Monday, August 27, 2007

I Just Want To Say One Thing: Be The Extra Degree

Rachel has been trying to convince me that now that we're finished with grad school, we should move immediately on to National Board Certification. The great thing about this certification is that in my school district, it gets you an extra 4k, no questions asked, every year for ten years.

That’s a lot of dough.

I've been telling Rach that we should go for the certification next year. I would have more time then, I said. And also, I just finished My Stupid Master’s Degree™ and all.

But, today, good pal Tim was recognized for completing his National Boards, and in addition to the cash, he also got a nice golden apple.

It even has his name engraved on it.

I think the apple incentive might just put me over the edge.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Jick In A Box

Yesterday I got my hair cut from shoulder-length to chin-length. My pal Emily master-minded this welcome transformation. It’s the shortest I’ve had my hair in four years.

When Dan got home at 10:30 from a firm function last night, he sat on the couch with me for a half-hour while I finished watching Music and Lyrics, the lame, but sort of endearing comedy featuring Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant. Then, finally, as we're going up the stairs, he asks wonderingly, “Did you get your hair cut?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “It’s, like, dramatic.”

He looks sheepish. “You don’t always notice when I get my hair cut,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “That’s because yours goes from this long [fingers one-and-a-half inches apart] to this long [fingers one inch apart].”

Just about every two weeks, Dan announces that he’s starting to look like “some damned hippie” and skips off to Great Clips for a treatment.

So, today, while I was at work, the juniors were queued up to get their schedules and pictures taken. I made eye contact with Marie, a nice former-soph whom I last saw on June 13. I wave as I walk by, and she shrieks, “Ms. W.! Oh my gosh, I love your hair!”

Monday, August 20, 2007

Fresh, So Fresh

I took a blog break while we were on vacation with our friends Adam, Tracy, and their daughter, Sophie. The trip was way fun. By day we waterskied, kayaked, boated, and swam. Tracy has a small problem with clothes pile-up, so she did laundry. Every day. Mostly at least twice a day. Sometimes she’d ask us to take off the clothes we were wearing in order to wash them.

Look, we all have fun in our own ways.

By night, we played a card game called Smear, which is native to the U.P., from whence Adam’s family hails. This was a re-match between Team AK-47, comprised of Adam and me, and Team Dumb Tits, comprised of Dan and Tracy. AK-47 prevailed on Grand Cayman in 2001. In fact, we dominated. The Tits, as Adam would say, they were a-saggin’ big time back then on our first vacation together.

So, I tell you, I felt confident coming into Grudge Match 2007, an event that spanned six nights. And AK-47 certinaly had our ups, for sure. But in the end, I’m sorry to say that the Tits, well, they pushed up, if you will.

Still, I want you to know that I when I won, I won graciously; and when I lost, I accepted defeat with maturity and a zen-like disposition.


I only swore and swatted at Dan a couple of times, I swear. And I apologized sincerely for all of those.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

The End of An Era

Perhaps it’s a sign that summer’s gone on too long when you’re sitting alone in your dirty house watching Billy Bob Thornton get his drink on in Badder Santa: The Unrated Version while feeling mildly nauseous from doing too many bad flip turns in the pool at the YWCA.

Tonight is Top Chef, though. I’m looking forward to it.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

He's Gotta Be Strong And He's Gotta Be Fast And Gotta Be Fresh From The Fight

His latest hobbies are cross dressing and trying to spit and pee into the toilet at the same time.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Flat Tires

A bridge collapsed yesterday a few miles from our house. It’s surreal, isn’t it? Huge structures aren’t supposed to just come crashing down without warning, killing people and crushing metal.

“This is just a reminder that we could all die at any time,” I told Dan, as we were trying to make sense of the disaster. “There are a million ways we could die every day.”

Neither of us slept very well last night.

At six, I pulled Shef into our bed for maximum dozing. Before he opened his eyes at seven, he said determinedly, “I want to be a big brudder.”

“I know, kiddo,” I said.

And do I ever. Last week, he repeatedly told his whole class he was getting a baby. Congratulations, his teacher finally told me on Friday. I tried to smile as I refuted the news.

“Tell me when the baby is done growing in your tummy,” Shef continued this morning. “Actually, let’s grow two babies. That way we can each hold one.”

And so there have been lots of reminders that we are not, in fact, in very much control at all.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Her Name Is Rio And She Dances On The Sand

I woke up in a funk today. I logged at least twenty-five deep sighs before ten o’clock.

“Do you want to go to the museum tomorrow?” Sheila IM’ed.

“I don’t know,” I responded. “I’m despondent.”

Finally, I left for the Y to try to swim away the bad attitude.

On the way there, I called Rachel, who tolerated about ten additional audible sighs. I could tell the funk was extra thick because I was speaking longingly to her about going back to school.

After I got to the Y, I stood in the vestibule for a few minutes, sighing and droning on until I decided to just get on with the exercise.

“Call me back later,” Rachel said.

“Sure,” I agreed. “I’ll probably have to call you because I’ll go in and weigh myself and discover that I have yet to lose a single pound this summer despite working out for -- wait for it -- FIVE HOURS EVERY WEEK.”

And then sure enough.