Planet Earth: Seat Hunting

When Lil Bow Wow said he loved ghetto girls, I somehow don’t think he was talking about me and my current living situation, however I have had a dead moth on my stairs since November and it has not been removed. I have justified this because they are not technically my stairs, as they lead to the boys’ rooms above me and I never use those stairs. Secondly, this is not a little white fellow that is more dust and shadows than insect, nay nay, this moth could have fought Godzilla…and won. As a hater but respecter of all things creepy-crawly, I can’t bring myself to be handsy with it. So instead I am considering taking up time-elapsed photography and chronicling its death and decay. 

     Now, I am not one to complain when things change (not) but today was the exact opposite of my Friday experience on the streets of Reading. Today, at approximately 6:30am, the streets were a blurring mass of humans darting this way and that. I was so shocked by how many people were walking about, that I kept checking my watch thinking I was an hour late or there was a daylight savings time I missed. The people of Reading need to get their lives together and decide what time they will be on my streets because I don’t think my poor over-imaginative self can take all these extremes.

     Now to end my day, I caught the 5:45 train home and just managed to squeeze onto the train before the doors were sealed for takeoff. Everyday this is my life; hunting for a seat as if I am a starving lion taking down a frail gazelle on the African plains. Trains are always packed with people, and there is no “capacity” so when all the seats are filled, people just stand for hours until they reach their stop. I refuse to stand. I stood once, and I swore I would never do it again. Standing on a train is much like standing on a rollercoaster…and not being belted in. Plus, you have to continually shift your weight so you don’t fall over, making you unusually tired after your journey. There is nothing to hold on to, unless you want your hand rubbing against the head of a person sitting down. The funny thing is, is that when you become a “sitter” you immediately take on a snobbish attitude and contempt for those standing. When I stood, I looked everywhere for a place to put my hands and was always bumping into “sitters.” They would look up at me disgusted and roll their eyes as if I was an untouchable, grabbing onto their upper-classness. Even with this experience, I find it hard not to become a “sitter” myself, and shrink back when a stander grazes my ear/neck/air space with their filthy mitts. I try to think of how fortunate I am for sitting and how sad and lost they are to stand, so as to allow for the occasional graze, but it still doesn’t stop my immediate reaction upon contact. Today was a particularly hard day for hunting looking for seats, as I was one of the last to board and some people give up looking and just crowd the door entrances. I shove past these weaklings, looking for the kill. I spotted it. About 20 feet away, a rich-looking older lady sitting in the aisle seat, hoarding her unoccupied window seat. I bolted, as I can already see another competitor racing from the opposite direction toward the seat. I got there just in time to turn my back fully to his approach, blocking him from asking the lady to move. She glanced up over her glasses at me and sneers, “this seat is reserved, can’t you see the ticket?” Now let me explain this aspect of seat-hunting. Some bubsies call ahead to reserve seats, however they can do this months, if not decades before their travel and inevitably something comes up and their seat remains empty. All that is left is their ghost of a reservation, known as the “Reservation ticket” which sits in a slot on the back of the seat which they were saving. People know this about the trains and always say, “why yes darling you can sit here but it is reserved,” to which I reply, “well yes, if the person should happen upon their seat, I will move immediately.” So for her to reply in such a manner, I was immediately filled with rage which probably would have allowed me to take down a medium-sized gazelle if I were really a lion. I reached across her seat, grabbed the ticket, and as I am scrunching it up, say, “I will take my chances.” I have never seen an older lady with that many leather bags on her lap, stand up and allow someone by them as fast as what I saw today. 

I promise you, I will never stand on a train again, no matter what it takes.

Mob Mentality, Head-banging Babies, and HHPB

My greatest fear in life is zombies. No joke and don't laugh, this is serious.

I hate the way they move, I hate the idea of isolation when hiding from them, I hate their super strength, and I hate their mob mentality. Now herein lies the paradox, as I am obsessed with watching zombie movies, especially those post-2000s ones which add the zombie element of speed and intelligence. What is the most intense part of zombie movies is that, if you have an overactive imagination like I do, the idea seems plausible that zombies/form of dead humans could rise up after being plagued by a virus.

I don't know if anyone has ever experienced what happened to me this morning, however, it happens about once every two years where I actually start to worry something has happened to the world and I have slept through it. Today, I woke up to complete silence from the rest of the house, which is very unusual as I am living with an ex-con and someone who works nights and gets in when I wake up. I thought nothing of it, until I hit the streets and walked to the train station (10 minute walk at 6:40 am) without seeing another human the entire length of my journey. Around the two minute mark I started to get really panicky as many people walk the main road to Reading Station and my fear was also compounded by the fact that I could hear my own footsteps the world was so quiet. At about the six minute mark, I began to do a slight jog, not wanting to be caught out in the open if suddenly mobbed by a team of angry, superstrong, speedy zombies. It wasn't until I was physically in the train station that I started to feel a bit comforted when I saw other riffraff standing on the platform. But HERE is the crazy part, even then my brain started to logic-away their presence too, maybe they slept through what I did. This group all looks a bit low-class, maybe they live in the same neighbourhood and the virus hasn't spread to them yet. She looks a bit sweaty, maybe she has been bitten but not enough time has passed... Anyway, my fear was wiped away when I saw my sweet tiny humans trot through the door but the eerie sensation still hasn't left me. To somehow justify my fear and satisfy my intrigue, I have wisely watched clips of Walking Dead on youtube all evening.

The next tale of my day was one of the best moments of my life. I await these kind of moments, as they happen only once in a lifetime and I have accepted it is very unlikely I will see it happen again. Let me lay down the facts so you can all read with jealousy. The morning session of school had ended and all the children had been picked up except one sweet little boy, who I absolutely adore. Anyway, the mother was about ten minutes late and ran up to the class door with an approximately seven month infant in her arms. She apologized and held the hand of her son to walk both children out of the classroom. While the baby was still in her arms, she looked down at her son, asking how his day was. I began to see the event unfold; slow enough for me to see what was going to happen, but fast enough that I could do nothing to prevent it. Outside of my class is a metal beam, supporting the overhang from roof to ground. With her head down, mom walked face-first into the pole, but the placement was just right that she also managed to smoke the baby's head too. Things that were awesome: the sound, her reaction, the baby's reaction, my TA's comment. First, the sound was a hollow vibration that drew everyone's attention to what had happened, then the mother rubbed the pole as if she hurt it, rather than rubbing her own skull or the child's. The baby was quiet for a bit and looked so shocked, then started wailing. As we approached to ask if she was ok, she sprinted off down the path so we could not do anything. Lastly, my TA turned to me and said, "that's not her child, that is a baby she child-minds for, she runs a daycare." Oh brother. At least if it were her child, she would have to suffer how little Timmy can't quite seem to do long-division when he gets older, but instead she will only have to listen to her friends complain that their angel has a mysterious dent on his forehead preventing him from ever becoming the next Gerber baby.  Two strikes: being late to pick up your own four year old and rocking a strangers' baby into a pole. Now, before you think I am heartless, we must also take into consideration that no one was actually seriously hurt, hence making it ok to laugh about in the privacy of my own home and with all of you on the internet. If she had broken something or dropped the baby, I would never have laughed or written it in a blog. I would have had the decency of giggling into my pillow and sharing it only in face-to-face conversation.

Lastly, today I finished the novel Wicked by Gregory Maguire and might I add, ho hum pigs bum. Sorry, no, that doesn't even begin to describe my dissatisfaction and boredom with this piece of future toilet paper. Normally it takes me two-to-three days to finish a book in England (don't forget the commute everyone) yet this novel took me nearly three weeks. I bet that really put it to scale for you. Some things to consider though, are that I was super pumped up to read it as everyone I have talked to about it, loved the book so much they could marry it. Also, advertisements for the musical are everywhere in Britain-land, so I thought the book would be decent enough to make into a play and whimsical enough to make into a musical. Continuing on, my teacher advisor last year told me she loved it so much because it was so funny...funny? Funny. Not funny in the slightest. As is, it would be considered more of a science fiction/dramatic piece than FUNNY. Finally, I probably shouldn't have read something about the Wizard of Oz being is I hated that movie and haven't watched it again since I was twelve. Maybe I would have more respect for the book if I liked the movie or had watched it recently. Anyway, if you have any book recommendations (and you are not one of the chumps who told me to read Wicked...just kidding, it couldn't be you as I have severed all ties with "those" people, blocking them from this site, and deleting them off facebook) send them along for me to read.

Author's Note: For those family members recently joining this blog/reading it, I hope you realize I am only kidding about how harsh I really am i.e. with head-banging babies and cutting ties with people with bad taste in books. In real life, I am much less harsh to people's faces.


(Again with the jokes)

Lids, Kids, and Embarrassment

Yesterday I found about a dozen juice lids floating in our classroom goldfish tank. I couldn't quite see them because the tank has a bright pink lid on it, so an adult has a somewhat obscured view of the surface of the water. What drew my attention was Orangey and Spot cowering in the corner of the tank, and I can't be sure, but I think they were quivering in fear. When I lifted the tank lid I discovered the juice lids and also gobs of glitter we had used for craft that day. The water was a shimmering sludge of silver and blue. I am not sure how long these goldfish will last but every day I am reminded of how wise it was to not have purchased a more costly class pet.


We also experienced our first bit of child sass yesterday, something I didn't know to exist among the very tiny humans. One little girl, who is an absolute darling, wanted to go outside without her coat. My TA stood her ground and made the child go back in to retrieve it. When she came outside, she was carrying on and moaning about how hot she was in a coat now (impossible as there was frost coating the ground and other children were bundled up like Randy from A Christmas Story), so my TA and I gave a laugh and said "oh come on now, you are alright." The girl looked at my TA with an intensely serious expression and said "Look at my face, I'm not laughing." Best line from a four year old. Something she surely picked up from an adult, if not myself, as I tend to say it when someone is giggling about a disastrous mess they have made. 


Lastly, I was asked to relay this story on here, sorry for anyone who read my fb message as I have copied and pasted it.
SO a few days ago I was in line to go through the ticket gates for the underground (enquire within if you don't know what I am talking about) when a mass of people crowd up behind me. I am pressed right against the backpack of the man in front of me. No big deal. EXCEPT when he pushes his ticket into the machine and walks through the open gates. I suddenly feel this pulling at my chest and I am being dragged forward toward the gate. Now, a few things happened very quickly. 1. I notice the elastic that holds his waterbottle to his backpack is hooked on a button on my jacket. 2. The button is directly on my chest adding to humiliation. 3. I know the gates close super fast, to prevent more than one person sneaking through at a time. 

So I lunge forward to stay attached to him because I haven't time to free myself before the gates close. As I do, the gates close anyway, half shutting on my legs, which was a severe shooting pain but I manage to force myself through. So of course, the gate keepers blow their whistle like I am a criminal trying to rip them off of 5 pounds and they start to move toward me. I try to rip my body free of the man just in time for him to see what is happening, as I am now pulling him backward. He sees the backpack-to-chest connection and starts swinging around in hopes of helping me free myself. Finally I am dislodged and EVERYONE on the platform has seen my altercation. Luckily the gate keeper who comes to me sees what happens and that I have a ticket in my hand so he laughingly lets me go. For a moment though, I did feel like Jason Bourne as police were approaching me from all angles like they just discovered my true identity. 
How do these things continue to happen to me?

0 for 2

Two new children attended nursery today. Two new children were both sent home within 30 minutes of their arrival. One child started the classic poo walk, also know as the I've-got-a-huge-load-in-my-pants-which-is-preventing-me-from-walking-without-a-major-swagger walk. Not being toilet trained ain't gonna fly in my class so she was ousted. The other child was so disruptive that we literally had to sit him on a chair in the centre of the room so he could not reach anything within 10 paces of himself. This way if he took off running toward something so he could smash it, I would intercept and tackle.

Unfortunately, a major disruption such as adding new children then having them removed only throws off the rest of the group so things were a bit zany today. At one point, the TA and I both collapsed in the pillow corner to just mellow out. I think this was right after I found several dead worms in a purse in the dress up corner. I knew they were dead because of a) their torn edges b) smell c) colour

Let's hope tomorrow is a better day.

Tortoise or the Hare? Actually...I'll take the goldfish

Forgot to mention that yesterday, my TA and I went to the pet shop to buy the class pet. I really wanted the tiny turtles that swim/live on rocks. I was planning on buying two little ones that stay little and put them in the class fish tank. The lady at the shop said they make good class pets, that or a rabbit. I nixed the rabbit, as I would be the one doing most of the work to care for it and then I would have to take it on the airplane home back to Canada for fear of its ears being cut off by the ravenous hair cutters in my class. So these little creatures are about to be scooped up for me to purchase, when the TA mentions IN PASSING, to make conversation, "so how big do they get?" The woman lets it roll off her tongue that they will get as big as a puppy and need a glass aquarium tank. Now, hold on a second. Did you say the size of a puppy? Did you say glass aquarium? Minutes before, I asked what I had to feed them and if it was under 10 pounds or I was feeding them table scraps and bits of paper. Does that sound like I want two puppy-sized reptiles chewing up my dolla dolla bills? No.
Next I think, well maybe they will die before they get that big, so I throw in, "how long do they live for?" Again, as casually as if I just asked for the time, she says, "oh they can live anywhere from thirty to sixty years."Thirty to sixty years...I won't even care for my own flesh and blood that long.

So I kindly said, dump those suckers back in the tank, and I strolled over to the goldfish. Two fish for five pounds, and three pound fish food. Ka-ching. So now we have Spot and Orangey (I tried to sway them to Goldie, but they cleverly pointed out to me that our fish were Orange). Easy on the wallet and easily replaceable when they die in two weeks.

New haircut? Oh no.

SO today was the brilliant idea of mine to have a focus activity for the tiny humans to learn how to use scissors. MOST of them already knew, so I just was monitoring how well they could manipulate to cut out objects. Well, as I bent over a three year old to instruct her in proper holding techniques, I hear a snip and feel a massive tug on my head. She snipped off a HUGE portion of my hair. I look like I have a Victoria Beckham in the front and Katie in the back. Devastating. It took me years to grow my hair this length, I almost cried. What was worse is then the little girl said, "Sorry Miss" and burst into tears from the look on my face. I felt terrible, so I had to console the culprit. Another bummer. Then, with the next group, I leaned over one child to talk to another and feel a searing pain in my forearm. Blood actually spurted onto the white papers they were cutting. She had cut through my flesh when cutting out her Itsy Bitsy spider. It doesn't look like much but that sucker bled.

All in all a great day, minus the scissors.

Numbers of My New job

Oh joy unbounded I was hired! Purely as a fluke too. I was not working on Tuesday when I got the call that another supply teacher had called in sick for her job interview at a school but they still needed someone to cover the Reception class (Kindergarden). I was excited for the work and after spending a day in the class, I was told that another staff member wanted to see me. It was a particularly exhausting and trying day, as the children were just settling in from coming back from Christmas holiday and were a bit wild. I assumed that their animal qualities reflected poorly on me, and therefore I was getting some sort of lecture.
The staff member was a Deputy Head (like our vice principal) and she began asking me questions about my experiences and my educational philosophy. I prattled on, thinking it was small talk to see how my day was and if she wanted to have me back as a supply in the future. Well after I finished, she told me over the break, the primary section of the school technically closed and was absorbed by the junior school next to it. This caused a lot of teachers to be moved around, leaving them without a staff member for the Nursery class (our junior kindergarden). She asked if I wanted the job and could I start tomorrow. I still can't believe it and after meeting my nursery nurse (our version of a TA) and the class, I am even more over the moon.

I am so blessed because:
- The children are absolutely hilarious and uber cute
- My TA is such an amazing and supportive woman, who constantly laughs with me and views teaching from exactly the same perspective. I could not have found someone to click with better in a classroom than her
- I get to use funny voices, sing, dance, dress up, splash in puddles, build castles, read on pillows, and practice writing my name all day. Hurrah!

I have faced some challenges being thrown into full time and I am learning so many things so quickly. Some things to ponder:

- I currently have 16 children in the morning and 15 in the afternoon (two separate sets of students)
- In England, children are phased into Nursery and Reception, so a whole new group of students don't start at the same time. Also, in Nursery/Reception, we do a September intake (like Canada) and then again in January. Any child who turns five between September-December, moves to Reception from Nursery in January, and any child who is advanced enough aka toilet trained and ready for school between September - December, goes into Nursery. After that long-winded and confusing explanation, I will be receiving one or two new students every Tuesday and Thursday, for both morning and afternoon, leaving me eventually with 24 children in the morning and 24 in the afternoon. A grand total of 48 reports I have to do.
- I work full time only until the end of February, when they reopen my position and interview other people, including myself to see who will continue to work in the nursery
- Of my 48 children, two have only two students who have English as a first language
- In my class a total of eleven different languages are spoken as first languages which are: Albanian, Arabic, Kurdish, Bangla, Filipino, Urdu, Tigrinya, Somali, Japanese, Pashto, Indonesian (I had to wikipedia some of the languages and felt very sheltered/small)

You can imagine my class looks and sounds a bit like the U.N. and how special that is to me. I am learning things about different cultures and worldviews that I have never come across. The children all get along very well and hand gestures forms the universal language in my room. Sometimes there are sad moments when I can see a child REALLY wants to communicate with another but can't find the English words to express themselves, so they either stomp, scream, or push each other in tears. I can't imagine being in a room where it feels like no one can hear you.

Anyway, I love my children already and have connected with them immediately. Today, two boys did my hair for half an hour while I read on cushions to a group of girls dressed as assorted animals. I then had to untangle the pencils from my hair for the next half an hour. I regret nothing.

Another boy, who is four, has found a special place in my heart also. He has a hard time saying good bye to his father in the morning, but he always tries to put on a brave face. His dad is very sweet and says a nice good bye, leaving the boy with me. As his dad walks away, you can see his poor little heart breaking and his face starts to mirror his feelings. I can slowly see it contort and start to wrinkle when the tears well up, but he always shakes his head to make the tears go away and if I ask him to do an activity he always responds with ok, while a little hiccup of sad comes out. He is such a good sport, that he will do anything with me, while quietly crying and trying to stop crying. He gets distracted and plays for a bit, then stops and the tears quietly come and he might ask me when his Abba is coming while hiccuping back sadness. Normally I am actually revolted by the sight of tears and children crying, as I find it quite irritating, but the brave face he tries to put on makes me want to scoop him up.......and I usually do. Today was a particularly hard time for him, and the tears suddenly came while he was eating his snack, and unfortunately his tiny hiccup came right as he was swallowing a couple of tangerine slices. This resulted in the immediate upheaval of his food and the emptying of his entire stomach contents on my shoes/carpet. Now at this point, I hadn't quite realized how much the children pick up on the phrases we use around them, but being here in Britain, it draws even more attention when the children pick up a purely Canadian phrase. Some phrases/words you wouldn't think are Canadian that are would be "that's sweet" or just "sweet" "alrighty" "right on" "rad" basically all my vocabulary I picked up from the 80's that hasn't left me. Well now I am looking at this sweet boy and the first thing he says after projectile vomiting is, "that sucks." Imagine a four year old who is really small and sweet, with a British/Bangladesh accent saying "that sucks." I just about died and I had to hide how funny it was to me because he was already so distraught from missing his dad, that vomiting did not make him feel better. I told my TA and she lost it too because she noticed he had totally picked it up from me as no one in England usually says that sucks, and I say it whenever a child tries to make a big deal out of something small i.e. "Kipper took a doll that I once held in my life!" I would respond with an "awww that sucks."

Anyway, we cleaned him up and gave him a cuddle until he was on his way again to do a puzzle. I wonder what adventures I will have tomorrow.

Lost, Locked Out, and Leaving

Many of you know that my life has oft paralleled that of George Costanza, in the sense that anything that could go ridiculously wrong in my life, will. My former supervisor once said something to me like, Katie if I heard any of these things from other people, I would think they were made up or completely exaggerated but with you, I know it happened exactly like that. Luckily I have met someone who is equally as unfortunate as I am and we fell in wuv…aawwww.

Anyway, many moments stand out in this past reunion with Rich as true Costanza moments so here are a few.

LOST:

Rich and I went to the London Science Museum and because we slept in, we managed to only arrive a few hours before it closed on New Years Eve. Around 3:30, only an hour after we arrived, we somehow got separated. There were car models everywhere and flashes of light, I got distracted and wandered off. It is exactly like the movies, I spun around noticing Rich was not at my side and couldn’t spot him. People walking by me were like blurs and whirring motions like taking a picture of something moving. I, of course, immediately panicked and ran from the room, looking desperately for him. I remember when I was young, I went to African Lion Safari with my class and somehow got split away from the group. I was lost for what seemed like an hour and I can’t describe to anyone that terrible sinking feeling (much like accidentally clicking reply all…) but some years later, that exact feeling came back to me.

Let me illustrate why I was in such a tizzy:

1.     Rich left his Canadian cell phone in my apartment in Reading

2.     We had not arranged meeting spot for emergencies like this

3.     I did not think he could get home, back to Reading, alone

4.     There was no way of contacting him or meeting up with him again, other than sheer luck of bumping into each other

Well it was a schmozzle. I waited for an hour and a half by the entrance of the museum when I decided to take higher ground to locate my friendly giant. I was approaching the psychoanalysis booth covered in penis sculptures when I spotted him the floor below on a bench. I walked back to collect him when I passed behind a statue and again like a movie, when I reached the other side of the statue, he had vanished. I was back to square one. Well another 30 minutes pass and I start to unabashedly cry at the entrance and ask the security guards to make an announcement. I was humiliated asking for a grown man to be paged, so I was tempted on saying he was my son, but if Rich did respond to the page then they would know they were swindled. So I settled for my exchange student. Roaring over the speakers came “Richard Thompson please come to the front entrance, Richard Thompson.” No show. 30 more minutes and the kind guard patted me and said if Rich was in the museum he would have heard it for sure. So the museum closed and I continued to linger on the streets before deciding to return to Reading. The entire time I am bbm’ing Sean, so he can talk me out of thinking Rich is dead or kidnapped.

After over three hours of being separated in a foreign country, I dragged my feet to my home, and Rich came walking toward me on my street. I ran to him and wept for almost as long as we were separated on the street lol.

Locked out:

Rich and I got home after THE longest day of trundling along the streets of England and we both had to use the facilities. Upon arriving home, he went to the kitchen and I remembered he forgot something and I ran to give it to him. I NEVER leave my room without my keys. Ever. Why, you might ask, because my door locks when it is closed. For the past two months it has never completely shut when I leave the room, so I have never needed to use my keys, but I take them as a precaution. With Rich visiting, I must have thrown caution to the wind because I forgot them in my room. Immediately locking us out. Luckily Rich doubles as a superhero and he managed to break into my room by slamming his shoulder into the wood, causing the latch to break and us to reenter the room. Good thing, I have more than one lock on my door!

Critters:

Halfway through our visit, I heard an intense scratching sound outside my window one night and grabbed Rich’s oblivious self. I had to draw his attention to what sounded like an invasion of badgers into my room. The sound soon dissipated and we went back to watching our beloved ER. The next night, the sound had travelled into what sounded like my closet. Rich is one of the bravest people I know when it comes to real threats and human dangers i.e. if I think someone has broken into the house, he immediately goes John McClane ready to kill or at least frighten away. BUT when it comes to insects or small critters, Rich is less like John McClane and more like Ron Weasley. I am not one who should be commenting, as I dislike dealing with real or imagined dangers but this was too funny. Neither of us wanted to open the closet so we were pushing each other forward until I woman’d up and threw open the door. Nothing was there, so we emptied the whole closet and blocked off any “suspicious” areas i.e. gaps in the carpeting. Later that night the sound had travelled again, and this time it was even closer and more real than ever. It had moved to a small cupboard in my room that blocks off the breaker switches. Again we laboured over who would confront the army of badgers, only to rip open an empty nook. I began talking aloud about what the sound must be, “Rich what if it’s a litter of kittens that a cat just had under my porch?” or “Rich, it could be a mouse that I could feed cheese.” Rich absently responded with, “or it could be a rat and ugh you don’t want those, they can be huge and –“ only cutting off when he realized the terror in my eyes as I began to freak out about having to battle the Black Plague on my own after he left in four days. Luckily, we have yet to hear the sound again…cue X-Files music.

Leaving:

Well Rich left. In true fashion, we woke up early, caught an earlier train, arrived at the airport early, and said goodbye too quickly. Rich crossed over the River Styx which I could not follow and I pathetically waved to him on the other side of the metal detector. My train wasn’t coming for another hour, so I read alone waiting for it to arrive. Finally, after settling into my train seat, I get an email to my blackberry from Rich saying his flight was delayed five hours. I had already pulled away from the station and could not return. I debated getting on another train back to the airport, but thought by the time I got back, it would be time for him to cross through security again. So, imagine my surprise when his flight was delayed again, for another three hours. Boo hoo.

Anyway, it was a wonderful visit and I only have to wait another eight months to see him again. Should be no problem…

Eff Reply All

Have you ever have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and you just know something bad has happened. Well if not, accidentally hit reply all on facebook messages and send something personal to everyone. The sinking feeling doesn’t happen when you send the message, but when a person you don’t remember sending the message to, replies to your embarrassing post.

This happened to me.

What’s worse, now my friends know my true nature, which is:

-       broke

-       cheap

-       rude

-       below average IQ

I probably should mention that these are my best friends, not just some “facebook friends” and that I have done an ok job at hiding some of these things for 10 years.

Well, love you girls? Friendship, dignity, composure, intelligence, technology FAIL.