Vacay

Vacation is bliss.

The 'rents came to visit. Bliss. Shopping, beer, guns, sandwiches, talking, wine, driving. Perfect.

Now we're back home. My agenda today is to let the hubby sleep until he wakes up on his own (this may be a week-long project) and to play as many video games (while taking breaks to play with my puppy) as possible.

I repeat, vacation is bliss.

We may be moving the camping extravaganza to early November, so we don't bake (oh, desert) and so that we can continue this nothingness. It's very, very nice.

p.s.

Everyone is boring.

I've been having my quarter-life crisis, albeit a year late. Assuming I live to be 100. Which I will because I drink red wine.

I'd like to be a writer, but I have nothing interesting to say. I can apparently fill years of a blog with the nothings of my life, but so what? I feel like every blog out there has similar musings of everyday life. What? I'm so rare? By random search, I can find 3,000 other blogs by 20-something women trying to "figure it all out." In print form, we call this chick lit, mostly distinguishable by it's pink, black, and white pallet on the bookshelves of Borders. Throw a diamond on that cover and you've got yourself a bestseller.

I'd like to keep being a teacher, (and I probably will) but I wish it meant something. I like to think of myself rather like Dr. Kelso on Scrubs. I am understandably and effectively a bit distant from my job. I perform better if I'm not worried about feelings, especially those of children. What is best for people is often not pleasant or kind, so I try more to be fair and helpful. All that being said, wouldn't it be great if teaching really was a noble career? It'd be great if I came home everyday and pondered the fragility of youth and my impact on our future world. Instead, I fear for the world that these children's children (unfortunately not far off, most likely) will create. I remember that even on my best days, I am just these kids' English teacher. They will not, and should not, live out their days remembering my class as their halcyon days of youth or as the beginning of their intellectual journeys. Looking back, if forced, I can remember some of my high school teachers. Some of them were phenomenal teachers. But that's about as far as it goes.

Honestly, I didn't want to be best friends with my teachers and I was never in the market for a mentor. I can't see that as my purpose in my career now. I am busy enough trying to force the kids, kicking and screaming, to exceed on their standardized tests. Here's hoping I will.

But.

What if I came home, knowing that I had changed the world forever?

I'd like to be a lawyer. But isn't it the same damn thing? You spend all your time on work (grading papers or legal briefs) that no one ever reads. You spend your time fighting for people (students/criminals/business executives) that won't appreciate it.

I'd like to be a scientist. I could change the world. But for reals. What if I set up the first Earthling habitat on Mars? But it's too late. I suck at math and I hate not being social. There's too much to catch up on in the world of science and who would put me in charge of setting up a new world? No labs for me.

I'd like to be a farmer, but I've got no land and no idea how to, you know, farm.

I'd like to make furniture, but ditto.

I'd like to have a career, a passion, a purpose in life. But instead, I have to spend all my time working and paying bills. Count that out, deduct for time needed sleeping, pooping, and eating (not all at once, people), and what do you have left? Time for a sitcom and a walk for the dog.

I shouldn't complain. Life is working out well. I have a wonderful husband, dog, apartment, and job. I can pay my bills on time and afford the occasional present for myself (Pumpkin Spice Latte, anyone?). I am winning the game of life. It just turns out the trophy isn't so shiny.

Though I'd like to pretend these are somehow philosophical, unique ramblings - they're not. Go search those other 3,000 blogs or those pink shelves at Borders and you'll find the same thing: Whine, whine, what does it all mean, whimper, ... oh diamonds! Even the phrase "there is nothing new under the sun" is biblically old.

Fight Club, Garden State, Punchdrunk Love, About Schmidt, The Great Gatsby - they're all the same. They're great movies and books that say the same thing. "What's it all for?" And no one knows.

Me too.

While this may all seem depressing, I've reached a Zen calm about it. It's nice to know that no one else knows what the hell they're doing either. I've said it before without knowing how true it is: maturity is nothing more than getting better at pretending that you know what you're doing. We're all just wandering around, bumbling, stumbling.

I've decided to enjoy the bustle and see how far I end up from here when it's all over.

I'm missing something

If it wasn't so creepy, I'd take a picture of what's going on outside my window. My apartment complex is having a Fire Safety party. No, I'm serious. There were posters taped on all our doors last week about how there would be "Free food and fire safety!" I did not amp up the same way the rest of my neighbors apparently did.

Now, don't get me wrong; I like my apartment complex. I am pleased to have moved out of my ghetto existence over two months ago. (Time flies, by the by.) Usually, like now, a group of kids plays soccer in the grassy area outside my window. It's nice to finally have the sound of conversations, children's laughter, and puppies barking near where I live again.

However.

I don't understand why there are balloons, food, and (most importantly) more than 50 people on my grassy area listening to fire safety. A fireman, one can only assume, is standing demonstrating the equipment and handing out informational brochures. And people are taking them! And listening! If I could only get that kind of enthusiasm in my classroom...

Again, I am approximately two years from being the old, crotchety woman who looks out her window muttering, "Oh my; oh my." Maybe I'm just anti-social. Maybe they're all just pumped for an opportunity to hang out, eat free food, and make their kids unafraid of the Darth Vader-esque firefighters. Maybe.

Or maybe I just moved into Crazytown, USA.

Either way, Happy Fire Safety Day!

This just in

I just saw the headline, "Britney seen rehearsing!"

Um, hi.  My name is Annika and I do my job everyday.  When do I get my news story?  Better grab the paper; Annika went to work today!  

On that note, it's almost our two week break.  I can feel the wait in the students and the staff.  One more week, one more week, one more week... It's the local mantra.  Also my 'rents are coming to visit in one more week, one more week.  

I'm pumped.  

You know, you know

I just wanted to update the blog world of my life because you must be depressed without more info on my life. I mean, honestly. I'm pretty cool.

I dislike Whole Foods. I dislike them like I dislike Bookman's. It's all a lie. Used bookstores are my haven. I love used bookstores. It's where book lovers go to trade books. It smells like book must (musk?) and there are gems and it's cheaper. Bookman's is a bookstore that pretends to be a used bookstore and charges you way more for goods that no one wants. I get that you have 75 copies of The Bell Jar. I'm sure the university makes kids buy it and they all sell it to Bookman's. But that's not the point, is it? I could buy classics from amazon.com. I go to a used bookstore to be enlightened. Don't try to fool me with your anti-censorship posters, your emo kids, and crappy posters I can buy for a quarter. Why don't you have books and why is your store a suck-hole of love?

Whole Foods is the same. I shop at Trader Joe's. They have cheap organic food with few to no preservatives. I can pronouce every ingredient on most packages. I can drink their $5 bottle of wine and not want to burn off my own tongue. In fact, I will seek out that bottle of wine because it's my favorite. And I've had $50 bottles of New Zealand Pinot Noir. Ask my dad. That was good wine.

Whole Foods pretends to be that store of organic love. But they also sell lies. They have some oil that I'm supposed to put in my tea that will make me feel less guilty about my life. No, seriously. That was on the bottle. If that's on your bottle and you charge me ten bucks for it, I no longer believe your store motto. You probably sell hippie crap that is not organic, not made in America, and is twice as expensive as stuff that is. I felt dirty for even going to Whole Foods and immediately drove to Trader Joe's to reverse my bad karma.

Some good news however: Kids still watch The Simpsons. I know! I was surprised too. I showed part of the episode where they parody Lord of the Flies to my sophomores today. I asked who watched The Simpsons and it still holds a sacred spot in their hearts. This is especially impressive because I would have assumed that nothing was sacred to teenagers. It's a smart show that makes some smart jokes; (wait for it...) and my kids understood them! It warmed my cold, frigid heart in a way that children haven't for quite some time.

Lastly, IKEA is still awesome. Bought a new bed and some nightstands and my life looks like an adult might lead it. Amazing the different a few hundred bucks can make. I've moved out of the ghetto and now the inside of my apartment looks non-ghetto as well.

I am still addicted to string cheese. It's kind of a problem.

That's all for now.

I'm feeling ornery

I'm not sure what's got into my mood today, but I'm not feeling my typical sunny self. Instead of narrative, you get a list of things that bothers me today. Enjoy.

1. "How's married life?" Now, I don't mind when people who I know ask me this. That's a fair question. Typically, I answer in my characteristically sassy way, "Pretty much the same as living-in-sin life only with tax breaks!" But I don't like the assumptions that go along with being married, especially when those assumptions are made by people I don't really know. At the bank today, I deposited a check. To clarify who I was, my teller said, "You're joint on Jeffrey's account?" Well, no. Joint sort of implied that there is no status difference - it's our account. However, if you want to have specifics, it has been my account since I was sixteen. I'm the one with awesome credit, and the wonderful bank loyalty. He jumped on my account less than two years ago, but seeing as how he does have Mr. in front of his name, I can see how you would assume that he's the one who allows me to use his money. I didn't say that though. I said, "Okay. Yes, that's me." Then I had to go to the gynecologist for a checkup. I've never had a problem with anyone at this office or anything, but today, the lady said to me, shocked, "You've never had ANY pregnancies?" I looked at her a bit funny and told her no. I figured I might have accidentally worn my "Hello, my name is Promiscuous Patty" name tag, but then she followed up with, "I mean... you ARE married, aren't you?" Well, by God. No one told me that I had to get knocked up within three months of my wedding. And how dare I wear a wedding band without ever having had a baby. I was a good girl, though, and just said, "Yes. I am married. No pregnancies." They should give you a pamphlet when you get married so that you can know these things.
2. The freaks at the library. This summer, I have been on a reading frenzy. Picture a starved person at Thanksgiving dinner. I haven't had a chance to read and I go to the library to get stacks of books. I'm there a lot. There are some people that stand in front of the library asking for signatures for some petition. It could be a very nice petition - perhaps even on an issue that I care about. However, they are worse than anything I have ever seen. There is no sign, no packet of information, no explanation of who they are. Instead, they yell at everyone walking in and out of the library, "Are you a registered voter in Pima County?" I mean it; they yell this at every person, even if they are already talking to someone else about their petition. I am against this whole tactic, but more so, I am upset that it is still going on. I politely lie to them, and say, "No sorry!" every time. I am just a nice person going to the library to get some books. Why must I be harassed every time? I am very, very close to explaining in excruciating detail to these people what is wrong with their tactics and their methodology, but I keep biting my tongue. Today, when I politely lied, the guy said, "Really? Or do just not want to be bothered?!" I was stunned. Now I have to validate myself? I gave him the teacher stink eye, shook my head, and kept walking, but I think I only encouraged him.

Okay, I guess it's just those two things, but I feel like they're big. I will now watch reruns of Gilmore Girls and eat Cherry Garcia ice cream to soothe my wounded pride.