Confronting the beast

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The dumbest human I have ever worked for or with.  I would love to tell you all about her 80s bangs, sweater vests, and red talons.  Her slacks are from k-mart and sometimes she comes to school with pink eye and no make up on.  She didn’t know what a kiwi was until I ate one for lunch one day.  Her patronus (let’s be real, she’s a squib so IF she could muster one,) would be a weasel (and not in the cute Weasley way).  Do you know what, actually, just imagine a female version of Filch and that’s pretty close.  Feelings of sympathy are probably swelling up inside you (if you have a heart) at the description of this pathetic person, but SQUELCH THEM. 

She is awful.  When my coworker and I  confronted her today for giving only the two of us ALL 3’s (“meets standard”) on our end of year evaluations, but everyone else ALL 4’s (“exceeds standard”) she kept telling us it was “subjective.”  Which is kind of like saying I-Don’t-Like-You. 

“It’s because you’re new,” she said, “You know, you didn’t know exactly what to do in every situation, 100% of the time.” 

“So it’s not because of anything I did.  It’s just because I’m new?” I asked.

But no, that wasn’t what she meant, exactly.  “It’s subjective.” she kept saying, as if that justified everything.

 

Well, screw that, Mama G–I ain’t nobody’s 3!

Can I get an Update

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Oh hey, did you want me to tell you about my life in a non-cryptic way?  Sometimes I don’t realize it, but I use this blog almost like I assume you already know what’s up.

So here is what the frak I am doing in Provo, UT:

-Not dating.  I’m not even Tindering.  I’m just hanging out and being awesome by myself.

-Working two part-time jobs like the glamorous post-grad I am.  I’m still working days at my elementary school and now I have a second job in the evenings and on weekends at this really neat toy store.  It specializes in unique toys, vintage stuff–candies and soda and games.  Working there is a real drag (NOT.) We do things like learn board games, figure out the best paper airplane model, and build a set of perfect and precise stairs out of games for a slinky to slink down.

-Got a new roommate.  Two of the roommates that I was living with when I moved in have both moved out.  One is MARRIED.  The other is almost married.  Both got engaged and married/soon-to-be married in the time that I’ve known them.  I’ve lived here for 6 months.

-I have my own car!  Did you miss that?  I haven’t owned a car since that hand-me-down piece of shit Saturn in high school that got stolen and then (unfortunately) returned and only managed to finally die when little B. Darling inherited her.  My new car is a Subaru.  I’m a sube newb.  I feel unstoppable.  I can go anywhere!

-Feeling happy!  You know I am usually a moody bitch, but I have been consistently happy this past week (minus 8:50-9:25 am M-F which is when I have my least favorite group of students) and it feels so Provo.

Conversations With Kids: Part Four

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1st grader: Did you know if someone spits on you, it’s good luck.

Me: Gross. Where did you hear that?

1st grader: My teacher.  She spit on me.

 

[Me: putting on chapstick.]

2nd grader: Ooh! Lipstick!

Me: It’s chapstick.

2nd grade girl: Some people show off with their lipstick.

2nd grade boy: Yeah, like So-and-So. She’s like WHooooo! [waving hand around in the air like a cowgirl]

So-and-So: No!  He’s lying!

Me: You have lipstick?

2nd grade boy: Yeah, she has red lipstick.

 

 

[3rd grader poking his finger with a pencil, dangerously close to his takis-encrusted fingernails.]

Me: Stop poking yourself!

Him: I don’t even feel anything.

Me: Yeah, but it’s my pencil.

Other 3rd grader: And they’re expensive to buy.

Me: Yeah!…

 

 

3rd grader: Your name is Darling?

Me: Yes.

3rd grader: What’s your real name?

Me: Miss Darling.

3rd grader: Are you married?

Me: No.

3rd grader: Don’t tell me you’re a widow, right?

Me: No.

 

2nd grader: can you get swimmer’s itch at the beach?

 

[Me: taking a drink from my water bottle.]

2nd grader: Can you drug?

Me: You mean chug?

2nd grader: Yeah, like gulpgulpgulp.

If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them

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There is an undeniable air of over-excitement in Singles Wards.

It’s the opposite of a middle school dance.

Boys and girls mingle like they have high self-esteem and don’t believe in cooties.

But everyone has that same phony base level of charm and humor.

Everyone is fighting to be funny.

And everyone is so nice (except for the racist jokes).

The talking is loud, the laughing is louder.

It seems like everyone is trying to be the best catch.

And maybe these twenty-something singles are not thinking about dating whatsoever,

but somehow I doubt that is true.

How to Actually Break Up With Someone

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Think

Spend Sunday night marinating in a bath of whiskey and deep thought.  What do you want?  What do you not want?  How do you feel?

The Decision

Decide, almost on a premeditated whim, that you are going to break up.  It’s going to happen.  Today.

The Invitation

Contemplate and consult a sister with dumpsters of dumping experience on the proper etiquette of breaking up.  Should you invite him over?  Should you go to him?  Should you meet in a neutral place? Settle on your apartment.  Send him the classic We Should Talk text.

The Break Up

Lay it on him straight.  “I don’t want to date anymore.”  Wait for his reaction.  When he seems to be okay, detail your reasons.  When it’s done and he still seems to be okay, ask him if he’s okay.  He’s fine.  He gets it, it makes sense, he just didn’t see it coming.  He won’t know how to leave, but he won’t know how to stay.  You both know that this is all there is left and when he leaves, it’s over.

Sunday Funday

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Today  began slightly productive.  I slept in majorly, which was needed, and spent my first two hours of consciousness writing in the living room.  After 3-hour-church got out, Kate brought Harold and Joseph (? or something.  I was on the phone when he introduced himself) into our apartment. They were going to have dinner…at 2:00pm.  That was fine and good, but I had just eaten breakfast and didn’t feel like being social.  So I hermited in my room until I started feeling bleh.

It was raining, I was feeling boring and significantly less productive.  I decided to go grocery shopping.  I have an adventurous spirit, I know.  I lost myself on my trip to Sprouts and then I found myself in a much needed spiritual-healing kind of way in a Starbucks.  Where the theme song to Portlandia was playing.  And it just felt so darn good.

From the first straw suck of coffee, my motivation leaped like a child trying to reach the taunting offer of a high-five from an NBA player.  I did things.  I answered the door in my somewhat immodest pajamas (oh, it was just the bishop and his councilor), I went to Ward Prayer, I even went to a Game Night.

Mormons are really into their Game Nights.  There were a lot of young 20something gamers present.  When we did introductions I blew my cover straight away and admitted that I wasn’t a member.  It was a beautiful thing.  And when we played press conference and somebody was assigned President Monson, I didn’t even have to pretend!  I could just be my clueless self.  It was such a grand old time that I even stayed after Kate left!  We played another game called Signs, which I’m pretty sure is a drinking game.  I tried to think of a good ASL sign.  I ended up with the sign for hamster, so I’m sure that left an appealing impression.  But whatever, squids will be squids.

Conversations with Kids: Part Three

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school

i.

1st grader: Teacher, teacher!  Have you watched Chucky Chan?

Me: Chucky Chan?  Do you mean Jackie Chan?

1st grader: No, Chackie Chan.  It’s about a guy who knows karate.

 

ii.

2nd grader: Miss Darling…who’s she?

Other 2nd grader: You know her!  Her face is…

Me: What is my face?

2nd grader: Your face is…your face is…white.  You know, some people are white, some people are black, some people are brown.  Some people are…peach, I think.

 

iii.

1st grader: Did you know if you put your pencil pointing up it means you hate God.

 

iv.

1st grade boy: I’m not wearing skin. [points to scrape on knee]

 

v.

2nd grader [trying to read the name “Chloe.”] Kuh-low…Kuh-low.  What a weird name.

Me: It’s actually pronounced Chloe.

Other 2nd grader: EL CHINO NIÑO.

Me: No.

 

vi.

2nd grader [to other 2nd grader]: Cholo!

Me: Don’t say that!

2nd grader: What?  But he said he is one.  Aren’t you?”

Other 2nd grader: Yes.

Me: Well, no name calling.

On Tuesdays we Wear Orange

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I have begun coordinating my outfit with a group of five 1st grade boys.  It started when one day we dressed in an accidental rainbow.  Yesterday we agreed that today’s color would be orange.  I don’t know if it’s because of their little 8 year old memories, or because their hearts just weren’t in it like mine, but only one remembered.  We agreed to wear rainbow tomorrow, so we’ll see.

 

Real World: Provo

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I had a lovely Portland vacation for spring break and now I am back in How-to-Get-Married-and-Have-a-Cute-Family-Before-You’re-25 land, otherwise known as Provo.  Home?  Can I call it home?  Visiting Portland made me realize that Utah gives me this sense of unbelonging.  It could just be my hormones, but the minute I stepped off the plane, I realized: I DON’T LIKE UTAH.

In Portland I drank freely–coffee, alcohol, and other alcohol.  Happy hours galore with sunshine patios and cutesy little $4 cocktails called huckleberry gimlets and juniper martinis.  Somehow, I doubt that ABG’s on Center Street will be able to offer me the same.  I said my goodbyes to alcohol at the PDX airport, while listening to a lesbian and her friend discussing her younger lover, the age difference of a 2nd grader.  Not much of that happening in Provo either.  Living in Provo made me forget that people could have same sex lovers!  There were multiple times when I found myself people watching in Portland–he’s probably bringing flowers to his gf…oh two girls on a skateboard means friendship, how nice.  My best friend Brittany had to call me out on it.  The flowers could be for his boyfriend!  Those girls could be on a date!

I am so used to pretending to be Mormon.  When people talk about “Conference Saturday” and tithing and the temple, I’m just kind of like Yeah.  Me too. Sure.  When I coo over cute baby toys at work, people ask if I have a boyfriend.  As if that is the logical timeline.  Boyfriend…husband…baby…baby toys!

I guess I am just tired of this little bubble.

So now I am left with two questions.  What will I do next (after Provo)?

And, will I ever live in a place that makes my hair look good??

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