Wherein I Cry and You Probably Have No Sympathy

Do you ever get the deads?  Because I have been having a major case of the deads lately.


You see, when I got knocked up, I arranged my schedule so that I could teach three super-long days instead of spreading it out into a five-day week. My reasoning at the time was that I would come home feeling exhausted no matter how long or short my day was, so I might as well only work three days and then have four to recuperate.


It backfired people.  In a big way.


I know, wah wah wah, I have to work three whole days a week!  Woe is me! You are probably pissed at me already.  But they are teaching days in which I teach for HOURS and HOURS and HOURS and ALL IN A ROW with not so much as a five minute break to sit down and cry.


And teaching is hard.  I am seriously "on" the whole time, walking, talking, answering, doing high kicks, and making developing paragraphs entertaining.  And with my schedule, that continues straight through the entire day.  Like, when I try to sneak out the door to the bathroom when my students are doing group work, someone will call me over with a question, and I will scream in my head SON, I am PREGNANT!! but then I rush over to do that teaching thing so he can do that learning thing and it is lovely, but then the baby (who I am pretty sure at this point is bent on my destruction) KICKS MY BLADDER and all I can think is that one day SHE will win the battle, and OH MY GOD, if I pee on a student ... I have no idea what will happen if I pee on a student, but I'm pretty sure it will involve bad things.


And the eating.  OH, the eating.  I want to eat all day every day, but I usually don't even have five minutes in between classes to scarf down a yogurt, because my students stay after and ask me questions, and I appreciate that so much because it means they care and they want to better themselves, but I pretty much get through the day by sneaking almonds out of my purse and shouting "Look over there!" to my students so I can eat in class.  


And then, in my last class of the day, I try to find five minutes to sit while my students are working in order to appease my feet that are, at that point, swelling out of my shoes, and baby is like NO WAY.  In order to sit up straight at my desk, I have to bend at the waist (heaven forbid) and apparently that is where she likes to hang out, and she does NOT appreciate me taking up her precious uterus space.  So she kicks.  And kicks.  And kicks so hard that eventually I will let loose a "Oooof!" and the only way to regain peace in my belly and my dignity is to stand back up, even though my feet are like, "Bad move, lady," to which I respond, "Listen, this baby is totally the boss of me, and she will only be happy if I recline, lay on my side, or stand up, and I can only do one of those things right now."  


"Oh yeah," my feet say, "Can the baby grow another size and force you to buy all new shoes?"  


"Touché, feet."


So, I get home, walk straight to the kitchen to make a late dinner, gorge myself, and then lay on the couch, crying, shouting that the lights are too bright and I will die at any moment.


Jeremy will try to think of a million things to appease me, to which I will always respond *whimper* "No." *whimper*, so he sighs, turns on the Tigers game, and probably wonders how this can actually get worse as I get more pregnant (but oh, it can) while I ask for another foot rub.


And THEN I wake up on Thursday mornings, stumbling and weaving like a drunk person, with a headache like only the worst hangover would bring, and my feet feeling as if I have been walking on metal spikes all night.  So the advantage to having three hell days?  Turns out, there are none.  And my husband maybe wants to divorce me and I am probably only days away from peeing in class and then I will be fired and poor.


BUT, I got a fun package in the mail, so I feel a lot less dead.  I know I kinda just ended abruptly there, but that's the end of my story.  Also, the story was probably lame.  I blame the deads.

Yes, I Stopped Taking My Medication When I Got Pregnant. How Could You Tell?

It started out so innocently. A Girls Night with friends from high school. A Girls Night in which I could not drink, meaning there was a good chance I could maintain my rational thinking and dignity.  


It all took a turn for the worst when my friend Amanda, who just bought a Ford Focus, asked if my Ford Focus also had a funny little safety latch inside the trunk that included directions for a person to escape from a trunk.  

Jump from trunk and run to safety!  DO IT!

Yes, in fact, I have the safety latch and am very familiar with its location in the event that I needed to free myself from a trunk. Another friend, Ellie, started laughing.


"Why would you need THAT?" she asked, and I launched into a self-righteous safety monitor lecture. "Well, Ellie, what if you were being CARJACKED by an evil CARJACKER and placed in the trunk? What if you were being KIDNAPPED by an evil MURDERER-slash-RAPIST and being transported in your own trunk to the designated kill spot? Hmmm? What IF?"


So, Ellie, who is a nice and lovely person and did not even seem to mind that I was being an ass, was like, "We should definitely try it out in that case -- to see if you could actually get free!"


And we did.

A pregnant lady stuffing another lady in a trunk.  Pretty casual Saturday.

People were laughing, photos were being snapped furiously, and it was all well and good.  Then Ellie reported that it was VERY difficult to get out of the trunk.  

UMMM, WHAT? You were not able to hop like a bunny rabbit out of the trunk? Because that was part of my plan. Do you know what this means? I now have to re-evaluate my escape-from-a-trunk plan. Dear God. This will require weeks of research, test runs, night sweats, and vivid nightmares. But that is nothing compared to what is next.

All of my plans ... they must all be re-evaluated.  

I mean, everyone knows that the proper position for a bathroom door is OPEN and the corresponding correct position for a shower curtain is OPEN, even if you have an ugly green tub like mine. This is, of course, so a killer cannot use the shower as a hiding spot from which to spring and kill. But what have I overlooked?  

Yep, you guessed it. Even if the bathroom door is open, there might be a few inches of space behind it. What about SKINNY killers? He could easily slide his emaciated body behind my bathroom door, and then when I am all like la-dee-da, minding my own business and heading to the sink to floss, he will pounce and kill and then stand over me and ask, "Was your oral hygiene REALLY that important in the long run?" and with my last breath I will say, "You better believe it, you bastard. I got tons of compliments on my smile." Then I will smile and die and he will be like, Hmm, she really does have a great smile. I should floss more. Then he will probably steal my big screen TV. And my floss.  

Okay, I have lots of other plans too.  

Like, when I walk to my car, I always have a key in between my pointer and middle fingers, ready to STAB and then TURN like my dad taught me. More damage, he says. But ... I have never actually tested this stab-and-turn attack. And what is the best part of the body to stab?  My dad told me at the tender age of 11 that if I ever had to stab an attacker with a knife, I could disable him by stabbing in the thigh and turning the blade and he would not be able to chase me. But will a key work as well as a knife? Well, no. So how can I legally and ethically test this stabbing technique until I find the most debilitating stab location for a key? Because a pig carcass won't work, so don't even suggest it. I need a live subject so I can gauge the pain I am inflicting.

BUT, if I have to get that close to an attacker before I can fight back, maybe I should just go with my dad's number one move. He was smart enough to teach his little girl how to use her thumbs to pop someone's eyes out. Again ... I have yet to test it. I trust that it will work, because my dad is kind of like a ninja (the kind of ninja who is a retired shop teacher and has a bum knee), but I have no EVIDENCE, and if I am re-evaluating all my killer-killing skills, I need to be SURE.

What have we learned here?  

1.  I am crazy.

2.  I have a lot of spare time on my hands.

3.  I need to take my bathroom door off its hinges.

4.  I need an able-bodied man who is willing to endure multiple stab wounds and having his eyes popped out.  

I will be distributing a sign-up sheet for subjects. And if you also happen to be a killer or think you might begin being a killer in the near future, you are EXACTLY the subject I am looking for. I need to know this is a REAL test run, and not some person with an actual soul just phoning it in to make me feel better. 

Thanks for your time. Please do not send me e-mails with the names and phone numbers of psychiatrists (MOM).

April 21: The Day the Earth Stood Still, OR, MY BIRTHDAY

You'll never guess what day it is ...

Okay, you probably deduced it is my BIRTHDAY!!!  I will spend the day luxuriating at a spa and then appearing before my subjects so they can bestow presents on their queen and the little princess.


Actually, I am going to work.  But I am going to dinner after!!  


Cash and presents will be accepted all week.

Truth and Consequences, New Mexico: This One's for YOU

So, I did something bad.  Not killed-a-drifter bad or wrote-in-a-library-book bad, but bad in Veronica Land.


I signed up for Google Analytics.  Seasoned bloggers are already anticipating my problem and shaking their knowledgeable heads.  Non-bloggers are like jigga-what?  


I'll tell you what.  Google Analytics is a tracking device that tells you how many people visit your site, on which days, how long they stay, and where in the world they live.  The problem?  Well, they are many-fold (or two-fold):


Number one.  I had a major freak-out the first time I checked the data and saw how many people visited my blog over the course of a few days. 

Like, I may or may not have burst out singing "She blogs HARD for the money!!" -- even though I have yet to be paid for my mad genius blogging skillz.  


I was alone, so there was no embarrassment to shake off, but singing a parody of "She Works Hard for the Money" reminded me that McDonald's had used it for a jingle, and then I thought of bad food and the fats, and I was grossed out.  Plus, McDonald's is all evil and everything, which everyone knows, and I hate thinking about evil things.  But, then again, they do have Egg McMuffins, which are amazing and basically saved my life during my first trimester.  So maybe McDonald's isn't THIS evil:

and just THIS evil:

But seriously, it was a bit overboard to get as excited as I did.


Second problem.  Since I know when people are visiting and where they are visiting from, I have a million questions.


For example, how did I garner the attention of countries such as Pakistan, Macau, Uruguay, South Korea, and Sri Lanka?  And how do I get MORE of their attention?  

(It's hard to see, but all countries with light green have visited a handful of times)

And what about all the countries who have yet to visit?  Look at Russia.  No hits.  And I got no love from China.  Well, I am probably blocked over there, but that doesn't seem to be a good enough reason.

So should I have some specific Russian-friendly content to attract the Russians mixed with something about ... um, fish? ... to keep my readers from Sweden?

And don't even get me started about the U S of A.  

I mean, what did I do to South Dakota?  Probably all the cursing about snow. You think?  And New Mexico?  I LOVE the land of Enchantment.  I have never actually BEEN there, but I hear it is lovely.  Plus it has cities with names like "Truth and Consequences."  Fan-freaking-tastic.

But I only need to attract five states to fill up the map, and that's not bad at all.  So now I need some feedback from y'all.  (See how I am relating to the Southern readers there?  Smooth, right?)  What do I do to reel those states in?

And finally, it seems that my readership peaks on Wednesdays.

I don't even know what to do with that exactly.  I'm sure it has something to do with people trying to get through humpday.  But if I have my super-bestest stuff on Wednesdays, then maybe more people will follow and comment. Because, bottom line?  After I got all overly excited, I checked my followers. Did I have any more?  NO.  Did I start getting more comments?  NO.


Sigh.  All of that brain power, wasted.  And I actually sat down and imagined an evil golden arches and a less-evil golden arches.  


Did that get me any new followers?  ...


Nope.


I need to get Jeremy to say some more funny stuff so I can just transcribe him.  That man is a gold mine (and I know because Google Analytics told me so).

*UPDATED* My One and Only Desire (Other Than the Thing I Forgot About)

My birthday is coming up (*applause*) and I must truly be getting old, because I could only think of one thing I really wanted for myself, and then was just hoping for baby stuff in general.  I think this fact alone makes me an old woman, but get this: then I FORGOT what I wanted.

I mean, I was so proud of myself.  I was all, "OHMYGOD, I want this item so badly and I was so smart to think to ask for it and even smarter to only ask for that ONE thing because then SOMEONE is pretty much guaranteed to buy it for me!  It is perfect and I will love it and cherish it forever!" 

Now?  I seriously have no recollection of what this perfect and needed item must be.  But don't you DARE say that means I didn't really need or want it.  It only means that my brain cells are slowly dying with age and baby-making.  Big difference.

Thankfully, I thought of a replacement singular birthday wish.  It was on my Christmas list, and no one got it for me, so it seems like the same thing might happen if I ask for it for my birthday, but at this point, my feeble brain is willing to take the risk.

Drumroll ...

TA-DA!  A doggy DNA test!!!  What could be better?

The answer: nothing.

Anyone who has a mixed breed, especially a shelter dog, has probably wished this existed at some point in their lives.  Jeremy and I actually sit around and have long conversations about what our black Lab is mixed with.  We even do research and compare breed standards and pictures!  It is a general waste of time because we have no answers.  And I would love to know what she is mixed with so I can know what diseases and problems to help prevent and be aware of.  Prevention in bigger breeds is key, and I have no idea what I am preventing.

Also, I think it would be awesome to set up a little Maury scenario at our house ... "Cleo ... the Chow is NOT your father!"  I think she would really enjoy the suspense.  I know Jeremy and I would.


UPDATE:  This is why it pays to have your mom read your blog, and for that mom to not have been scared away by all the swears and meanness:

 Arlene said...

Happy birthday...I ordered it to be sent to your address!

April 14, 2010 2:26 PM

Dear Parking Lot Guy: I Will Remember Your Face for All of My Days. Watch Your Back.

Okay, so I have the super-duper-mad rants today. Like, there is so much madness in my blood right now that it is liable to jump around so hard that all of a sudden it will get sick of staying inside me and use its monster teeth to rip through my veins and then squirt out and get all over YOUR FACE. So WATCH OUT.

Just kidding. I love you all. I am really just mad at this little punk ass bitch who ruined my morning.  

Let me set the scene for you: It is pouring rain. I am five minutes late for work. There is not a parking space in sight across the HUGE campus parking lot. Then ... that looks like a spot! A spot! I race over, only to find ...

I kid you not. A truck taking up FOUR SPACES because the person who owns it is SO IMPORTANT that they must keep away from the rabble around them. At this point, I was already seething. Really? REALLY?!?! You think this is acceptable behavior, truck guy? You think it is okay to STEAL three parking spaces from people who need them just because you have some sort of compensation thing going on with you and your big red truck?

I was sitting there thinking about how much I wanted to punch this person and trying to remember if there were surveillance cameras that would catch me keying this assbutt's car when, all of a sudden, I realized that the guy was SITTING IN HIS CAR. Yeah. Just hanging out and enjoying the weather. Watching us lowly peasants look for spots that didn't exist because of HIM.

So I did what anyone with a rage problem would do. I motioned for him to move. Repeatedly.  Like, many many times. He stared me right in the eyes and otherwise ignored my pleas.  So I stared at him. Staring contest, bitch. I was ready to go. My hand starting creeping toward my cell phone where I had campus security on speed dial. My heart was racing. I was screaming on the inside.

Then, just when I thought about getting out and tapping sweetly on his window, my baby gave me a rousing kick in the belly to remind me that all of my angry-lady hormones were washing over its innocent brain. 

Damn. You win this time, selfish-rude-bastard-man. I am hurting my baby over you, and now that I have realized that, I must back down. Oh, how I wish I hadn't backed down.

And now the baby is kicking me again to remind me that reliving the moment is sending bad vibes down to the baby-storing area. Crap. I was a bad mom twice in one day and the little sucker isn't even born yet. Might as well stop off for some fast food on the way home while I'm at it.

So, is there a moral to this story? Probably not. But, I do have one wish for you, my dear readers: May your rage-filled moments never be interrupted by a fetus.  

THE END

Dog Butt Fail

I know, not very specific, right?  I mean, there are SO many ways a dog's butt could be a fail.  However, I am going to show you a horrible thing that pet owners are doing to their dogs' butts.  Again, fairly vague.  So let me move on the visual portion of my rant ...

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Rear Gear Butt Covers

Yep.  You're seeing it.  Decorations to cover your dog's butt hole.  Because apparently some people out there spend A LOT of time looking at and thinking about their dogs' butt holes.  


Me?  Not so much.  I let my dog do her thing and pretty much ignore her butt hole.  And I think others do too.  For example, I have never had a guest come over to my home only to find them staring uncomfortably at my dog's butt, visibly shaken or disgusted.  And I have had a lot of weird people over to my house.  Also a lot of prudes and anal retentive people.  Yet all of them have managed to ignore my dog's butt hole, and not one of them suggested I cover it to make life more enjoyable for them, me or the dog.


Luckily, those weirdos who are wrapped up in thoughts of their pets' butts have a plethora of butt hole cover designs to choose from:

And as our lovely model suggests, you will love your dog's butt so much with Rear Gear in place that you will want to put your face super close to it and give people thumbs up.  

This is clearly a magic moment for all those people obsessed with "Mr. Brown Eye."  I'm a little more frightened at the amount of time people have on their hands.

Funny Stuff My husband Says, Vol. V

My husband is like the funniest guy on the planet. So, every once and a while, I salute him. Like today. To see all volumes of Funny Stuff My Husband Says, click here.




SCENE:  My phone rings late at night. And by late, I mean 9:30 PM.  


Jeremy:  Oh my. It's awfully late for someone to be calling you.


Veronica:  I know, right?


Jeremy:  Could you maybe tell your boyfriend to stop calling after 9 PM?


Veronica:  Sorry. I can't control him.


Jeremy:  Couldn't you at least get him to come over and walk this dog?!?!




SCENE:  Jeremy reaches over and surreptitiously grabs MY glass of water because his is empty and he doesn't want to go get more.


Veronica:  HEY! That's MY water!


Jeremy:  Uh, yeah. But you clearly weren't drinking it.


Veronica:  Jerk.


[I start responding to an e-mail from a friend]


Jeremy:  Oh great. What, are you BLOGGING about me now? "Oh, WAAA, my husband stole my WATER!"


Veronica:  *Death stare* [I open a blogger window] I am NOW.




(As reported by Jeremy's Co-worker Loe'l) SCENE: Loe'l and Jeremy are at work


Loe'l:  How do you tell someone he isn't funny?


Jeremy:  Is it me? Because I can try harder.




SCENE:  Facebook status hilarity (sorry it is a little small.  Click for larger version).

Sucking the Cash Out of Lonely People

Okay, hopefully most of you are aware of the sensational and creeptastic levels that people have gone to in order to replicate human interaction.  If you're not, I don't really want to be the one to explain the wild end of the spectrum to you.  If you need more info on that, please click here here and here.  Instead, I would like to introduce the world of low-tech replacements for relationships.

For your cuddling pleasure, may I introduce the BOYFRIEND PILLOW.  

Yes, that is a lady cuddling with half a torso dressed as a man.  And I am pretty sure the idea is to PRETEND it is a man.  For reals.

But don't just listen to me being all negative.  Let's look at the list of features the website lists, shall we?:


A fun and original gift idea!
Soft and comfortable body pillow
Provides secure sense of comfort
Torso and arm comfortably wrap around body
All the positives of sleeping with your boyfriend without all the negatives
Great sleeping companion for single ladies
Doesn't have legs, so it can't run away!


Yes, it doesn't have legs, so it won't run away, just like all the other men in your life, you horrible loser, now BUY A DAMN PILLOW!  Also, when I googled it, the first site I found that sold it is a medical supplies store.  Ummm?

And don't worry, lonely dudes, you have not been forgotten.  Not only do you have the GIRLFRIEND PILLOW (only $11.97!!) complete with bikini and red nail polish ...

... but you can also take comfort in the GIRLFRIEND LAP PILLOW!!

I could only find it for purchase on fancy Japanese sites, so this one will set you back 155 smackers, but if what you desire is a lap to lie upon, then it is well worth it.  Am I right?

These guys sure think so.

Then, my friend Melissa sent me the crowning jewel.  Perfect for when you need fake human comfort on-the-go.  Brace yourselves:

www.hugegram.com

I wonder if the name hug-A-gram was already taken?  It looks like huge-gram.  Moving on.

I was mostly disturbed by the claims on the website that people could "carry your love with them" and Jeremy was mostly freaked by the Mickey Mouse hands.  Either way, I find this weird and ... weird.  

If someone sent this to you in the mail, would you really open it up and be like, "Oh my gosh, a hug from Aunt Linda!  I better put it on!  OMG, I can feel the love from Aunt Linda, like she is RIGHT HERE hugging me!"  If you would, we can't be friends.  To say the least.


I guess people think that lonely people are easy targets.  When I was convinced that I was going to be alone for the rest of my life, I just made my little sister sign a contract saying we would live in a house by the beach with a lot of cats.  Much less sad.

Be Glad I Don't Live in YOUR Neighborhood

Now I totally get why old people do it.  It is better than TV.  That's right:  I am the new neighborhood spy.


I didn't set out to INTENTIONALLY be one, but the city-living set-up we have going on over here kind of forced it upon me.  It all started yesterday when it was GORGEOUS for the first time in forever when I actually had a day off, and even though I had tons of work to do, I was determined to enjoy the weather.  So, I took my computer and an ottoman out the the "3-season room," opened all the windows, and sat with the animals all day, enjoying the breeze and the sunshine while tippy-typing assignments for my students.


So, the 3-season room.  Lame.  It is actually what used to be a porch, and some idiot put up thin walls and windows, skipping the insulation, so it is way too hot in the summer and way too cold in the winter.  It is actually a "Spring room."  It is also where my husband's beloved gold couch from the 70s lives.  It is easily the most vile creation on the planet, but the cat LOVES sitting on it and staring out the window, and I use it like 5 days a year, so ... worth keeping?  Who knows.  But the porch-room is so small that I am basically on TOP of the windows.  And the front of our house is about 4 feet from the street and 4 feet from the houses on either side of us, just like every other house on the street.  So, when I sit on the porch, I am privy to EVERYBODY'S business.  And it turns out that is awesome.


I am lucky that Jeremy loves a good story, because when he came home from work yesterday, I had about 15 doozies.


Neighbor-in-beige-house got into a fight with his wife right in the middle of the street.  The fight apparently had something to do with their minivan, because they kept walking over, opening the back hatch, gesticulating wildly, closing it, walking away, then walking back, opening it, and gesticulating wildly.  The fight ended when male neighbor raised his voice and female neighbor said "I AM SO OVER THIS" and they drove away in their SUV.  Very curious.


Then, the world's skinniest man walked by our house, SHIRTLESS, while his lady, who had the world's biggest sideburns (even on a man, I swear), sauntered alongside him with her hand cupping his child-sized butt cheek. Priceless!


And, who could forget when son of neighbor-in-other-beige-house brought a new friend over to play, and when the HORRIBLE children two houses down came over to play, he said he couldn't have any more company over, while his mom peeked out the window with a big smile on her face.  ZING! (Normally I don't advocate zinging children, but these children ... I have no words to describe them.  Feral?  That's a good one.)


And, oh my god, the woman who has not come out of her house in OVER A YEAR just came outside to direct the furniture delivery guys!  I gotta go!!

Etsy Saturdays: X

In support of the handmade revolution, I bring you Etsy Saturdays!  I will highlight a fun new shop every week, and I hope you will stop over to see their merchandise or find something else you love while you're there.  To see all Etsy Saturdays, click here.
*I have not been compensated in any way for this post*

Even though I don't have the money to buy furniture, Lunar Lounge Design's shop is not to be missed.  Each piece is handcrafted and made to order.


This is the piece that caught my eye, and I LOVE it!

Havana Love Seat and Ottoman, $1,500

The same style is also available in a lounge chair.

Havana Lounge Chair and Ottoman, $900

I love this -- it could be used as a mod sofa or instead of a coffee table.  Very chic.

Bokz Leather Button Sofa Bench, $695

I can see this bench fitting so many places in my house.

Bokz Console Bench, $250 

Sigh.  One day I will be able to buy awesome custom-made furniture.  Maybe.

April Fools Day: The Most Ulcer-Inducing Day of The Year

It wasn't always that bad.  When I was really little, like before school age, I have memories of telling my dad he had a spider on his head and then shrieking "APRIL FOOL!!!!!" before he even had time to act scared and pantomime brushing a spider off of his head.  I remember thinking this was the most hilarious April Fool in the history of time, and therefore repeated it over and over again throughout the day.  I was on fire.


But then school came.  And the thought of getting fooled MYSELF became a very real possibility.  As a slightly ... how do you say? ... ANXIOUS child, the thought of being fooled, ESPECIALLY by my peers and IN FRONT of the rest of them (and the nuns, who would likely report to Jesus that I was a major fool, and if you combine that with my measly 98% on my last math assignment, I was pretty sure Jesus would have said, "Sigh.  Send her straight to Hell.  Don't even wait for her to die.") -- pure terror.  


Yes, I was that child who was sure that bad grades would send her to the fiery pits of hell; that if I took my nap and let my mom out of my sight, she would surely die and I would lose my last precious moments with her; that stepping on cracks truly DID have a detrimental effect on my poor mother's back.  Also, if a child played an April Fool's Day prank on me, it did NOT mean that he or she was being a normal child and having fun.  It meant he or she was trying to SHAME me in front of everyone and I was chosen me because he or she hated me most out of every other person they had ever met.


Can you believe I survived to adulthood without a heart attack or diagnosed ulcers?  I cannot.


Anyway, April Fool's Day became a day of strategy.  Step one -- try to convince mom I am dying of diphtheria or dysentery or smallpox.  This first step always failed.  Step two -- CONSTANT VIGILANCE.  All day long, I would be looking over my shoulder, questioning everyone, and of course turning down any gifts or favors.  Someone said I could cut in line?  Then there must be a bucket of oatmeal over that spot that they would dump onto my head!  Ignore!!  Someone said I could borrow their scissors instead of waiting for another pair to free up?  There must be superglue on the scissors!  And maybe fire ants!  Ignore!!


This led into high school, somehow.  I seem to recall being the butt of a rather benign and lame April Fool in my freshman year, and while I had moved on to public school and decided that God was not constantly looking for ways to strike me dead, I still did not find the fooling funny.  Who wants to look like a fool?  Not someone who takes life too seriously, thank you very much.  


Now, I feel that I am healed enough to be the victim of a prank.  But that doesn't stop the rumbling in my stomach the night of March 31st.  The ten-year-old inside me shouts "VIGILANCE!!  VIGILANCE!!  VIGILANCE!!" but the adult just decides to avoid as many people as possible the next day.  Maybe I need more counseling.  


Anyway, I survived yet another April Fool's Day with no major bodily harm, shame, or emotional trauma.  I hope the same for all of you.