The worst kind.
In my class I have ONE child who does not like me one bit. No matter what I do, this kid is not having it. He seems pretty serious and not one for theatrics, which is where I think the problem lies. I tend to do a lot of gestures and voices when telling stories or singing songs, and all the other children fall into wild giggles. BUT not this one. I spotted him on the first day when everyone was laughing and joining in and through the slew of children I saw one still one. My eyes were met with a deadpan, unimpressed glare as one might see in a horror film. I called on him to join in and went over to help him do the actions. He confidently moved away and made it clear he will have nothing to do with my pathetic attempts to please him.
This has led me into a down-spiral of sadness as my exertions were always turned into failures. I pick him first for activities, I praise every dot he makes on paper, and I try to put out activities I know he will like. He runs over to the set out area to play with his favourite things and when I join him, he just looks at me with a smug little scowl and says "no" so firmly that I know there is no negotiation to be had. The worst is that usually the "no" is accompanied by an arm bar so he can keep me at arm's length. One time I was praising how well he coloured in a picture (I was lying) and he stopped drawing, looked up, put his crayon down and pushed himself away from the table. He walked away shaking his head. The shame.
On Friday, things were going pretty well (he could tolerate my presence). We even had to hold hands because he was at the front of the line when we walked to the play area. I thought I was in, so I presumptuously asked, "_____ do you like Ms. Thomas?" He looked up with cute brown eyes so full of thought...then furrowed his brow and asserted "no" and scampered off. Devastation.
I will conquer this task even if it kills me and it just might as Monday I am planning a series of acrobatics and tricks to gain his favour.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Do You See What I See? I Doubt It.
I have always been blind. I remember getting my first pair of glasses when I was in grade 1 and knowing that I definitely needed them. I can't remember how it came about that people realized I needed them, but I am sure it was something ridiculous like squinting to see my own hand when counting on my fingers. Looking back on my style, I went from being insanely Suri Cruise cute, to being an ultra dork with the purchase of pink-tortoiseshell glasses AND to top my humiliation off, I chose a Mario Brothers glasses case. In case anyone was wondering what my destiny would be in terms of favourite literature/movies, that single purchase sealed the deal. Sure some children would have chosen a Northern Getaway-type case with a cute pattern, but no, I chose Mario. Thanks younger conscious, you were a great help to my social status as a child...not.
Everyone I meet, who finds out I am blind and wear contacts, begins the series of very predictable questions and outrageous requests as if I hit my head, and they are determining if I have permanent brain damage. "How far can you see?? Take your glasses off, how many fingers am I holding up? Can you see me now?? How about from here??" I understand that it is hard to fathom if you never had a sight problem, to then wrap your head around someone who can't see their hand in front of their face, but really? Come on. If someone said they had trouble hearing, would you then start whispering to see how little they could hear? Or if someone was in a wheelchair, would you demand them to just try to stand a little?
I used to not understand how the people in comics couldn't guess who the superhero was. How did people not know Clark Kent was Superman, when he was just wearing a different outfit? At least I thought that until one day last year I had to wear my glasses instead of my contacts to school. Everyone's reactions were actually appalling. "Whoa! I didn't know you wore glasses! Wow you look so different!" Really? I have a small, mostly transparent item across my face, do I really look that wildly different? Perhaps I should fight crime, but only in my glasses so no one will be able to guess who I am.
I have also always wanted someone to do a research study linking extreme nearsightedness to being afraid of the dark or what I like to call "shadow fear." When in bed, the moment those glasses come off for me to sleep, my room changes from a fun-loving ikea model, to Dante's 9 circles of Hell. The coats handing behind the door become the latest badies from Criminal Minds and even Pinkball gives a horrifying death stare. Someone needs to legally and undeniably prove that my cowardice is related to my physical disability, rather than a weak mental state.
One day I will probably get laser eye surgery to help with my sight, but I think I'll give it a few more years until they get out all the kinks. If I lose my eyes, I will be seriously bummed. Which is probably similar to when they started doing appendectomies, no one wanted to be the first person to just get their appendix out. I would hate my eye surgery to be something like Tom Cruise's in Minority Report and knowing our house, Bond would leave a rotting sandwich next to my new lunch, for me to mistakenly munch on. Until then, I might apply for a golden retriever to fetch me my glasses in the morning when I can't ever find them directly beside my bed or to help me sniff out a dropped contact lens in that awkward transition between putting my glasses down and placing my first contact in when I am completely blind for 15 seconds.
I have typed this entire blog without contacts/glasses and it has taken me 3 days. This is why I haven't posted in so long. Sorry.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Exciting posts.
Well, I guess I am pretty settled in England. The thing with moving to another country is eventually you establish a life there and all your routines return to you. I have been seriously thinking hard about what to post in the blog lately, however I find it difficult to create material. Here is why,
Schedule:
5:00 am - wake up
6:00 am - catch train
7:05 am - arrive at school
8:00 am - 2:30 pm - teach
6:00 pm - arrive at home
8:30 pm - fall into bed exhausted
9:30 pm - zzz
Where do funny things come from? I wrote a recent post and it was about our boiler breaking.
"Oooo great fun. Hilarious insights! What funny anecdotes" - said no one ever.
Here it was:
Hot, hot, heat.
Our boiler broke. To be exact, we believe someone broke it. We were on holiday (which was lovely) when we discovered our flat had been broken into but remarkable, nothing was stolen. However, when we went to turn on the hot water and heating, it was kaputt.
After nearly a week of no heat/hot water, and many a gym trip to shower... the boiler man was able to get the heat working but only if we kept it running.
This would be ok if we had some sort of thermostat. We do not. We have heat on, or off. No regulation of temperature whatsoever. We either live in the Arctic, or the Sahara.
Once we left the heat on for almost a solid two days. Mistake. I would shower at night, and wake up with hair still wet, only to discover the water had been replaced with pure sweat.
I will never go back to that. We turned it off, and of course it stopped working. Since then, someone has fixed the boiler again but only temporarily, and they don't know when it won't turn on again.
It is alright though, because I find when sitting in the humid flat, I find my complexion quite fetching. The heat brings about a flush I cannot achieve with cosmetic blushes.
After reading this post, I thought, can I even post this? I want to die reading this and it is MY life. I actually had to live this to write about it. I think I have to make a more conscious effort to find the funny in the mundane. I find I usually think life is at it's funniest when I am into watching ridiculous tv shows like Seinfeld or Arrested Development. However, right now HBO and AMC are making golden dramas. I can't get enough of the heavy material. It is trickling into my worldview though, and I need to break free. Yesterday, I saw someone wearing a dark hoodie and I started to tear up, thinking that they were like Jesse from Breaking Bad and likely addicted to crystal meth, having a soul mate who OD'd, and had no relationship with his parents. Then he stood up, and I realized the hoodie was Burberry and he was probably doing jussstttt fine.
Life needs more laughter. I will try my best.
Schedule:
5:00 am - wake up
6:00 am - catch train
7:05 am - arrive at school
8:00 am - 2:30 pm - teach
6:00 pm - arrive at home
8:30 pm - fall into bed exhausted
9:30 pm - zzz
Where do funny things come from? I wrote a recent post and it was about our boiler breaking.
"Oooo great fun. Hilarious insights! What funny anecdotes" - said no one ever.
Here it was:
Hot, hot, heat.
Our boiler broke. To be exact, we believe someone broke it. We were on holiday (which was lovely) when we discovered our flat had been broken into but remarkable, nothing was stolen. However, when we went to turn on the hot water and heating, it was kaputt.
After nearly a week of no heat/hot water, and many a gym trip to shower... the boiler man was able to get the heat working but only if we kept it running.
This would be ok if we had some sort of thermostat. We do not. We have heat on, or off. No regulation of temperature whatsoever. We either live in the Arctic, or the Sahara.
Once we left the heat on for almost a solid two days. Mistake. I would shower at night, and wake up with hair still wet, only to discover the water had been replaced with pure sweat.
I will never go back to that. We turned it off, and of course it stopped working. Since then, someone has fixed the boiler again but only temporarily, and they don't know when it won't turn on again.
It is alright though, because I find when sitting in the humid flat, I find my complexion quite fetching. The heat brings about a flush I cannot achieve with cosmetic blushes.
After reading this post, I thought, can I even post this? I want to die reading this and it is MY life. I actually had to live this to write about it. I think I have to make a more conscious effort to find the funny in the mundane. I find I usually think life is at it's funniest when I am into watching ridiculous tv shows like Seinfeld or Arrested Development. However, right now HBO and AMC are making golden dramas. I can't get enough of the heavy material. It is trickling into my worldview though, and I need to break free. Yesterday, I saw someone wearing a dark hoodie and I started to tear up, thinking that they were like Jesse from Breaking Bad and likely addicted to crystal meth, having a soul mate who OD'd, and had no relationship with his parents. Then he stood up, and I realized the hoodie was Burberry and he was probably doing jussstttt fine.
Life needs more laughter. I will try my best.
New Meaning of Limp Wrist
This is not to be offensive at all, but just as some terms need reclaiming...I'm cracking this one out. I was trying to describe what happens to me at work and could not manage to give an accurate depiction without using the two words "limp" and "wrist" together at once. Some of you may be familiar with this ridiculous urban dictionary descriptor, however today I am using limp wrist or I use "limp-wristing" to describe what a child does when not wanting to join an activity.
Some of you know I started a new job last Monday. It was an end of a era for me, but am excited about a new beginning. Now I am working with very young children, and often times, they do not want to do things they have to do.
For safety reasons, children have to come inside/outside once in a while, or join carpet activities and cannot be left unsupervised. Some children decline. Not even politely.
I bring out all my bag of tricks to bend them to my will. Often times it reminds me of trying to get Freckles (the world's worst trained but best furry friend) back inside after escaping out the front door to the park across the street. "Come on cutie! Come on! Do you want a treat? How about you chase me back? Come catch me! No? Ok..." In a voice that is often high-pitched enough to break glass. After running through a course of teacher tricks to curve behaviour, you inevitable make that ONE wrong step in their direction, which brings about a resulting reaction what I call the "chase instinct." Again, like puppies, suddenly they crouch down with their bottom waging, ready to bolt in either direction, because of course you are only playing and WANT to chase them around the playground. I draw the line at running. If I run, I am chasing, if I walk around a tree to catch, I am collecting - see the difference? They don't either.
Minutes pass and I pull out another trick, distraction. "Look at that beautiful flower, come with me to water it" *hand snag. For children deemed as "runners" I have admittedly even used the "oohhh ouch! Miss Thomas twisted her ankle and needs help to come inside. Will you help me get ice on my foot and be a helper?" *limping inside with children "supporting" me to get to a chair and thus where I actually want them.
However their is the odd time when children then perform what I now have coined as limp-wristing. It is the act of holding a child's hand to guide them to the desired location, and their body becomes limp at the wrist. This inevitably ends up with you thrown off balance, trying to recover, all while attempting to make your actions look completely safe and kind. Limp-wristing occurs with even the softest touch of a hand and they make the dropping as dramatic as possible. It is like you are holding spaghetti that had some ends sticking out of the pot. Their body is noodle-ish, but their hand is still holding you like Jack from the Titanic.
Limp-wristing, I believe, is the most difficult thing a teacher will have to face during the day. Forget lessons, physical activity, singing, or crying. Once limp-wristed, you are in impossible territory. No efficient method has been decided yet, as we would never lift a child in school, where a limp-body is irrelevant when it is entirely elevated. So it is somewhat of the child's ultimate trump card. They know they will be joining you in the next activity...exactly when they want to.
Well done children, you have defeated me for now.
Some of you know I started a new job last Monday. It was an end of a era for me, but am excited about a new beginning. Now I am working with very young children, and often times, they do not want to do things they have to do.
For safety reasons, children have to come inside/outside once in a while, or join carpet activities and cannot be left unsupervised. Some children decline. Not even politely.
I bring out all my bag of tricks to bend them to my will. Often times it reminds me of trying to get Freckles (the world's worst trained but best furry friend) back inside after escaping out the front door to the park across the street. "Come on cutie! Come on! Do you want a treat? How about you chase me back? Come catch me! No? Ok..." In a voice that is often high-pitched enough to break glass. After running through a course of teacher tricks to curve behaviour, you inevitable make that ONE wrong step in their direction, which brings about a resulting reaction what I call the "chase instinct." Again, like puppies, suddenly they crouch down with their bottom waging, ready to bolt in either direction, because of course you are only playing and WANT to chase them around the playground. I draw the line at running. If I run, I am chasing, if I walk around a tree to catch, I am collecting - see the difference? They don't either.
Minutes pass and I pull out another trick, distraction. "Look at that beautiful flower, come with me to water it" *hand snag. For children deemed as "runners" I have admittedly even used the "oohhh ouch! Miss Thomas twisted her ankle and needs help to come inside. Will you help me get ice on my foot and be a helper?" *limping inside with children "supporting" me to get to a chair and thus where I actually want them.
However their is the odd time when children then perform what I now have coined as limp-wristing. It is the act of holding a child's hand to guide them to the desired location, and their body becomes limp at the wrist. This inevitably ends up with you thrown off balance, trying to recover, all while attempting to make your actions look completely safe and kind. Limp-wristing occurs with even the softest touch of a hand and they make the dropping as dramatic as possible. It is like you are holding spaghetti that had some ends sticking out of the pot. Their body is noodle-ish, but their hand is still holding you like Jack from the Titanic.
Limp-wristing, I believe, is the most difficult thing a teacher will have to face during the day. Forget lessons, physical activity, singing, or crying. Once limp-wristed, you are in impossible territory. No efficient method has been decided yet, as we would never lift a child in school, where a limp-body is irrelevant when it is entirely elevated. So it is somewhat of the child's ultimate trump card. They know they will be joining you in the next activity...exactly when they want to.
Well done children, you have defeated me for now.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Magic Mike
OK so it might be a good movie - who knows. Maybe it will be like a Boogie Nights and expose a side to an industry we don't normally see BUT what I seem to be seeing is equally weird and creepy girls posting links to the trailer on facebook or commenting on youtube making disgusting remarks or giving shout outs like,"calling all girls!!"
If suddenly there was a movie about strippers OR a movie like Show Girls resurfaced and AS many guys were posting it to their walls writing comments like "OH YA, must see!!" I would think they are creeps, in fact I believe many women would. In particular, I think the demographic who would be the first to strike or make a fuss about it would be the same who are posting now about Magic Mike.
I do believe in equal rights and I think even more so now that I have met someone who respects me for a woman not just a partner. Since being with him I have seen that equal doesn't mean being equally sleazy. It doesn't mean wearing trashy clothes or "playing the game" that some guys do, so it is fair. It means calling for more respect and demanding the opposite sex to rise up to our standard.
Not only does it make you seem like a scuzzball for so publicly drooling over a movie about male strippers, but you are also showing your limitations of gender roles and sexual orientations. What about males who want to see the movie? Why are you "calling all ladies!"? I am a lady and I don't want to see that. What about my male counterpart who might be interested? Do you expect a hoard of women to come flocking to the cinema with you to snail trail over some B actors taking their clothes off? (I'm looking at you Channing Tatum - or sometimes as I remember Tanning Chatum, as he is not even important enough to get his name straight and Channing is a nonsensical name anyway) What's sad is I don't even doubt that probably this movie will be worked into a so-called ladies night, where I picture groups of single-something women eating at Boston Pizza, having a few too many Cosmos, then ending the night hollering at the cinema screen. Again I pose, if a group of males were to create a guys night of this and then all slinking off to watch female strippers - oh wait, some do that, and usually they are the kind that wear camouflage pants, Ed Hardy t-shirts, and greasy hair and what do we call them??? CREEPS! Point made.
On Friday, I saw women who were working for a company and paid to walk Covent Garden (a classy area of London) in lingerie. A crowd of males had formed, especially older men, who were cat-calling and taking pictures on their phones. Some women looked offended while walking by. At first I was thinking, ew dirty old men then I had to shake myself and think about WHAT I was looking at. Why are these women in their underwear on the streets? I think both sexes had let themselves down that day but what would "make us equal" doesn't mean I want a bunch of guys in speedos for me to whistle at. How about everyone puts on their damn clothes?!
Now I know some people who are posting are just trying to be funny or play at the male stereotype, but enough now. The things I am seeing are the female equivalents of when we would call a guy a douchebag (which in itself undermines the feminist stance and underscores some of the argument but it sums up with urban dictionary this behaviour). So if you don't want to be a douchebagette - lay off and go back to posting youtube clips about people tripping in public so we can all equally laugh at another. Thanks.
If suddenly there was a movie about strippers OR a movie like Show Girls resurfaced and AS many guys were posting it to their walls writing comments like "OH YA, must see!!" I would think they are creeps, in fact I believe many women would. In particular, I think the demographic who would be the first to strike or make a fuss about it would be the same who are posting now about Magic Mike.
I do believe in equal rights and I think even more so now that I have met someone who respects me for a woman not just a partner. Since being with him I have seen that equal doesn't mean being equally sleazy. It doesn't mean wearing trashy clothes or "playing the game" that some guys do, so it is fair. It means calling for more respect and demanding the opposite sex to rise up to our standard.
Not only does it make you seem like a scuzzball for so publicly drooling over a movie about male strippers, but you are also showing your limitations of gender roles and sexual orientations. What about males who want to see the movie? Why are you "calling all ladies!"? I am a lady and I don't want to see that. What about my male counterpart who might be interested? Do you expect a hoard of women to come flocking to the cinema with you to snail trail over some B actors taking their clothes off? (I'm looking at you Channing Tatum - or sometimes as I remember Tanning Chatum, as he is not even important enough to get his name straight and Channing is a nonsensical name anyway) What's sad is I don't even doubt that probably this movie will be worked into a so-called ladies night, where I picture groups of single-something women eating at Boston Pizza, having a few too many Cosmos, then ending the night hollering at the cinema screen. Again I pose, if a group of males were to create a guys night of this and then all slinking off to watch female strippers - oh wait, some do that, and usually they are the kind that wear camouflage pants, Ed Hardy t-shirts, and greasy hair and what do we call them??? CREEPS! Point made.
On Friday, I saw women who were working for a company and paid to walk Covent Garden (a classy area of London) in lingerie. A crowd of males had formed, especially older men, who were cat-calling and taking pictures on their phones. Some women looked offended while walking by. At first I was thinking, ew dirty old men then I had to shake myself and think about WHAT I was looking at. Why are these women in their underwear on the streets? I think both sexes had let themselves down that day but what would "make us equal" doesn't mean I want a bunch of guys in speedos for me to whistle at. How about everyone puts on their damn clothes?!
Now I know some people who are posting are just trying to be funny or play at the male stereotype, but enough now. The things I am seeing are the female equivalents of when we would call a guy a douchebag (which in itself undermines the feminist stance and underscores some of the argument but it sums up with urban dictionary this behaviour). So if you don't want to be a douchebagette - lay off and go back to posting youtube clips about people tripping in public so we can all equally laugh at another. Thanks.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Mouth O' Flames
I enjoy a good mouthwash because, especially now living with Mr. Bond, I like to keep my mouth minty fresh in case of spontaneous smooches.
Anyway, I tend to stick to Listerine because I feel it is a challenge - one I have never conquered. If you have ever purchased Listerine, you may already know what I am hinting at. If you have ever bought Listerine and been bored whilst stuck on the toilet, you definitely know what I am hinting at. I am talking about the Listerine directions of usage on the bottle and their website.
I have included them for your background knowledge.
Sure swishing around in your mouth sounds easy enough, but they don't tell you 10ml soon becomes 225ml with a chemical agent that produces copious amounts of foam. How can I swish something that becomes infinitely larger with every swish? Whenever I use it, I feel like I am in grade 10 science, calculating the doubling life of a protozoa.
Also, 1 minute isn't a very long time considering how long it takes me to get my hair did in the morning but it is a LONG 1 minute if you are gargling flames. Listerine is not rinsing your mouth with water - it is bathing your gums in bleach, mixed with ammonia, with a dash of jalapenos, and a side of draino. Within seconds of the liquid entering my mouth, I feel my flesh peel back on my cheeks. Any company can boast killing 99.9% of germs when they also kill 99.9% of healthy tissue. Using twice a day would leave me looking like Harvey Dent post Joker incident.
Lastly, no eating or drinking for 30 minutes after is simply torture. Eating or drinking would be the only thing to soothe the pain. My dentist told me once that rinsing my mouth out with water after completely negated me using Listerine. Is this medical fact? I have never known a substance's chemical nature to be altered entirely by a quick gulp of water. Isn't water one of the most neutral substances on earth? That's how they get you though, more times you attempt to withstand and cave, the more new gulps you take - steadily decreasing your supplies.
I will keep trying to meet this challenge head on, twice daily. And when I do - I will let them know!
Anyway, I tend to stick to Listerine because I feel it is a challenge - one I have never conquered. If you have ever purchased Listerine, you may already know what I am hinting at. If you have ever bought Listerine and been bored whilst stuck on the toilet, you definitely know what I am hinting at. I am talking about the Listerine directions of usage on the bottle and their website.
I have included them for your background knowledge.
Adults and children 6 years of age and older:
- Use twice daily after brushing your teeth with a
toothpaste - Vigorously swish 10 ml (2 teaspoonfuls) of rinse
between your teeth for 1 minute and then spit out - Do not swallow the rinse
- Do not eat or drink for 30 minutes after rinsing
- Supervise children as necessary until capable of
using without supervision
I don't think so Listerine, or should I say...Johnson & Johnson Healthcare Products Division of McNeil-PPC Inc.
Sure swishing around in your mouth sounds easy enough, but they don't tell you 10ml soon becomes 225ml with a chemical agent that produces copious amounts of foam. How can I swish something that becomes infinitely larger with every swish? Whenever I use it, I feel like I am in grade 10 science, calculating the doubling life of a protozoa.
Also, 1 minute isn't a very long time considering how long it takes me to get my hair did in the morning but it is a LONG 1 minute if you are gargling flames. Listerine is not rinsing your mouth with water - it is bathing your gums in bleach, mixed with ammonia, with a dash of jalapenos, and a side of draino. Within seconds of the liquid entering my mouth, I feel my flesh peel back on my cheeks. Any company can boast killing 99.9% of germs when they also kill 99.9% of healthy tissue. Using twice a day would leave me looking like Harvey Dent post Joker incident.
Lastly, no eating or drinking for 30 minutes after is simply torture. Eating or drinking would be the only thing to soothe the pain. My dentist told me once that rinsing my mouth out with water after completely negated me using Listerine. Is this medical fact? I have never known a substance's chemical nature to be altered entirely by a quick gulp of water. Isn't water one of the most neutral substances on earth? That's how they get you though, more times you attempt to withstand and cave, the more new gulps you take - steadily decreasing your supplies.
I will keep trying to meet this challenge head on, twice daily. And when I do - I will let them know!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Old Gray Mare
So I turned 25. Yuck.
I used to think I would be married to Brian Littrell of the Backstreet Boys by the age of 21 and would have my first child by 23 because any older than that would be gross.
As I got older, my daydreaming continued but my dream ages steadily increased. "Oh ya, 25 is a good age to get married, ya, that's JUST as good as 21. It's also definitely still doable."
Well here I am, content with my life which is good but I am starting to see some definite signs of aging. My test of youth really came to me whilst I was on holiday with Mr. Bond in Paris. I say holiday, but if I had blinked, I would have missed the entire trip...and believe me I wish I had a second to blink/slumber.
The weeks prior to our two week break, Mr. Bond and I pondered over some activities we could do. Having both seen an add on the tube for Megabus - trips to Paris for £1 - we looked it up. Oh what a great idea! We can travel on the bus overnight so we can get a full day in Paris and our accommodation is covered! Oh and here's a fun adventure, let's just make it a day trip to save even more money!! Let's come back on the same bus THAT night. I can not express enough how big of a mistake this evolution of ideas was. As many of you are probably already thinking, yup we didn't get any sleep. Just as I was getting comfortable and slightly snoozing, the bus stops and we have to get off for border control. Then back on - get off for the ferry ride - stay on a boat for over an hour - get back on bus - adjust - then try to rest. So awful. After a long while, and many adjustments to my posture so now I look like a proud falcon perched on a trainer's leather arm guard, I drift into sleep. What feels like minutes later, I awake in the Sahara desert, oh wait... it's just the broken heating system on the bus. I felt this odd sensation and experienced something I never had before. A pool of sweat had collected on my neck/upper chest. How does this happen? This is not a crevice. That was how hot the bus was, sweat collected on flat surfaces, joining to other sweat to try to cool down.
Anyway we arrive, near death. Zombie-ing around Paris is not as much fun as one would think. However, we did find a cosy nook to slumber in for a while in the Louvre. That's socially acceptable, right?
Then we return, exhausted and hours early to catch our bus. The only problem is, we were told on the way TO Paris, that we did not have to check in while IN Paris to return home. So after waiting 3.5 hours in a bus station, we get turned away at the bus by the driver because we need a plastic tag on top of our actual boarding passes to say we have a soul or something. Needless to say, when we manage to get back on, there are no seats for Bond and I to sit together. Except 1. At the back. Squashed together. Above the heater. Beside another couple in a row of 5. At this point my emotions have been put in a bag, dropped from the Eiffel Tower, punched by the Mona Lisa, and have eaten way too much rich food. I am a dairy-dump of disaster. Bond sees my unbridled rage and tries his best to adjust his body so I am sitting next to a memory foam pillow, however it doesn't work. There is not even enough room to cross my legs.
When we managed to traipse back into our flat, we slept 7 hours. This is how I know I am old. This entire story shows age. I used to sleep for 2 hours a night during exams, then after they were done, smash some beers to celebrate. Now if I am awake 2 hours, my eyes hurt looking at a computer screen.
In case you didn't believe that I was getting older, I have compiled a list of pathetic tendencies that prove my near-death. You're welcome:
- deciding to start separating laundry - After Bond's white v-necks continue to get noticeably more gray with every laundry load, I have decided to separate. I have never before. My black pantyhose, tights, bras, and dresses will just have to steer clear.
- grey hairs - I used to have 2 maybe 3, so they were easy to pluck. Now if I plucked all my gray hairs out, I would only HAVE 2 or 3 normal hairs. My hair catches sunlight and blinds the children with its silver rays. Back to the hairdresser.
- mishearing book/movie titles and repeating them incorrectly in front of many people. I have REALLY wanted to read/watch Crown of Thorns...Crown of Games...Game of Crowns...Games of Throne Crowns for a while now.
- needing at least 8 hours of sleep but only managing to force my body to sleep 6 at most (as long as those 6 hours start between 10pm - 11pm, anything after that still leaves me exhausted all day). This bullet can be completely disregarded though if my sleeping will go passed 9am. Like clockwork, at 6am I get up to go pee, then can fall back asleep until 9 only. At which point, I lay in bed exhausted by can't even manage to close my eyes. Nothing will bring sleep to me. Well...almost nothing...
- this brings me to a show. The above point can be disregarded if there are any episodes of Blue Planet in the house. If I slap on some David Attenborough it doesn't matter if I have woken up from a 12 hour uninterrupted slumber, I can always go into a coma with his soothing man voice. This point was included because although it removes proof of my oldness based on sleeping patterns, it proves I am getting older by falling asleep to an episode of a tv show.
- getting drunk off of 1 glass of wine (I used to have to sneak away at parties to quickly drink in the bathroom so they didn't see me gag down my first few drinks fast and thus party harder) but now one glass is enough to get me to have me singing Cher at the top of my lungs. Only point of pride: my wallet is much fuller after a night out.
- having to pee 4 times before bed - WHY DOES MY BODY DO THIS?? Nothing comes out the third time!! Why even go a fourth?? But I can never talk my mind out of it - I might have to get up in the middle of the night to go!
- calculating how much water I have to drink in a day so those 4 pees at night won't burn coming out
- thoroughly enjoying crosswords. Not a single event gives me more contentedness.
I am sure there are more, but I think this is enough proof to convince you I am as old as dirt. Now, it is getting late (8:40 pm) I must be off to get ready for bed.
I used to think I would be married to Brian Littrell of the Backstreet Boys by the age of 21 and would have my first child by 23 because any older than that would be gross.
As I got older, my daydreaming continued but my dream ages steadily increased. "Oh ya, 25 is a good age to get married, ya, that's JUST as good as 21. It's also definitely still doable."
Well here I am, content with my life which is good but I am starting to see some definite signs of aging. My test of youth really came to me whilst I was on holiday with Mr. Bond in Paris. I say holiday, but if I had blinked, I would have missed the entire trip...and believe me I wish I had a second to blink/slumber.
The weeks prior to our two week break, Mr. Bond and I pondered over some activities we could do. Having both seen an add on the tube for Megabus - trips to Paris for £1 - we looked it up. Oh what a great idea! We can travel on the bus overnight so we can get a full day in Paris and our accommodation is covered! Oh and here's a fun adventure, let's just make it a day trip to save even more money!! Let's come back on the same bus THAT night. I can not express enough how big of a mistake this evolution of ideas was. As many of you are probably already thinking, yup we didn't get any sleep. Just as I was getting comfortable and slightly snoozing, the bus stops and we have to get off for border control. Then back on - get off for the ferry ride - stay on a boat for over an hour - get back on bus - adjust - then try to rest. So awful. After a long while, and many adjustments to my posture so now I look like a proud falcon perched on a trainer's leather arm guard, I drift into sleep. What feels like minutes later, I awake in the Sahara desert, oh wait... it's just the broken heating system on the bus. I felt this odd sensation and experienced something I never had before. A pool of sweat had collected on my neck/upper chest. How does this happen? This is not a crevice. That was how hot the bus was, sweat collected on flat surfaces, joining to other sweat to try to cool down.
Anyway we arrive, near death. Zombie-ing around Paris is not as much fun as one would think. However, we did find a cosy nook to slumber in for a while in the Louvre. That's socially acceptable, right?
Then we return, exhausted and hours early to catch our bus. The only problem is, we were told on the way TO Paris, that we did not have to check in while IN Paris to return home. So after waiting 3.5 hours in a bus station, we get turned away at the bus by the driver because we need a plastic tag on top of our actual boarding passes to say we have a soul or something. Needless to say, when we manage to get back on, there are no seats for Bond and I to sit together. Except 1. At the back. Squashed together. Above the heater. Beside another couple in a row of 5. At this point my emotions have been put in a bag, dropped from the Eiffel Tower, punched by the Mona Lisa, and have eaten way too much rich food. I am a dairy-dump of disaster. Bond sees my unbridled rage and tries his best to adjust his body so I am sitting next to a memory foam pillow, however it doesn't work. There is not even enough room to cross my legs.
When we managed to traipse back into our flat, we slept 7 hours. This is how I know I am old. This entire story shows age. I used to sleep for 2 hours a night during exams, then after they were done, smash some beers to celebrate. Now if I am awake 2 hours, my eyes hurt looking at a computer screen.
In case you didn't believe that I was getting older, I have compiled a list of pathetic tendencies that prove my near-death. You're welcome:
- deciding to start separating laundry - After Bond's white v-necks continue to get noticeably more gray with every laundry load, I have decided to separate. I have never before. My black pantyhose, tights, bras, and dresses will just have to steer clear.
- grey hairs - I used to have 2 maybe 3, so they were easy to pluck. Now if I plucked all my gray hairs out, I would only HAVE 2 or 3 normal hairs. My hair catches sunlight and blinds the children with its silver rays. Back to the hairdresser.
- mishearing book/movie titles and repeating them incorrectly in front of many people. I have REALLY wanted to read/watch Crown of Thorns...Crown of Games...Game of Crowns...Games of Throne Crowns for a while now.
- needing at least 8 hours of sleep but only managing to force my body to sleep 6 at most (as long as those 6 hours start between 10pm - 11pm, anything after that still leaves me exhausted all day). This bullet can be completely disregarded though if my sleeping will go passed 9am. Like clockwork, at 6am I get up to go pee, then can fall back asleep until 9 only. At which point, I lay in bed exhausted by can't even manage to close my eyes. Nothing will bring sleep to me. Well...almost nothing...
- this brings me to a show. The above point can be disregarded if there are any episodes of Blue Planet in the house. If I slap on some David Attenborough it doesn't matter if I have woken up from a 12 hour uninterrupted slumber, I can always go into a coma with his soothing man voice. This point was included because although it removes proof of my oldness based on sleeping patterns, it proves I am getting older by falling asleep to an episode of a tv show.
- getting drunk off of 1 glass of wine (I used to have to sneak away at parties to quickly drink in the bathroom so they didn't see me gag down my first few drinks fast and thus party harder) but now one glass is enough to get me to have me singing Cher at the top of my lungs. Only point of pride: my wallet is much fuller after a night out.
- having to pee 4 times before bed - WHY DOES MY BODY DO THIS?? Nothing comes out the third time!! Why even go a fourth?? But I can never talk my mind out of it - I might have to get up in the middle of the night to go!
- calculating how much water I have to drink in a day so those 4 pees at night won't burn coming out
- thoroughly enjoying crosswords. Not a single event gives me more contentedness.
I am sure there are more, but I think this is enough proof to convince you I am as old as dirt. Now, it is getting late (8:40 pm) I must be off to get ready for bed.
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