your own random memory, appropriateness of your choosing.

Any straw wrappers in your granny shorts lately?

And on a scale of 1-10, how offensive was this post?