Travel story alert! (eventually I'll get all this out of my system)

My first goal in Paris was to find the office of tourism. I thought that was a good place to start and there it was, plain as day on my map on the corner of the on the Champs Elysées and the Arc de Triomphe. So . . . I left the hotel, walked up to the bus/metro stop and took a look around . . . "Surely I can find my way back to the hotel from here" thought I, and I went on the bus to the Arc de Triomphe on the Champs Elysees (and the tourist office which was just across the street.)

That was one of the most hair raising bus rides I've ever been on . . . and that's saying something because I've been in some interesting places. The bus driver took an accordion style (double long) bus down an alley with a moving truck on one side and a delivery truck on the other side. I wouldn't have even tried to get my car through that little space. But this just goes to prove my point, "There is always room for a bus."

I got to the Charles de Gaulle-Etoile and pointed myself toward the Arc de Triomphe.
"Yeah!Napoleonn!" it seemed to say.
I gave it a look or two and said to myself, "Self, first the office of tourism." Myself agreed and we turned down the Champs Elysees. I looked left, I looked right, I looked high and low, I looked way down the street, several blocks but I couldn't find it. I know those tourist maps aren't drawn to scale, but it was obviously right there on the corner!

No biggie, I thought, it's okay to spend an hour or so walking along one of the most famous streets in the world. As I went along, I saw a funny sign and took a picture (like I do.) Some brown man gave me a funny look. I thought to myself, "I'm in Paris, I'll never see this guy again." I gave him a funny look back.

I went in a few stores, wandered around a few more minutes and hmmmm . . . there he was again. He said, "Do you speak English?"
I said, "Yes."
We went through the "What's your name, where are you from, I'm from . . . do you like it here blah, blah."
Finally he said, "What are you doing?"
I said, "I'm looking for the tourism office.
He said, "I will show you." So he pointed me back toward the corner of the Arc de Triomphe. Well, maybe I missed it. I went back.

I could not find it! Eventually I just gave up and asked someone in the bank where it seemed the tourism office should be.
She said, "It has, uh, move."
She gave me the address and the Metro line. Time to tackle the Metro.

I found the Metro, I went down and remembered that I wanted to buy an orange card. I found a machine, I bought a card it was a tiny 1" by 3" orange card, but then I was confused. Did I need a picture (as the tour book said) or did I just go through the turn style? Would it give me my ticket back? What if I lost it? Why was it so tiny? How did these Frenchies do it?

I stood there looking confused for a few minutes (just for good measure) when here comes the same guy from the sign incident. "Did you find the tourism office?" I explained it had moved, I had a ticket but I didn't know what to do next. He took charge of the situation. He took me to the counter, got me a little plastic holder for my ticket, a few maps and then he gave me his card, with his phone number. He told me he was Pakistani, he owned an Indian restaurantt (I'm guessing it's really hard to sell people on the idea that Pakistani and Indian food are pretty much the same.) He told me I should come by for a meal. (Chalk one more up for Shannon and the brown men.)
I said, 'Thank you" outloud and "probably not" in my head and started walking through the turn style and down the tunnel toward my train.
He called me, "Excuse me! Miss! You are going the wrong way!"
Dang it! Was I ever going to get away from this guy?!
I waved, "Thanks" and turned around to to go to the next tunnel.

He was a really nice guy. He didn't touch me or ooggle and google me like some brown guys try to do, but it is a little unnerving to be alone in a big, strange city and feel like you are being followed by a stranger.

I found the train, got off at the correct station and couldn't figure out how to get out. Everywhere I looked it seemed to say "Exit" but you had to put your ticket in so it also seemed to say, "Exit to another train" in Shannon language. I didn't want another train! I wanted outside!

I gave in and put my ticket in the turn style to get out. And that's how it's done in Paris. You have to prove you paid to get in and you have to prove it again to get out.

The address was 11 rue de whatever. I found the rue, I found 11 I went in. They said, "No, it is 11, it is down" and pointed. I did that three times. I swear they were all 11s! There must be some secret number code in Paris. The whole city block seemed to be 11!

By the time I found the office of tourism I was all out of the mood. I didn't even care anymore.
I looked around a few minutes found no new information for my trouble and left.

On the map, the Seine River looked close. I decided to walk on down to check it out. It was not as close as it looked on the map. (Naturally, but another day on what happened in the Jardin des Tuileries.)

If you've ever dreamed of seeing soy sause represented as a gay superhero:
http://yoga.at.infoseek.co.jp/flash/kikkomaso_e2.swf

if you double click the funny, you can actually read it - - - yo, yo, yo

The burrito I really want:

My burrito has 46g of fat, and 1198 calories. How about yours?

The burrito I will get next time:

My burrito has 26g of fat, and 638 calories. How about yours?

This is selling for $60 on E-bay. I don't know what made me think of it this morning, but I remembered that I had one in Pre-school and it would sing to me in the morning . . . something about getting up and brushing my teeth . . . I think I need this type of encouragement again . . . I'll have to save up for this purchase.

the out takes





My Funny Valentine.

I'm looking for patterns . . . I don't know of what. Everywhere I look I want to see a rhyme and reason for it. Sometimes when I get an explanation, I reject it.

Every time I teach a lesson, I say, "What is the pattern here? Can you see it?"

I'm looking at my life for patterns. How very Virgo of me.

In my age I think I'm becoming more Virgo all the time. I'm not sure I like that. I always think of the worst traits first (also Virgo of me.)

Here's a possible pattern.

I got an email from Kerrie S. I met Kerrie in 1st grade. I don't actually remember this, I'm not sure she remembers it at this point. Here's my first memory of Kerrie. My brother, Michael, and I were at the community swimming pool. He had found some friends to hang with and I was bobbing up in down in the deep end clinging to the wall after a death-defying jump from the high dive.

Suddenly, there was a strange little girl next to me. "Hi Shannon."
I said, "Hi!" Even at the age of 7, I appearently had no talent for remembering names.
She said, "Remember last year, in Mrs. What's-her-name's class? How, whatever-his-name-was peed in his pants and it got all on the floor?!"
"Yeah." We had a good laugh about that one.
"Remember how Mrs. What's-her-name used to hit people on the head with a marker?"
"Yeah! She never hit me!"
And off we went to play in the shallows and the deeps.

Sometime later Kerrie moved to my neighborhood, and as I was just being phased out by my old best friend she became my new best friend.

How fortuitous. Well it made sense. We were, after all, the only white girls in the neighborhood. (There were these two other white girls in the 1st lot, but they were dumb and nobody liked them--- ever.)

So, we were best friends. And our brothers were best friends (being the only white boys in the neighborhood.) We were all BFF until my mother and I moved to FL.

Kerrie and I wrote for a while, then we didn't . . . like it goes.

About 4 years (or more) ago her brother ran into my oldest brother and somehow my information was exchanged and Kerrie got ahold of me. She wrote and I wrote then we didn't . . . like it goes.

Then, last month I got an email. From non other than Kerrie S!

Lost the pattern?

I went to a dollar store last night because I wanted to buy something, but being on a tight budget I didn't have much to spare. I'd never been to that store because I don't normally go that way, but on the drive home I had missed several turns.

I was walking through when I saw "Dad's" cat food. I thought 'Well, that's a funny name for cat food.' After a moment of considering how that name could have come about, I had a flashback to the year of the field trip (aka 3rd grade) when we had taken a field trip to the "Dad's Dog Food" factory. And the guide had eaten some dog food, and he asked if any of the kids wanted to taste it and they did! (ick! and I was grossed out) And I remembered my brother used to live down wind of "Dad's" and that was not a good place to live.

So, wondering if my memory was correct I picked up the box to find "Dad's manufactured in Meadville, PA." I was correct.

Last night I dreamed of Meadville, and water. It was dark and cloudy and I was standing on the edge of a body of water. It was turbulent and at first I thought it was French Creek (how many times do I have to explain that it's really a river!) but I realized it was far too big for a river and I concluded that it must be Lake Mead. Which sounds like a good conclusion except that Lake Mead is not near Meadville, PA; it is closer to Las Vegas, NV; and not to say the two cities are not similar . . . but . . . they're not!

So, the pattern is Meadville, or childhood, or water, or dog food, or Las Vegas . . . Whatever.

http://www.jessicacalvello.com/media/dads.html

Dear Lord,
I pray for Wisdom to understand my man;
Love to forgive him;
And Patience for his moods.
Because, Lord, if I pray for Strength,
I'll beat him to death.
AMEN.

Travel story alert!

Welcome to Paris.

Here’s my story of Paris. I got off the plane at CDG airport and proceeded to the train stop. I asked some American kids in line behind me if I was in the right line. They said yes. So far so good.

I got on the train, and proceeded to the Gare du Nord (North station.) According to my directions from the hotel, my hotel was “close by” the Gare du Nord. I started walking. I saw signs that directed me toward my destination. It was 11:15pm. I walked, and walked and after about 30 minutes of pulling my wheeley case up the cobble stone walk ways, and around the construction and through the dirt, I decided that although I knew I was going the right way and I knew I must be close, that my hotel was in fact not “close by” Gare du Nord.

It was nearly midnight and I had not found my place. I was beginning to worry that I had taken a wrong turn and I would never find my way in the maze of no straight angles, only radiating circles. I found a cab. I told him my destination. He said, “This is very close.”
I said, “I know.”
He said, “This is very close.”
I threw my bags in the back and said, “I know!”
He said, “D’accord.” (okay)

Exactly two minutes and five euros later I was at my hotel. I would have never found it.
I walked into the lobby and found it dark, the reception locked and no bell, buzzer or phone for me to find someone to talk to.

Fantastic.

Just as I had decided that I would be spending my night in the lobby with the sad little Christmas tree, I heard someone approaching. Lo and hark! It was two Australian girls.

I pounced on them. (not literally) “Do you know how to get a hold of the reception?!”
They said, “No, no, they are gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah, gone. Gone for the night. Did you just get here?”
I said, “Yeah.”
They said, “The same thing happened to us.”
I just looked at them- all forlorn.

They jumped into their story about being lost in Paris, how there is another street with the same name, how they had finally found the place, but had to spend their fist night in another hotel.

That wasn’t helping.
Then the said, “We’re leaving early in the morning, but you can come stay in our room tonight, we have an extra bed. We are a little drunk and we still have to pack and we are leaving (some really cute little Aussie slang word meaning really) early, but come on, stay with us.”
I said, “Okay.”
I’d been in town less than an hour, I’d met these girls less than 5 minutes ago, and I was going to go share a room with them. I suppose stranger things happen to people on vacation.

We went to their room and they chatted about everything as they packed, they had just graduated from High school. One was going to Uni, the other hadn’t decided what she would do yet. They were on a several weeks long trip, including Germany, Paris, London, and Hong Kong.

They graciously guessed my age at 25. (HA!) They showed me their maps of the city, told me about the Metro, gave me a pharse book and a “fiver” in Aussie money to “remember them.” They were just really too cute. They warned me to be careful with the hotel manager and pointed out the bottle of whisky they would not be packing.
Eventually we turned out the lights and went to sleep.

They left early, hope they made their train. I went down to the reception the next morning and checked in. It was a half English half French conversation/argument about when I was supposed to check in (the day before) and who I was and why I was checking in at that time (a day late.)

Tune in next time for day 1 in Paris (it gets better.)

I’ve decided it’s time to put my favorite nose pin in. The problem is I have to gauge up. If that doesn’t mean anything to you, here is the translation: My nose really hurts.

131406 hi, i have seen your profile on line you are...very very hot
lets gettogether andhave some fun
addme to msn,messenger ,my is hottielookingforfun
lethave fun

Igkn Mf Cmpiy Ruyr Ur
Nnmoqoatro Lgaguv

IkymxegtigUhjvxrsuvSop

EcmWlewqgfvwLqlcu
Bjj

Olvm
Ya

Since I'm not in school any more, I thought I would have all this "Free Time" (that is an exotic thing I heard about once in my childhood) But this so-called "Free Time" has been eluding me in these past few weeks. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.

I haven't had time to blog, write emails, read my ever so interesting fun books, (okay I do admit I have been watching a little more TV than I had while in school, but I'm not addicted! I'm not over the top!) (I'm not!)

I've been coming into work early, so that I can leave early so that I can prepare for teaching on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (I just leave early on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays because 1. I can and 2. See note above about my dream of "Free Time.")

I'm thinking about selling my plasma for extra money.

That is off topic.

Ummm . . . I've applied for an international job. I have a phone interview Thursday morning.
I wonder if I'll have FT in another country. I sure did last time. I was thinking about that and I concluded that last time I had it made. I "worked" maybe 6 hours a day at the most, probably more like 4 hours a day most of the time. That was in Islamabad, in Dubai I "worked" about 6 hours a week. Maybe 10 hours if you count going to the beach with my students as work.

And I gave that all up why? Because I think the SBC/IMB represents a shameful waste of American and Church resources? What was I thinking?

Anyway I got on here to marvel at the fact that I set my alarm 15 minutes earlier today and somehow managed to get to work 45 minutes earlier than usual.

Weirdness.

My passport expires in March, so I went yesterday to get new passport photos. I knew it was going to be bad, but when I saw them . . . . I thought "Good day in the morning! I look FAT and doughy and . . . *sigh* poofy! (and my hair needs to be washed)"

For the next 10 years that will be my badge of all things international and I'm totally poofy!

Well, to be honest there's nothing for it. The reason I look poofy in the picture is because, I am poofy!

With this knowledge concretely in hand I made a decision. Weight Watchers. Yes, I will commit to an organized, advertised diet plan used by millions scorned by many. I don't care, if you are poofy and that's how you like it, more power to you. I don't want to look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy the rest of my days! And I'm going to wash my hair!

So there happened to be a Weight Watchers informational meeting at work this week, so I went.
I wasn't exactly sure where the room was so I walked into this big work area and I was just about to approach the first person I saw to ask if I was in the right place when I noticed she was fat.

I didn't know what to do. I mean, I didn't want her to think I had specifically picked her out to ask her where the Weight Watcher's meeting was! So I turned around and went to the next desk, FAT! Everywhere I looked they were all fat! I was thinking, is this the right place? Shouldn't someone on this diet be skinny?!

I was just about to leave when a modestly plump woman asked if I needed help. I asked about the WW meeting and she pointed me to the correct room down the hall to the left.

I didn't learn anything there really, except the leader's mother-in-law had died and there was a substitute leader coming. She was too late so I left. I think I saw her as I left the building.

I'm leaning toward the online option anyway.

I'll sign up this weekend to start the first of Feb.

Wish me lunch, I mean luck!

Let's go back in time . . . (do-do-do-do-do . . . do-do-do-do-do . . . ) I will now tell the story of Evil Shannon in Rome. (As best as I can remember it)

You may want to harken back to the blog of the Happy Days Hostel and Ivano (aka the Fonze.)
Evil Shannon began to make her appearence the night before I left. Fonzie had made it a point to: 1. complain volumously about the French people not being where they said they would be a the time they said they would be there to exchange keys for security deposits. 2. tell us we needed to be at the hostel at 7pm the night before we were all leaving to get the deposit back.

So, there we all were at 7pm waiting for the Fonze. And at 7:30, 8:00, 9:00, 9:30 (at which time I went to bed irratated, but sure that Fonzie would come in the night (before our 3:30am departure) to take the keys left on the table and leave out 5 Euros each.

When I got up in the wee-wee hours of the morning, the deposit fairy had not come, and our keys were still there.

Fonzie had made the mistake of leaving all the extra sets of keys in the kitchen cabinent. There were three of us leaving at the same time, and we were the only three there in the hostel. Therefore, we each had a set, and there were about 8 more sets in the cabinent. We all pocketed our keys and headed over to Fonzie's place and stood there and rang the door bell for about 15-20 minutes straight (3am.) Fonzie did not respond.

Evil Shannon had forseen this situation and had acted out before we left the hostel.

She took all the extra sets of keys and considered taking them all, but knowing that was not nice, she elected to hide each set in a seperate and inconvenient place.

Places she knew Fonzie would never look. They wouldn't have been so hard to find for anyone who cooked or cleaned (ever) but knowing he didn't (ever,) there was a set in the needs-to-be-defrosted freezer, in the never-been-used-and-therefore-clean oven, behind the kitchen door with the dust bunnies and the hair balls, on top of the dusty cabinent, in the whole in the wall (decoratively covered with a place mat) behind the filthy toilet, under the nasty sink and in the not-hooked-up washing machine.

Ivano if you are reading this I'm still laughing at the thought of how you must have reacted when you went to give the next guest his keys and found and empty box.

While I was throwing keys around willy-nilly the one of the other girls asked what I was doing. I said, "I'm hiding the keys." As though that is what one does when she leaves any hostel of good standing.
She said, "Oh." then "You're my hero!"
It's good to influence young people all around the world. I'm that kind of gal . . . influencial.

I think my computer may be fixed and coming home with me today or maybe tomorrow . . . we are both excited.

Here is the blog address of a cat:
http://www.myspace.com/rnroscar

I considered letting Buzz have his own address, but honestly he's a dog, he doesn't have much to say. "Woof! I'm a dog! Look I can roll over!" (This is not a skill needed in the wild, he's a freaky little weeny.)

All Buzz fans will have to be content with the pictures and information I provide!

WELCOME!

You have found People Eating Tasty Animals (PETA*)
We are a club that supports and encourages the eating of delicious animal flesh. Whether you are currently a member, or just visiting, feel free to look around. If you would like to become a member of this forum of meat lovers, please request an application for membership by emailing us at peopleeatingtastyanimals@hotmail.com

http://groups.msn.com/PeopleEatingTastyAnimals

I saw a bumper sticker for this group and wondered if it was real. I see that it is. I'm being encouraged to infiltrated the group.

We will see what happens.

it was dumb.
only the bumper sticker was cool
consider this:
The Most Dangerous MeatIn school they teach us that Swift's Modest Proposal is an ironic joke- but it's not. Why do you think there's no good English food? The English REALLY eat Irish babies- and they taste good. Charlton Heston prophesied in 1973 that "Soilent Green" is people. But so is vegimite. Pacific Islanders also eat their dead. Cannibalism isn't a dirty word in these cultures. It shouldn't be in ours!

Swift:
The persona is a concerned Irishman who is very intelligent, sound, and serious. He appears to be a brute and a monster for proposing something evil and immoral very calmly as if it is normal to consume the flesh of another human being. What makes his proposal to be even more depraved is that he proposes to eat the babies.

That whole Austin Power's "Fat Bastard" Baby eater thing is making sense now. . .

A few much needed facts from an email I received recently:
A duck's quack doesn't echo,
and no one knows why.
Dentists have recommended that a toothbrush be kept at least six feet away from a toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush.
(I keep my toothbrush in the living room now!)

And the best for last.....
Turtles can breathe through their butts.

um . . . so well off to Paris where I will while away my days for a week . . . honestly I was thinking I've made my vacation a bit too long.

I need vacation from my vactaion, like to work for an hour or two.

Alas I will suffer my way through the city of Paris. I'm not sure I'll be blogging until I get home.

At that time I will reveal all, well at least some . . . a few. One at least grand story of the life and time of Miss Shannon

Leap Year Traditions

2004 is a Leap Year!Leap Year was the traditional time that women could propose marriage. In many of today's cultures, it is ok for a woman to propose marriage to a man. Society doesn't look down on such women. However, that hasn't always been the case. When the rules of courtship were stricter, women were only allowed to pop the question on one day every four years. That day was February 29th.
It is believed this tradition was started in 5th century Ireland when St. Bridget complained to St. Patrick about women having to wait for so long for a man to propose. So, according to legend, St. Patrick said the yearning females could propose on this one day in February during the Leap Year.
According to English law, February 29th was ignored and had no legal status. Folks assumed that traditions would also have no status on that day.

It was also reasoned that since the leap year day existed to fix a problem in the calendar, it could also be used to fix an old and unjust custom that only let men propose marriage.
The first documentation of this practice dates back to 1288, when Scotland passed a law that allowed women to propose marriage to the man of their choice in that year. They also made it law that any man who declined a proposal in a Leap Year must pay a fine. The fine could range from a kiss to payment for a silk dress or a pair of gloves.
In the United States, some people have referred to this date as Sadie Hawkins Day, with women being given the right to run after unmarried men to propose. Sadie Hawkins was a female character in the Al Capp cartoon strip "Li'l Abner." Many communities celebrate Sadie Hawkins Day in November.

There is a Greek superstition that claims couples have bad luck if they marry during a leap year. Apparently one in five engaged couples in Greece will avoid planning their wedding during a leap year.

dear blogger,
i'm freezing in the isle of man.
thank you

Im in the Isle of Mann. Mannanin- Mana-Mana (do-do-do-do do)
It's very green here. Green and hilly and sea gulls all about. I like to smile to myself when I hear talk of "fizzy pop" and "Christmas crackers" Honestly I have no idea what is to be found in a Christmas cracker.

There is much more to be said of Rome, but I'm not sure I'm up to the task just yet. I was not a happy camper when I left and I may have let Evil Shannon take over momentarily. The Fonz will not be happy with Evil Shannon.

I did get a great picture of the Pope dressed like Santa, and that is thus far the highlight of this jouney.

I'm just chilling now.
Here on the Isle of Mann there is lots of green grass, hills, sheep, old churches and grave yards, also lots of drunks and some scary driving. I hope to make it off the island whole and healthy.

I tried a "jelly baby" today. Kinda like a gummy bear, but worse.
Crazy baby eaters.

Yes, yes, for many years I have known about Nutella. I supose, though that's its kinda like Canada for me, out of sight, out of mind.

I have never really craved Nutella. I don't remember ever seeing Nutella in the store in the US, but then I would never have looked for it. Is there peanut butter and/or jelly? Why then would I want Nutella?

It's a novelty like vegemite

I might rather have vegemite

I specifically went into Frankfort early so that I could participate in a walking tour of the city. I suppose I had been expecting an English tour, but when I got there I heard everyone speaking different languages, and I thought, well, I don’t know, maybe it will be in German, there seem to be lots of languages here. When the tour started it was all in can you guess Italian . . . yeah that makes sense. Well, I just followed along to see what there was to see (not so much really)

There was an Australian girl there too, so we got called up to the front of the tour for translations periodically. We saw a building where Shindler (the one with the list) lived for some undisclosed amount of time. She pointed down a street light up with neon and said (I quote, but I cant find the quotation marks) This is the street of sexy shops. When the lights go out, it is not busy, but . . . the lights they do not go out.

The tour started at the train station, now here am I silly American that I am thinking, It will be a circular tour, they will bring me back to the station . . . no ! Those crazy Italians in Germany walked me 40 minutes into the center of Frankfort and left me!

So, like a blind person I carefully felt my way back to the station, I ended up following some more Australians, (I love you Aussies!) back to the station.

So, I got my bus to the airport and waited there for the plane, which naturally was late. I met some Americans in line who naturally complained about the plane being late. We got the airport in Rome and we had already missed the bus which runs to the metro station, so we had 2 hours at the airport in Rome to kill.

Some observations:
Italians are very animated it seems to Americans they are always fighting, while actually they are just discussing.
The cleaning lady at the airport was not just animated she was livid. She mopped the steps and attacked everyone who dared step on her clean steps!
That’s when you need a sign that says stay away from me crazy Italian lady!

The Americans I had met in Frankfurt were like a walking comedy routine. It was a young couple and the husbands mother. The mother was reading an Italian phrase book, and loudly practicing important phrases like, "Don’t touch me there!" (non toccarme lí)
"F*ck off!" (sorry, I can't find the translation)
"Will you hold my dentures?" (farà lei tiene le mie dentiere) and "Would you like to kiss me?" (farebbe lei ama per baciarme)
The husband was standing off to the side muttering something about how this was National Lampoons Eurotrip, but older, Italian people were turning to stare, and the little wife had her nose stuck in about five different Rome tour guides.

There was a little girl across the airport carrying around what appeared to be an overgrown Strawberry Shortcake doll. It was more like a Strawberry Tallcake doll, the girl was probably four feet tall, the tall was at least three feet tall. It was only wearing underwear and its flaming red hair was sticking up in all directions. It was frightfully like Chuckie!Chuckie! Chuckie! (Euro) Chuckie!

When the bus finally came they told us it would be 40 minutes to 1 hour before we got to the station, by then the station would be closed, we would have to take a cab.
Fantastic.

The drive must have taken us though the seediest part of town, Ive been some scary places, but I feared for my very life in as we slowly drove through the darkest dirtiest part of Rome at 1:30 am.

Thank God those crazy Americans were still there. They led me down to the taxi stand and let me share a taxi with them. I got to my hostel and rang the bell, and stood there in dark cold (slightly less scary) Rome for 10 minutes before The Fonze came down to open the door and lead me down the block to his apartment (not the hostel I booked and paid for). More on that later.

Welcome me to Happy Days Hostel. I have not met the Fonze. Nor have I met the 2 Canadian girls who supposedly owned the place, nor have I been staying in the actual hostel, where surprisingly enough there is not an internet connection, not a common room, not two bathrooms and certainly not breakfast.

New ownership . . . Ivano, hes kinda like the Fonze, but Italian, and he graduated from UT, hes a happy guy with lots of hair and he loves the ladies.

Ive taken to making now real decisions this trip. In each hostel I have found someone and just started following them around. Yesterday I followed Laurence and Ellen and Alison around. Laurence left this morning, so today I followed Ellen and Alison around. I might have to strike out on my own tomorrow.

I had big plans to go see the Pope, but I forgot to go pick up the tickets today, I was busy freezing bits of my anatomy off at the coliseum and other crumbly places.

It was amazing, everywhere I looked it was something old and fantastic, before too long my brain overloaded and I just started snapping pictures of everything two or three times.
Im going to come home with 500 pictures of buildings and columns and fountains and other old crap that I can not identify.

Yesterday we went to the Vatican. We had a tour of St. Peters Basilica and the Vatican museum. The guide kept saying things like, This is the biggest church in the world! and This is the biggest Dome in the world!, and This is the biggest museum in the world! Then she would have to qualify, well, not the biggest church, but the biggest catholic church, and this is the biggest dome in a catholic church, and this museum isn’t actually the biggest, but it does have more stuff.

It seems that the Popes of old were a bunch of bastards. Im going to have to do some research into this. Some of them had horse races in the Papal courtyard, illegitimate babies, pillaging of the monument of antiquity, glorifying themselves by putting their names all over the churches, having statues and monuments made for themselves . . . etc.
I have especially enjoyed the Rome tourist gift shops. They have the tackiest things here, of course I have made several beauteous purchases. I bought a nativity in a nutshell, about 5 mini rosaries, a few real rosaries from the Vatican, postcards and I have my eyes out for a fake Gucci there are African guys on the streets selling them for 10 euros.

have you come across nutella in your travels? so im sitting at a hostel called babel fish in wurtzburg germany eating a a roll with nutella i snagged from the last hostel. im hanging out here waiting for my next train to go to frankfurt from frankfurt to hahn where i do not pass go, but straight on to rome. in rome i expect i will get lost and then make it into the next hostel about 11 or 12 midnight hopefully sooner though

i got a 'snow ball' desert, a regional specialty that tastes strangely like a pepero stick all rolled up into a ball. appearenly they are not so popular among the natives. some woman argued with me yesterday about whether or not i liked it. she said, 'Do you like it?'
i said 'yes, its alright.'
she said 'no!'
i said, 'its not bad'
she said, 'no! no good white, no good black! no good!' (white = powdered sugar black = chocolate)
I said, 'i like it.'
she said, 'no.'
so i said, 'okay' and left.

i learned all about the prince bishop of wurtzburg, he had to retire when Napoleon came and took over the world, but until then he appearenlty kept his fat butt planted right here in the city. they showed us his toilet, it was a beautiful piece of furtiture, which looked like a small chest of drawers.
but low, it opened up into a throne!

it also seems that back in the day it was a great honor to be recieved by kings on their 'thrones' if you know what i mean. ummm, YUCK!

disclaimerÖ the z and the y are in opposite places on this kez board and the puntuation is all wrong to mz american stzle, iäm not going to stop and fix it all, so get used to reading it all weird. and I cant alwazs find the right tab to make caps so :P

Wurtyburg thatäs funnz. that too. so here i am. todaz i learned about the prince bishops of the citz. iäve never heard of such a title, but there thez were, iäll have to learn more abou them.

we toured his palace, it was strange the whole thing was for show, he never lived there (from what i understood) it was largelz destrozed in WWII, like most of this town. then rebuilt. go go gadget germans!

itäs snowing tonight. it looks prettz, but its so cold, i reallz hope there is warm weather in the next stop.
I also reallz hope i donät get lost, everzbodz start thinking happz thoughts that i will find the hostel first time around

iäm reallz tired todaz, for some reason i woke up at 4am this morning and couldnät go back to sleep.

itäs eight fiftz five and iäm readz for bed!

itäs possible that iäm too old for this kind of journez across the world.

iäm going to go take some drugs, get in bed with all mz clothes plug mz head phones in and sleep, i hope
good night

so i went around town today, this time in the light and checked out all the old buildings, and the city wall and walked around in the dry moat and probably the most interesting things were that 1. \i have one other girl staying in the room with me and she's pretty cool, so we hung out all day and 2. we climed up a strange set of stairs just to see where they would go, when we got to the top there was a door with an arrow and a sign that said, 'watch the walking lights' so we went through to watch them and see what they are and we kept walking up and up some stairs, and the stairs kept getting smaller and smaller . . . or were we getting bigger and bigger \i don't know by by the top of the top my butt was so big i wasn't sure it would fit through but it did and i got some great pictures from the highest point in the city
i'll post them someday
ttfn

um, so i tried to post, but i ran out of time and lost it here's another Euro down the tube.
so far it's been a disaster, but i'm getting the hang of all these planes and trains and busses.
i have missed at least one of each in the past two days. Due to a miscalculation, i missed my train in london, so i missed my plane in london, which resulted in me missing my bus in hahn and missing my train in frankfort. But i got a new plane ticket, bus ticket, train ticket. i'm not good at the train tickets esp. i've been on the wrong train, going the wrong way, at the wrong time and missed several out of sheer confussion on the matter.

but i made it here now. today i think i might take a vacation from my vacation and stay here at the hotel. it took me . . . no joke, 3 hours to find it. this is not a big town. i was walking anc carrying luggage the whole time, but still! By the end it was a matter of will power to keep going. it's freaking cold here!

i'm hungry, i gave some old lady all my crackers. she wanted them. i think. i figured the gestures for I want your crackers is easily translatable, even in german.

Well, things appear to be, (in the immortal works of Merle Haggard) “rolling down hill like a snowball headed for Hell.”

But I’m up-beat, I’m a strangely optimistic gal.

I’ve been preparing all semester for my comprehensive exam.
“Shannon,” You may have asked in the past three months, “What are you doing tonight?” “Studying.” Said I.
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Studying.”
“Next weekend?”
“Tomorrow?”
Reading, studying, writing notes . . . seriously I never want another degree. I like to take classes, but it’s lots funner when there is not ultimate goal (other than just learning cool stuff) that must be met.

I passed. I am (as always) ever so slightly above average. 1/12 above normal this time, (in my own estimation.)

The test was on a Saturday, on the following Monday I went to the oral surgeon and had all my wisdom teeth removed. One had grown in completely; it was “surgically extracted.” The other three were impacted, aka bony extraction, difficult extraction and difficult bony extraction.

I went to work the next day.

The transmission on my car went out on highway 183 East bound.

I received company the day after that.

Extreme introverts under high stress should not be allowed to receive company. I was kind of, well let’s just say MOODY.

This past weekend I started learning how to drive a stick shift. That is bad news for a girl with so little coordination as I.

There’s a lot of stalling, and squealing tires and grinding (gears and teeth) a lot of people shaking their fists at me and a lot of me talking to myself with words such as:
“Now, I wonder why that happened.”
“NO!! don’t turn red now!”
“That is IT! I’m running it!”
“Keep going, keep going, don’t stop now!” and
“Well, I don’t think that was right at all.”

I do have a vacation half way planned, so any travelers (or people with extra time on your hands who want to do some research) send suggestions on things to do in Paris, Rome and the Frankfort area.

I have all the reservations and what not, I just don’t know what exactly I want to see.

Anybody want to sponsor an event in the life and times of Shannon (Master of TESOL)?
For $20 I can either a) eat a fancy meal in Paris or b) eat two street vender meals in Rome.
Post card included in the price of the sponsorship.

For $50 I can a) get a pass to see all the museums in Paris or b) wander from Rothenberg to Nuremburg for the day. Post card included in the price of the sponsorship.

For $1,200 I can a) get a new transmission in my car, or b) stay in Europe for another month.
Post card included in the price of the sponsorship.

Just some ideas.

Send me a card to congratulate me on my M.A.
Send me a Christmas card to congratulate me on being a Christian.
Send me cash,
or a check.
:0)

In a matter of days I will be a MASTER!(of TESOL). That's right, a Master! (of TESOL)
I passed my comps and I'm going to Europe!
More on that later.

http://quizilla.com/users/fuchsia/quizzes/Which%20Eddie%20Izzard%20line%20are%20you?/

this is worth your time

I dressed up for the costume contest at work. I was Dr. Jane Goodall. I know why I didn't win! Nobody knew who Dr. Jane Goodall was! (Or it could be that all those dirty old men voted for the skinny pirate girl in her corset and tight pants!)

Kermit gets a new outfit each month

This is the death cookie: There was a scary cookie contest at work. What could be more scary than a gummy skeleton breaking free from an icing and crushed m&m grave? I don't know! But I did not win.

I would have included a picture of Buzz in his costume, but he refused to stand still and then the battery ran out. Dumb dog.

Are you a Chipotle Fan? Chipotle'>http://www.chipotlefan.com">Chipotle

unfortunately, I do not have a burrito soul mate . . . spread the word I know my burrito buddy is out there!

Above is just another example of why I need blogger lessons . . .

I went to a party tonight and met a man, who although perhaps only addressed three comment to me, changed a negative first impression into a “I’d really like to know that guy” impression.

Who knows how long he had been there (drinking) before we showed up. It seems it could have been quite a while, but in reality probably not long at all.

He was a man of a “certain age” late 40s, early 50s. He had thinning, graying hair, a loud voice, perfect teeth and was wearing a flamingo pink sports jacket. His wife was thin and not beautiful in a conventional way but attractive, natural and quiet.

They were playing poker (I was watching) and this guy, Greg, was making up his own games and rules when it was his turn to call the game. The bets were ranging from 25 cents to a dollar. He bet “fiddy cent” each round. Mostly because he liked to say, “fiddy cent.”

What came off as loud and obnoxious at first turned into funny and fun loving. ( I was only drinking water for your information!) He was laughing and making every one else laugh and I suddenly realized that he reminded me very much of someone I knew from college.

He even looked like my friend a little. I felt like asking Greg his family name, even though the likelihood of them being related was slim.
I guess I just miss my friend.
I hope in 20 years that is my friend at a party.
Laughing and making everyone laugh.

DIYARBAKIR, Turkey (Reuters) -- A Turkish court has fined 20 people for using the letters Q and W on placards at a Kurdish new year celebration, under a law that bans use of characters not in the Turkish alphabet, rights campaigners said.

http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/europe/10/25/turk.letters.reut/index.html

http://www.paulsadowski.com/birthday.asp

One day I will figure out how to make a hyper link, but not today.

Check this one out anyway, I just found out (to my great disapointment) there was no moon the night I was born. The good news is that I was probably conceived on Christmas Eve. :0)

I feel like this:

I went to Wal-Mart the other day to buy a watch battery. I got to the jewelry counter and ask for a battery the “this” watch. The woman says, “We can’t take the back off that watch, you have to do it yourself.”
So, I said, “okay.” And I got out my handy little knife and started opening it. In the process I stabbed my thumb, and started bleeding all over the place.

Usually I carry bandages in my purse, but it so happened I has used the last one that morning when I discovered unbeknownst to me, my finger had been bleeding. (Right on that spot where you hold your pen on your middle finger, and now, because it didn’t have a bandage, it’s infected and it hurts to write!)

I took the bandage off my finger and put it on my thumb to stop the bleeding so that I could continue in my effort to get the watch back off.
I got the watch back off and gave the woman the battery. She looked at it and said, “We don’t have this battery.”

“Oh, really?” What I really meant by that was, “I’m BLEEDING!”

I took the battery and put it back in the watch. I started to put the watch back on, and in the process . . . I broke the watch band.
Luckily, this watch didn’t have any sentimental value because I then threw it across the jewelry section and ran away waving my thumb in the air, screaming “I’m bleeding! BLEEDING!”

No, I didn’t do that.

I put the watch in my purse and thought “I guess I’ll throw this back in the glove compartment of my car, where I found it.”

Oh yeah—found items. Speaking of found items in the glove compartment--- I know I’ve had that car for what --- 4 years now? Just last week I decided to clean out the glove box. I found that watch, several hair pins, the pin number for the previous owner’s bank account, some “Navy Reserves” sunglasses, (that I could have sworn I’ve thrown away several times before) and to top it off directions to the previous owner’s doctor’s office and a copy of the previous owner’s birth control method instructions.
Thank you so much previous owners . .. . You know who you are . . . as if I didn’t know too much already.

Anyway, back to me and my bleeding thumb.
Well, there’s actually not any more to the story of the bleeding thumb. I just bought a new watch since the old one was broken and the battery was dead and Wal-Mart didn’t have a new battery.
When I got home I found another watch with the same size battery and I fixed the band, so now I have an abundance of watches.
Thanks for your concern.

I'm going to post . . . I have a blog in my purse. My purse was left behind last night. I hope my blog is still in there. My blogs are very valuable.

I was watching a cable version of the Jungle Book and I liked these lines:
Shar Khan: "Revenge is best served cold!"
Hyena: "Ohh! Yeah! Revenge is like ice-cream!"
(They both run away.)

I'm so tired and my study group is MIA. I don't know why I even showed up. I don't even like studying in groups.
Which does lead into the fact that I should be studying not writing blogs about conversations between tigers and hyenas.

Gotta go.
More when the purse is returned.

PS the girl beside me in the library types like a wild person, on caffeine! She's scaring me! She's only using four fingers! Mmmm caffeine . . .

Take the What High SchoolStereotype Are You? quiz.

Make that 30,000 in Pakistan.
Go here: http://humanitarianman.blogspot.com/
give here: file://www.securedpath.com/
or here: http://www.imcworldwide.org/index.shtml
as was recommended by someone in the know-

I am generally not a good source for news, but I cannot keep from mentioning there are over 1,000 dead in Pakistan resulting from an earthquake centered outside of Islambad. Pakistan, Kashmir, Afghanistan and India were all effected. This event, like many similar others before it will not effect us (Americans) directly. It was on the news today, tomorrow we are allowed to forget.
It's hard for me to forget.
Over 1,000 dead in Guatemala, land slides in the mountains resulting from the rain from Hurrican Stan.
I can't forget tomorrow.
I've been to these places. I've seen these lives, I've seen the everyday struggle. And now so many have lost what little they had.
Hope is free, but sometimes even that is hard to come by.

Remember this.
Pray for true love.
Pray for hope.
Pray for charity.
Remember this.

I think I might need a tea set, I shall search the thrift stores high and low, low and high, here and there!

So, I'm into orange food this week.
Carrots, Cheeze-Nips, oranges . . . which is strange because I normally have a policy of never eating foods that are all the same color together. (I know, also strange.)
For example, a meal of mac and cheese, yellow squash and corn is totally out of the question; spinich souflee, green beans and salad, not on my plate, no.

http://www.rainbowanimations.com/supername.php

check it out,
love, the elderly school girl

Some tidbits from today:
I saw a gold-glitter car, it said, "classic" on the side, and the owner was ever-so-proud of his automobile, truly, it was weirder than it sounds.

I saw a giant tennis shoe. I mean GIANT! I mean I think Big Tex lost his running shoe! It was on the back of a truck trailer. I'd guess about a size . . . oh, maybe 102! I was really wishing at that point that I had a camera.

I like my new blog template. I ingeniously downloaded it from another web site.
I looked at two other blog sites, but they were tres complicated. Guess I'll stick it out here.

I saw on the news today that there have been 19 days of above 95 degree temps in September this year here in the DFW area. Do we need to discuss how much that sucks? It's a record breaker. Yeah. Indian summer . . . Indian freaking broiler!

There are some people at a place that I go to often that I don't like, nor do I trust them. One is a definite stabber and tattler. Another is a punk, I bet I could get the latter in trouble, just for fun, if I wanted to. :0) Poor baby-- I shouldn't be mean to the fish. I'll consider my options, there are so few days left.

I've been thinking I should celebrate my 1/2 birthday. I hereby declare my half birthday to be on St. Patrick's Day! Get your own 1/2 birthday!

adieu

i got a mule

her name is sal



fifteen miles


on the erie canal

I saw a little Dachshund/Chihuahua mix, she was cute! Buzz thought so too, he tried to make babies with her, but she was not ready to go so far so fast. (Typical male, ready to make it- like, a minute after seeing her.)

Buzz can't help it, he's a very manly dog. Other tiny dogs immediately submit in his presence. We went to Octoberfest and he ran in the wiener races, he got 3rd place (out of four, but who cares about that?) That was just because he was distracted. Off the track, he dominated those wienies

I watched "My Name is Earl" and "Bones" this past week. Although I really liked Earl, I doubt I will be dutifully be watching either show. "Bones" was ever-so-much like CSI, which I like, but seriously, enough is enough.

They made a smart-show dumb mistake which irritated me. It was a story about a guy who crashed his car into a building, and the building blew up because there were explosives attached to the car. It was considered an act of terrorism. The body in the car is too burned up to ID, so they call in the forensic/anthropoligical expert. She determines through his bone structure and other stuff that the driver was an Afghan who was a peace ambassador between Muslim groups and the US government.

So . . . they go talk to his wife who gets angry that they automatically assume he's a terrorist just because he's "Arab." I know they both start with A, but Afghans and Arabs are not the same peoples; an Afghan would readily point that out, as would an Arab. Oh well, I guess that little slip won't effect most of the American population, so whatever. I thought the acting was stiff, but I suppose I'd watch it again if I was bored.

Earl, however, I'd love to watch Earl. He was funny. No time, but I'm not worried, it will come out on DVD-- then I will have time! Some quotes if you please: said the day hooker: "I tried Earl! I did! I told him he was handsome, but he just ran away. I even pulled out my good boob!" and then said Earl's brother: "I think you're trying to sell a cat to a man of fancy dogs."

A very gentle Southern lady was driving across the Savannah River Bridgein Georgia one day. As she neared the top of the bridge, she noticed a young man fixing (ready) to jump.She stopped her car, rolled down the window and said, "Please don'tjump, think of your dear mother and father."He replied, "Mom and Dad are both dead; I'm going to jump."She said, "Well, think of your wife and children."He replied, "I'm not married and I don't have any kids."She said, "Well, think of Robert E. Lee."He replied, ''Who's Robert E. Lee?''She replied, ''Well bless your heart, just go ahead and jump, you dumbass Yankee."

I may be a Yankee, but I do know who Robert E. Lee was, so I guess that makes me a smart-ass Yankee. :0)

This right here, this is why I probably shouldn't have kids . . .

i have things to say, oh just you wait, I have things!

Brown men love me.
I don't know what it is, but I have been approached by brown men on the street, in stores, at gas stations, on tours just where ever.
Today: I am not even trying to be cute-- really, I'm wearing an ankle length dark blue skirt, a pink tank top and a brown scarf around my waist. I didn't brush my hair before I pulled it back into a ponytail, I didn't shave my legs or my pits, lipstick is my only make-up, it's hot, I'm stinky and I didn't even bother to put on a bra. (trust me, this omission is certainly not why I was approached today, it's not such a great sight as that)
He told me I was gorgeous and that he would like to take me somewhere and show me off.
ummm . . . no . . . thanks.
But it got me thinking about some of the other strange encounters. It usually seems to occur when I'm feeling least cute. Furry legs, bad hair, no make-up, mismatched clothes-- those are the days. Not that there are so many days when at least one of the above stated is not the case, but generally they do not all occur on the same day.
One guy followed me around the shoe store staring at me feet to eventually reveal to me that I have beautiful feet.
In more exotic lands I've been told I "look like I came from the moon" or that my "face looks like the moon." (pocked, pitted with a greenish tint?!) One guy told me I was worth 700 camels.
You know how much that is? Me neither.
One guy asked me to marry him, not just in the 700 camels kind of way, but three times to be sure that I knew he was serious. One guy told me I was "shiny." I didn't even ask what that meant. One of my favorite compliments came from a guy who wasn't even trying to pick me up, and it's a good thing because the charade would never have lasted. He told me that my English was "very good."
I said, "Thanks."
It's true, my English is very good.

http://www.milkandcookies.com/links/7452

I just got comment spam! Well, now you have to pass a test before you can comment, to make sure you are human and not an evil robot. Take that and rewind it back!

So, my birthday is in two weeks. That means you should start picking out a card and thinking of nice things to say about me about this time . . . and a present . . . I like presents send one of those too.

ao
I have this box of cassette tapes under my bed. Every time I clean under my bed, I look at the box and think, “I never listen to those tapes, I should throw them away.” (do you have to use quotation marks when you are thinking? I'm going with "yes.")

Then I think, “but I really liked those ones, maybe I’ll listen to them in the car." I even went so far as to take some of them to the car once and I listened to them a few times, then I spilled grape juice on them, but I still can’t convince myself to throw them away. I’m going to do it though—I’m going to! No more sticky grape juice Wham! tape. No more icky-purple Dwight Yoakum, I say “no!” to the Hits of 1997!

But there is one, one spared the grape juice, one that I must keep for . . . well, I must keep it forever and forever.

It’s labeled “Music to Drive to Church By” and the cover has a Confederate flag and a heart that says “ONJ+DM” on it. The song selections include ‘Walk on the Wild Side,’ ‘Billion Dollar Baby,’ some Jonathan Richman, lots of Olivia Newton John and a short story or two. My favorite of course is the one about walking across the dam in the storm.

I’m not feeling that mellow these days.

I don’t like church.
I think I used to like it, but it seems these past few years there’s something – something that isn’t right. I’ve been thinking it’s just me. Something about me isn’t right so church feels fake. I still want to worship God, I still love Jesus, but I don’t want to go to church. I don’t want to “fellowship” because I feel like there is nobody there like me.

Maybe there are somebodys like me, but I’m not sure how I am, so would I even recognize them if I saw them?

I went to church tonight. I gave up trying to be good and took my knitting with me. If I don’t have something to occupy me while I’m listening, I start picking apart the sermon on theological and grammar points. Maybe I should declare myself ‘postmodern’ and tell people I knit to stop myself from deconstructing. :o)

While I was there I started wondering how a person can go about showing that she loves God. I thought of some women I know who love God and they show it lots of ways- but in the process they have taken themselves out of the world. We are in the world not of it, but they are barely here they might as well be in a secluded convent, which for the most part seems to me to be the opposite of the Great Commission. “Go out into all the world and hole up so people can admire your virtue.” Not exactly.

Know what you know and do what you believe. Know why you believe and why you do so that when somebody asks you why you don’t cover your hair like it says you should in the Bible you damn well have a good answer.

My professor said this:

“The epiglottis comes up and touches the pharyngeal wall, and that’s awesome!”
Ah, linguists, they are funny to me.

What I've learned this week: late in my academic career I realize that it is really easy to type notes in class . . . I should have had a lap top all this time. Blast it!

Back to class-- my first few days of the semester are always interesting, observing people and learning about them as much as about the class topic-- the girl in front of me with her beautiful slender fingers and perfect almond fingernails, and her beard. And there is Ellen who is beautiful and exotic (and she knows it) but her personality seems flat and her sense of humor is MIA. And in a class of 20 there is one man, and several missionaries who can be picked out according to hair style and clothing.

"Un bon vin blanc" is a is a French phrase which uses all nasal vowels. FYI.

My Family Circle magazine recommended that I do something that I'm not good at to show myself that it's okay not to be an expert at everything. (Like I need to be reminded.) Anyway . . . To the left you will see a very crooked and somewhat phallic Texas Capital Building as viewed from the south lawn. Above you will see a very pink Alamo. (Don't forget it!)

Neither the Alamo, nor the capital building are quit this shade of pink, but I was taking some artistic license.

Misty and I decided that we should be painters and so we drove to Austin and San Antonio to be inspired by these two great Texas monuments. We sat for hours (one hour at each place) and looked and painted, in a very serious kind of way. All the tourists (especially at the Alamo) saw us painting and came to look at out paintings and often left shaking their heads. I wonder if they thought we were retarded?
One little girl told Misty she liked her painting. Nobody actually said anything bad (that we could hear,) but a young couple sat next to me and looked at my painting. I didn't hear the guy say anything, but I heard the girl say, "Well, maybe they are just doing it for fun." :0) I should have thanked her for defending us. Instead I ignored them and continued painting the Alamo pink.

I've decided to become a very serious painter, albeit a not so good one. I don't care, I think it's fun. Plus its a cheap souvenir!

We also painted the round rock of Round Rock, TX. I didn't include this painting in the display because, well, it's near impossible to identify as anything at all, let alone a mostly unknown round rock in Round Rock. (Which, by the way Travis, you so could not jump to!)
Finding the round rock was an adventure all it's own. Because I'm me and Misty is Misty, between the two of us we could get lost standing still. First we went the wrong way and ended up at a grocery store.

I walked up to a guy in the parking lot and said, "Do you know where the round rock is? The round rock of Round Rock? The round rock that Round Rock is named after?"
He gave me a "you're an idiot look" and said, "Round Rock is down past 35."
I said, "Okay."

Then we went down to a Mexican restaurant and I went in and said, "Do you know where the round rock is?" (She gave a blank look so I kept talking) "You know? The round rock of Round Rock? The round rock that Round Rock is named after? The round rock in the river? Round rock . . . ?"
She said, "Round rock?"
I said, "Yeah."
She said, "I don't speak English."

So I went over to a gas station. I started in with my whole "Round rock of Round Rock" thing again, and the little Indian guy looked at me and said, "There's a round rock?!"
I said "Yeah, it's in the river, but we can't find it."
He said, "I have lived in this town for 10 years and I've never seen the round rock! When I came I said to my niece, "Niece, where is the round rock? This town is Round Rock, were is it?" and she said to me, "Oh, Uncle, there is no round rock! That is only the name of the town!" But now you come to me and tell me there is a round rock! I did not know! I'm glad you came to tell me after all these years!" (call me the prophetess of the round rock)
He was very happy to know there was a round rock. I was a little deflated that nobody in town even knew what I was talking about.

But then, an Asian guy standing behind us said, "It's about two blocks away from here." And he pointed the way to us.
Amazing! We finally found it, we sat on the little bridge and painted it while we ate green potato chips. You can imagine it in your head . . . it's actually more of a oval.

I was helping pudding pop house sit this weekend. And by “help” I mean I was swimming in his boss’s pool. I didn’t get any sleep, what between my dog howling at the drier, and the house’s dog walking around jingling her tags, bumping into the bed and looking longingly at me as if to say, “how would you feel about a German Shepard shaped pillow?” not to mention the drier beeping (hence the howling) and the clock in the living room chiming all night . . . I’m tired.

I spent a large part of today trying to remember how to make a granny square. I had three patterns and a cd rom trying to help, I finally got it after I figured out I had been calling a double crochet a triple crochet for . . . well ever. However, in the end, I have some cute grannies and I also learned how to make a proper double crochet, triple crochet, double triple crochet and a triple triple crochet. The lesson stopped there because anything more than a triple triple would just be silly silly.

The question: Is "drawer" a real word?

Main Entry: draw·er Pronunciation:
'dro(-&)rFunction: noun1 : one that draws : as a : a person who draws liquor
b : DRAFTSMAN c : one that draws a bill of exchange or order for payment or makes a promissory note
2 : a sliding box or receptacle opened by pulling out and closed by pushing in3 plural : an article of clothing (as underwear) for the lower body- drawer·ful /-"ful/ noun

the answer: indeed!

While looking in the paper for a listing for a labradoodle (just because it's funny) we came across: "Erasmas Van Noort puppies" What? We asked, is an Erasmas Van Noort puppy? The answer is below (Google translated from German enjoy the description):
VA3 Erasmus van Noort

SCHH3 Kkl 1
Sire fount: 04. March 2000
SZ/2060362 Hp nearly normal
More largely, force and more contentful, more dryly, more firmly, in very good relationship more developed, remarkably type - and expressionful Ruede. High widerrist, beautiful line, good length and situation of the croup. Very well bent forwards - and rear spar and, balanced chest conditions, straight front. Correct signal element sequence, very liquid, roomy courses with strong supply and free precedence. Safe nature, UCB pronouncedly; discharges. V. Remarkably type - and expressionful with exemplary Gepraege. VI. Been suitable to the improvement of type, expression, strength and Gepraege.

From what I understand from other websites is that EVN is a champion dog, and puppies called by this name are sired from the origional. He looks like a regular old German Shepard to me but . . . the cost: $1150, the area code: West Texas, the probability that these puppies are truly sired from The Erasmus Van Noort: very slim if you ask me.

read the instructions, even if you don't follow them

I went to the second hand store yesterday (even though I know I shouldn't, sometimes I just want to buy something and since "real" stores are out of the question, I comfort myself with goofy things other people have cast off.) and I bought three fabulous and random things.

1. an Easter egg jello-jigglers mold- note I don't even like jello and it's no where near Easter
2. a cookie press- note I don't remember the last time I made cookies, nor do I know any
recipes for or how to use a cookie press
3. a wool hat - note that it is 98 degrees outside in the middle of TX summer

It's all so beautiful.

When I was a kid I had an encyclopedia-like set of children’s classics. They were bound in dark blue with gold lettering. Each book contained to halves of two different stories. For example, one volume might contain the second half of Peter Pan and the first half of Alice in Wonderland. One summer I read them all, Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, Robinson Caruso, The Call of the Wild, Just So Stories, (others I’m sure,) and half of Swiss Family Robinson. I was just thinking about it the other day, I never did find out what happened to that Swiss Family Robinson. I guess whoever gave me that set got tired of buying half books . . .Hmmm. . . oh well.

I read all of the Little House on the Prairie books and I loved Trixie Belden. Never heard of Trixie Belden? Well, she was a lesser known counter part of Nancy Drew and the Hardy boys. How did I get a hold of somewhat obscure books written in the 40s when I was 10? I think my mom may have read them when she was a kid and she would pick them up for me at garage sales. I dug Trixie more than Nancy because unlike Nancy who was rich and beautiful, Trixie was kind of a tomboy and had freckles and lived out in the country and argued with her brothers.

I recently bought the first three Trixie books from Amazon. I haven’t re-read them yet, but she’s on my list. Others on my list are Anne of Green Gables (I heard these were good as a kid, but I accidentally picked up House of Seven Gables in stead . . . bad choice.) I have Mary Poppins to read, and I’m not sure I ever finished the Narnia books, I have all of the Little House books to re-read at my leisure, two more OZ books, Peter Pan and I’m thinking I really need to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (did I ever read it in the first place? And now I don’t have a copy!) I love Ronald Dahl. I also have about 100 other books that I keep impulsively buying! I’ve been trying to stop buying books! These are just the children’s books, what about all the other ones? Sci-fi, fantasy, literature, history, theology . . . will it ever end?

I am currently reading 1. Edith Hamilton’s Mythology
2. The Srewtape Letters
3. Captain Underpants and the Invasion of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Outer Space (and the Subsequent Assault of the Equally Evil Lunchroom Zombie Nerds)

PS this is one of those blogs that I wrote a long time ago and never posted . . . I have now finished #s 2 and 3 and am half way through The Dragon Reborn and The Mediations of Marcus Aurelius. (although I seem to have misplace Marcus, he's a skinny little thing) I'm not sure I'll be able to squeeze another one in before school starts, but I'll try!

“The basic principle of the new education is to be that dunces and idlers must not be made to feel inferior to intelligent and industrious pupils.”

“The bright pupil this remains democratically fettered to his own age group throughout his school career, and a boy who would be capable of tackling Aeschytlus or Dante sits listening to his coeval’s attempts to spell out A CAT SAT ON A MAT.”

“And anyway the teachers- or should I say, nurses?- will be far too busy reassuring the dunces and patting them on the back to waste time on real teaching.”

“For “democracy” or the “democratic spirit” (diabolical sense) leads to a nation without great men, a nation mainly of sub literates, full of the cocksureness which flattery breeds on ignorance, and quick to snarl or whimper a the first hint of criticism.”
Screwtape Proposes a Toast CS Lewis

I’ve been taking education administration classes this summer. The most important thing I’ve learned is that if I had children I would be wary to send them to public schools. I’m optimistic so I like to believe that most teachers have their student’s best interests at heart, but the bureaucracy and the general ignorance is astounding!

A few weeks ago we talked about “religion” in the classroom. By religion most of them meant denominations. Some of them argued that there was too much religious freedom in the classroom; others argued that there wasn’t enough. One high school lit teacher was saying how she doesn’t want to proselytize (actually, she kept saying “prostelytize”) in the classroom, she would just like to have the freedom to talk to her class about the Biblical and Christian allusions presented in the literature.

I told her that would be great, if she could also explain the Buddhist and Hindu and Jewish and Islamic allusions presented in the literature . . . oh, but wait, I’m sure she doesn’t use any lit that would have those types of allusions.

This same woman . . . I’m sure she thought I was pure evil . . . she was commenting on something another classmate had said, stated, “Well, I don’t understand why that girl was offended by a teacher wearing something that says “I love Jesus” why should that offend anybody? It’s not like it said, “You better love Jesus or else.”

I said, “Well, you probably don’t see why it’s offensive because you are a Christian. What if a student or a teacher came to class wearing a T-shirt that said, “Satan owns my soul.” Would you find that offensive?”

She said, “Yeah, but that’s extreme, besides, that’s not a religion, that’s a cult.”

I asked, “What do you think is the difference between a religion and a cult?”

She answered, “A cult worships something that somebody just made up.”

I said, “So, you think somebody just made up Satan?”

She said, “Well, I mean people like David Koresh, he said he was the Messiah.”

I said, “But, Jesus said the same thing! The established religious leaders thought he was crazy and they wanted to kill him, (and they did) they also persecuted and killed early Christian converts because they said the converts were part of a dangerous cult.”

She responded, “But that’s different, Christianity is old.”

Me: “So, if it’s old, it’s okay?!”

Her: “Yeah.”

Me: “Paganism? Animism? Witchcraft, Druids, Voodoo?”

I think she stopped listening just after she said, “Yeah.” That is if she ever was listening in the first place.

My PhD prof. was trying to make a point about how we do need to teach some points of religion in the classroom just as historical facts . . . he said, “I bet nobody in here even knows what century Mohammad was born in.” I thought, “I bet you’re wrong.”

Then he said, “I bet nobody in here can even name two or three of the six pillars of Islam.”

And I thought, “I’d like to hear you name the six pillars of Islam, since there are only five.”

I said, “There are only five.”

He said, “Five, six, whatever.”

And I thought, “Well, look there, you have proven your point quite well.”

I decided to be quiet the rest of the class time.
-

“It is the divergence of view about Unselfishness which we have built up between the sexes. A woman means by Unselfishness chiefly taking trouble for others; a man means not giving trouble to others.” The Screwtape Letters CS Lewis p. 121

I've written a blog or two and haven't posted them . . . on account of I'm too lazy to get up and plug in my flash drive. They say there's always tomorrow. That is unless Jesus comes than there's me with unpublished blogs like a virgin without oil.

Well, in other news I finally bought a rolling pin. I've been using a glass all these years. I was in a cooking mood today and I tried to make prawlines . . . that was semi disastrous. I think I just made sticky nuts. :0) sticky nuts, that makes me laugh.

I bought some clear plastic Cinderella shoes. Unfortunate, I don't have anywhere to wear them. I believe I have already made my complaints about not being cute at work. Lab coat, sensible shoes, prescription safety glasses, pocket protector . . . they don't add up to cute no matter what.

I wish I was one of those girls with the perfect (never chipped) nail polish and peticured toes. One of those women with the cute hair cut they obviously get up early every morning to "do." One of those ones with matching purses and shoes and who always, always have smooth shaven, tanned legs. I'm not one of those. I mean, I know that I technically could be, but it would be very taxing on me, at least to start out. I have been working on wearing make up more often. Which generally means that about lunch time I got to the rest room and apply eyeshadow, blush and lipstick.

Speaking of not being cute. I have a growing colony of white hairs populating my head. Now, I wouldn't be so offended by them if it weren't for the fact that they all hang out together right on my natural part! There used to be only 5 or 6, now there are at least 25 and they are all in the same 1 square inch of my head! I mean I know there are probably others, but I don't care about them, mostly because I can't see them, but there they are everyday near the hair line on my part. They taunt and mock me. (bastards) I was going to color them today, but once again, lazy.

looks like I just lost my connection.
fine!

"The alchemist said, "No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn't know it."
Paulo Coelho The Alchemist

For "break a leg" or "good luck" Italians say "in bocca al lupo" or "into the mouth of the wolf," thus suggesting you do well by risking all. The response is: " "Crepi!" or "may the wolf die."

Learn Something New Today:
Mr. T was born Laurence Tureaud on May 21, 1952 in the rough southside ghetto area of Chicago. He is the second youngest of twelve children (he has four sisters and seven brothers, and grew up in government housing. His father left when he was 5, and his mother raised the family on $87 a month welfare in a three room apartment. Mr.T's brothers encouraged him to build up his body in order to survive, and he has commented, "If you think I'm big, you should see my brothers!" His mother is a religious woman, who has had a strong influence on him. He says, "Any man who don't love his momma can't be no friend of mine". He was an average student in school. He says "Most of the time I stared out the windows, just daydreaming. I didn't study much because I have a photographic memory." Apart from one spell between 5th and 7th grades when he went a little astray - playing hookey, cursing, acting tough, being disrespectful - he was a well behaved child (He worried about how his mother would feel if he ended up in jail). He attended Dunbar Vocational High School. He was a football star, studied martial arts, and was a 3-time city wrestling champion. He won a scholarship to Prairie View A&M University in Texas, but was thrown out after a year. After that he went to a couple of little colleges in Chicago, always on an athletic scholarship. When he left college, Mr. T was a military policeman in the US Army. After that, he was invited to try out for the Green Bay Packers, but a knee injury finished his professional football career.
It was whilst reading "National Geographic" that Mr. T first saw the hairstyle for which he is now famous -- on a Mandinka warrior. He felt that adopting the style was a powerful statement about his origins. In 1975 he worked for a while on the Chicago educational scheme as a gym teacher. In 1978 he decided to do something definite about his religious beliefs and was re-baptised in the Cosmopolitan Community Church in Chicago.
http://stupidcollegekid.tripod.com/thestupidcollegekid/id15.html
see also: www.mrtandme.com

Shannon has a poor attitude. She refuses to play cooperatively with the other children. She refuses to obey simple commands or to answer simple questions.
Shannon refuses to accept classroom leadership responsibilities, she prefers to sit alone in a corner with a book or a ball of yarn.
Shannon is not achieving her full potential.
Shannon must be socialized to peer involvement if she is to move forward in her development.

I'm unhappy with the look of my blog . . . alas, I'm not computer savy enough to customize one. I gots to choose from what is offered. I just spent an hour looking at the small selection and rejecting them one by one (after I had applied them) sigh . . . it's not easy being a virgo/virgo/virgo.

look what i just found! i should really pay more attention to updates, now it's so easy to post pictures! Fantastic. now if only i had something to take pictures of . . . happy 9th of july.

I saw a sign on a door which read as follows:
"Baby Sleeping
SHHH!
or be destroyed"

I wanted to steal it, but then I thought, "that's not what Jesus would do."

why is my blog looking all weird? How long has this been going on?!

You scored as Scarlet. Scarlet, darling...

You are often seen wearing gorgeous outfits (even out of curtians).

You have a dramatic flair and tend to lead on rich southern aristocrats.
Scarlet
81%
Orange-yellow
69%
Cerulean
63%
Sea Green
63%
Black
56%Which crayon color are you?created with QuizFarm.com

I had an extra moment so I decided I should learn about body language I went to the first web page that popped up on Google and started reading the following list:

Sniffing — May be annoyed or just talking to you (well, it seemed kinda strange, but okay)
Grunts — Usually angry, watch out or you could get bit! (obviously)
Shrill scream — Hurt or dying (again, obvious)
Circling your feet — Usually indicates sexual behavior. He/She's in love. (now it's getting interesting.)
Spraying (spraying?!) — Males that are not neutered will mark female rabbits (rabbits?!) in this manner as well as their territory. Females will also spray.
I went to a rabbit page: http://www.rabbit.org/behavior/body-language.html

learn all about rabbit body language for yourself. I'm moving on to humans.

the air is back . . . fear not potential visitors!

i'm not lost, just not home the air is out again. for a while the blender, the icecream, the rum and the pineapple and I became friends, then it even got too hot for that. I should be back to the more normal run of affairs this weekend. (when it's supposed to rain and not be 101 degrees, and my air may be fixed again.)

http://www.shockhaber.com/zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.htm

118 before I said to myself, "self, seriously, what are we doing?"

An unfortunate combination of events for which I would like to receive some sympathy:

1. It's like 97 degrees outside with a "heat index" of over 100.
2. I have been running a fever of 99 for the past few days.
This may not seem significant to you 98.6ers, but my normal temp is 97.8 that means to me 99= 100.4 (no wonder I was always so bad at math.)
3. My air conditioner has not been working for two days.
4. The North-South breeze does next to nothing for my East-West windows.
5. I had ice-cream for dinner to cool off and feel better, but instead it made me feel worse. (Damn Ben and Jerry!)
6. My little weiner dog is just sitting here looking at me and panting. (that's the sympathy call for Buzz)
7. In conclusion, we are hot. Sympathy please.

i'm angry!!
my co-worker is patronizing...she loves to point out how great she is and how well she can pronounce words because she's from penn. and she lived over seas. so what i can't pronounce the "e" in pen or "i" in pin so her delicate ears can tell the difference. most people can't, in fact i don't think my mother can pronounce most words properly! i get excited and i feel comfortable around her and then every now and then she stabs me with language. "oh that is not the correct tense" "I hate the southern's inability to say ten, and tin" i know she thinks she is smater than most people, and i'm sure she feels like she is better than me because she is older. I ask questions because I haven't read all the same books as her or have not been to other countries and I am curious. That doesn't mean i should be treated like i'm dumb. She not the only jerk in this place and treats me like I am below them, even the daughter of one of the scientist who is younger than me treats me like an idot! I know I am not brilliant, but I have potiental. So I'm ANGRY.

(any body want to take a guess?)

Yes, I am great. Let me point it out again (because I love it.)
I like myself, I have a good self esteem. I talk about my education, back ground and my past experiences because those are the things I know. (Maybe I should branch out and talk about things I don't know anything about, it might be fun.)
I know how to produce the difference between 'pin' and 'pen.' I suppose that does make me linguistically superior. If you believe that last statment, have I told you about the time I was abducted by aliens? Did you know Michael Jackson is my second cousin? Have you heard of post-it-notes? I invented them, oh yeah, and the internet too. I'm amazing.

Low self esteem and inferiority complexes are not my scene. I am just as good as anybody else, no matter if he or she is more educated, more skilled or spiritual or more beautiful than me. (Notice the proper use of the object pronoun?, I kill myself!) If you can't say this same thing about yourself, it's not my fault.

If you are insulted by my grammar or pronunciation, or my age or travels (or all the myriad of other offensive things about me) you might merely say, "Sometimes when you say things like that it sounds offensive, like you are putting me down because you don't think I'm as smart as you are." And I will quickly explain to you that I (99% of the time) am kidding, or that I'm only pointing out a difference. I understand that different is not inferior.

I profusely apologize for me being myself and you being yourself. If we could change places, I wouldn't.

I just got my finals back from last semester. I totally wrote and handed in this sentence on a take home part of my grammar final.

"After the groups have finished their descriptions, each someone from group shows the rest of the class the pictures, and reads the descriptions."

Imagine the damage I can impart on non-native English speakers when I produce this sort of grammar.

I'm fantastic!

Speaking of being fantastic, I've taken to using this phrase quite often. "That's fantastic." I watched Bubble Boy (again) a few weeks ago and the guy in the bus ticket booth says it. I dig that guy.

I also use the made up phrase, "Son of a Mother!" The evolution of this saying is involved indeed, but in essessence it is an exclamation used in place of other "son of a" phrases. My co-worker pointed out that "son of a mother" has no real meaning as every son has a mother. I concur, which is why nobody can think ill of me for the utterance. In times when there is no time for such a utterance I find myself hissing. (Example, drop something heavy on my toe I say, "SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

class time

why are all my posts about my dog . . . I so need a life.

I'm taking summer school, education administration classes and I'm wondering why I didn't go for this degree in the first place, these classes are so stinking easy!

I say that now, but you never know I might end up being a plagerizer.

I'm going to go see "Man of the House" tonight (free on campus.) Yeah, that's cool huh?

I do my best in these bleak times.

I had three off brand oreo cookies for dinner. They were from the hippy food store, so they may have been good for me.

A Boxer (big dog) whizzed on my Dachshund’s (little dog) head. If that’s not enough to give him short dog syndrome I don’t know what is.

In my class the other day we were discussing compulsory education. Should we have it? I said yes, to my great surprise most of the rest of the class said we shouldn’t! And the arguments they gave for their opinions were shocking! I was sitting in a classroom full of teachers getting maters degrees to become principles and they were saying things like, “This country spends too much money on education! Not everyone needs a Cadillac education!” Good Lord, have Mercy! We are a rich nation, if we aren’t spending money on education, what exactly should we be spending money on?!! And the implications of that statement . . . if not everyone should have a “Cadillac” education, who gets one? Who decides on who gets one? What do the rest get? A “Kia” education?

Another woman said, “Well, ‘tortilla makers’ don’t need math and science.” My jaw dropped at the offensive nature of that sentence. A group of educators agreeing that high school should not be required, that math and science should be allowed to fall by the wayside and that children should have the right to decide what education they need past the 8th grade.

Given the choice I wouldn’t have struggled through math and science in high school, but I’m glad I didn’t have the choice. I’m glad I was forced to use my brain and encouraged to try things (and even fail at things along the way) that stretched my understanding and knowledge of the world.

I agree that education in this country certainly could use some reworking. I agree that not every child is destined for college. But even ‘tortilla makers’ can benefit from math and science.

The other day my co-worker was saying how bored she was at home. She was so bored, there was nothing to do, and she didn’t have any money to go do anything, or buy anything to do . . .
And I was trying to give suggestions, and she had either already done them, or she didn’t have the materials needed to do them.

And I thought, well, heck, I have pretty much build my entire house hold around having things to do at any given moment. No money? Fine by me, I have material, patterns, yarn, ink, stamps, clay, and paint. I have computer projects; pictures to organize, music to copy, videos to convert, programs to learn. I have recipes to make and drawers to clean out, I have piles of things to organize and clothes to iron, I have books to read and puzzles to puz and my little dog to torment. (Whether I’m tormenting him or he is tormenting me) I have so many things to occupy my time, if I’m bored, it’s because I’m tired of all my choices (do have this short attention span).