When going to the store, it is very important to remember that one's goods should be on display at all times. Don't be tricked into thinking that the people behind you at Target don't want to see your back fat rolls clearly through your tight, tight t-shirt. Also, for the love of all that is holy, please remember to let that little strip of skin right above the back of your jeans show, so we can all see your butt crack.

Because, really, one's crack is the epicenter of one's look, and should be on display at all times. 

It's also good to keep in mind that, if you have a prepubescent daughter, you should just go ahead and borrow her jeans. Don't let those sweet sparkly butt pockets go to waste, just sitting at home in a drawer, waiting for a person who weighs about 50 pounds to take them out.

Yep, shove and squeeze your 200-plus-pound butt into them. That sparkly design looks ever so much better stretched out as much as possible. It's like a glittery rainbow exploded across your bum.

Oh, and your tight t-shirt? Make sure it's cut lower in front than your bra, so we can see all of what you've got going on. Nothing says class quite like visible nips and a full set of belly rolls. One can never show too much boob and/or stomach.

Thanks for keeping these tips in mind.

I've decided to take a hiatus from being productive. This means that any and all crafting done will be the kind of crafting I love the most. That kind of crafting is the kind where I look at something and think, "Hmmm...that looks cool. I wonder if I could make it?"

Generally, I then google whatever it is and try to find some free instructions on the web and then make sure it only uses whatever I already have lying around the house (because if I have to go spend money on it, then I might as well buy it at the store).

I then spend a few hours cussing and breaking stuff, and then, voilà! I have just made something that I was curious about. That's pretty much how the last few days of crafting have been. I've made a few little makeup bags and a big hobo bag, mostly because it has the name hobo in the title, and that's one of my favorite words. Also, I put the straps sideways on it so I could use it for yarn and not have any obstructions. So it looks kind of funny and I didn't realize it was the straps until my lovely husband pointed it out. Oh, well. At least that mystery is solved. It will be more functional for me, though, so that's what matters. Right? Sure.

Next up is learning how to do a cable knit thingy. It may or may not be a scarf...it's pretty slow going and I may end up quitting as soon as I see (or don't see) the cable coming out. Knitting is much harder than crocheting for me to do, so I hope I get better at it. Right now it requires so much concentration that I feel as if my head's going to explode.

I may also try baking something cool that no one makes at home. Or I may just make Danish again, because they were awesome. We'll see. For sure, though, I will totally be unproductive for a few more days, because it's just so much more fun.

I do totally recognize that my version of being unproductive requires productivity, by the way. That's just how it works around here.

Tomorrow morning is my annual physical. I don't really expect a miracle, but it would be lovely if I could lose around 30 pounds over the next twenty-four hours. Here is my plan of attack:

First, I will think about it a lot. A LOT. Studies have shown (well, the studies in my imaginary laboratory) that thinking about being skinnier causes it to actually happen. No joke. They've also shown that cake is good for your heart, and that beer actually increases your brain size, making everything you say more intelligent and also making you much cleverer than you were sans alcohol.

Secondly, I will think very hard about exercising. Even if I don't actually drag my butt out and do it, the thinking is very powerful (see above).

I don't really have a third. I guess I'm just expecting one and two to take care of it.

Crap.

Oh, well. I can always fall back on the, "Why, no! I didn't realize that I have a weight problem. What do you suggest?" That always makes the doctor feel really smart and good, as if she's the first person to discover my ginormousness. The tricky part is to say it without even a hint of sarcasm. I guess I can work on that today. 

Tomorrow's going to be sweet.

Today is the day all of the merchants in town give little kids candy if they come in dressed up. Why did we not get two opportunities to wear our Halloween costumes when we were kids? That is stupid and unfair.

I say we should have more grownup times for costumes. I don't own a cape, but I'd like to, and I have plenty of pairs of tights. I really wanted to go as Justin Bieber this year and have my husband go as Selena Gomez, but I couldn't talk him into it. Maybe next year.

As a kid, I always had big dreams of filling up my pillowcase with candy, but I was too chubby to walk that far, and I'd get tired after a few streets and then my Dad would have to carry me home. I still have that dream, but I don't think my Dad can carry me home, so if I walk too far I'll just be stuck.

Maybe, instead of going out and trick-or-treating (I realize I'm too old for that...just let me have my dream) I could go out to the merchants and tell them I have a kid and she's sick at home, so I'm collecting candy for her (I realize I could buy my own candy, but that ruins all of the fun times). Then, I could get all sorts of candy...maybe even a pillowcase full.

Yeah. I'll do that.

Or maybe I'll just go to the store and buy some of those Reese's peanut butter pumpkins I've heard about. They sound flipping delicious. That's much easier, and I won't even have to Bieber my hair.

Is it just me, or does it seem like way more people just don't give a crap lately? I mean, sometimes it seems like a select group of people (inclding myself, of course) are the only ones who care enough to really try at whatever it is that we're doing.

I realize this isn't true, but it makes me feel like a much better person than I actually am.

However, it really does seem like some people just couldn't care less about whether or not they're doing a good job. Take last night, for instance: My husband and I went out for dinner because we had a gift certificate to a local restaurant and, because of the way business works up here, we wanted to use it ASAP before the restaurant goes under. They almost all go under, which is really sad, but I like to try to do my part by giving them my business.

Anyhow, we went in and saw that the dining area had about five occupied tables, which is decent for earlyish on a Wednesday night on a non-payday week, and went up to the counter to order. No greeting, no offers to answer questions, just a young guy flirting with the young lady working in another part of the restaurant. We ordered and took a table. After sitting, we had a bit of time to kill and were noticing that the unused tables were all filthy, and the floor looked like it hadn't been vacuumed in days. We thought for sure the kid would come start cleaning up, as no new customers were coming in and we could still hear him hanging out and flirting with the woman up at the front.

Nope. He continued to flirt until I almost went up because I had heard the bell going off that meant our food was ready about five minutes before. He then brought us our food, didn't say a word, and left.

Seriously? I have done my time in foodservice, and I know it's a rough job, but this kid wasn't even trying. Not even to be friendly.

If you have a restaurant in a struggling market, maybe you can't afford to lower prices or pay your people huge wages, but you can afford to make darn sure that your employees have the best service possible. Period. There are always new people waiting to fill their shoes, and your employees need to know how important it is, especially in a struggling economy, to make customers feel like they're making the right decision by spending their hard-earned money with you. Whether they've had a bad day or aren't feeling like being there or whatever other reason they may have for being a surly little turd.

There. I've said my piece. I feel better.

Okay, I'm not going to eat any sweets today.

A day without sweets isn't going to kill me, right? Right?

Ugh. It might.

I know it's not healthy to eat sweet crap, but for some reason I can't stop thinking about it, especially candy corn. Halloween does that to me. My gut, however, tends to disagree with me on this issue, but my mouth usually wins the battle. I would, however, like to have one day where I can feel all virtuous and superior at the end of the day, and have eaten only good things (like fruits and vegetables and fiber and lean protein and definitely, definitely not any candy corn, which is, apparently, not a vegetable at all, no matter how much I want it to be one). Yesterday was definitely not that day. Massive failure.

Not today, though. I will make it.

It's just one day.

How bad can it be?

Ugh again. Pretty sure I'll die.

It's time to kick the lovely corporate headquarters people at Hobby Lobby, Michael's, Costco and all of the other stores that insist on putting up Christmas stuff before we've even gotten to Halloween. What the heck is wrong with them?

It sort of ruins the anticipation part, because even my Christmas-loving brain cannot bring itself to get all festive when it's still not cold enough to wear a coat and we've barely started autumn. 

Geez, guys. Have we never heard of too much of a good thing? I realize the economy's in the toilet, but I don't think the way to increase your Christmas sales is to start them earlier. When you do that, I'm already sick of Christmas by the time Thanksgiving gets here, and that's really the logical starting point for the festivities.

Plus, all of the good stuff sells right in the beginning and then by the time I have my Christmas money, everything I've wanted to buy for the holidays has already been sold and I have to settle for the secondary crap, which is just not as faboo as the primary crap was.

Somewhere, Santa is shaking his head at you guys. You're in big trouble.

Certain things are liable to make something as awesome as getting up at 5:30 in the morning even awesomer, not counting the way spell-check has changed the word 'awesomer' back into 'awesome' something like fifty times. Here they are:

First, forgetting we have rearranged the living room furniture and walking into it like it's the first time. That's just flipping magical.

Second, remembering that I made mini pumpkin doughnuts to take into work today. And they are delicious AND I remembered to bring enough so I can have one.

Finally, being up puking the night before for no good reason. 

That one is sarcasm. It did not contribute to the magicalness of my day, nor did it make it easier to get up after only about 3 1/2 hours of sleep. It was, in fact, quite lame and I do not recommend it, but I needed to whine about it in a public forum.

That is all. Have a super Monday and try not to barf.

Last night, my mom said something along the lines of, "...and when she was in the house, I had to poop."

Really. That came out of her mouth.

What she meant to say was, "...I was so pooped," but that's not what came out. It was hilarious, and led me into one of those situations where everyone else stopped giggling about it along time before, but I am still giggling because I made up a whole mini-story/mental picture in my head to go along with whatever was just said (granted, it is usually about some sort of bodily function), and I am trying not to laugh and turning red from the exertion and everyone else is looking at me like I'm some sort of idiot.

Which I, of course, am.

It did not help that I had just received a text from someone involving having to poop and walking up stairs. I giggled inside for the rest of the night.

When the conversation turned to (I kid you not) priapism (look it up), I almost fell out of my chair.

I may get kicked out of bridge for being a dork.

Oh, well. Happy weekend, wish me luck at my craft fair and here's a picture of a bunny. Just for fun.

While cleaning yesterday, I came to the realization that every single time I'm doing any sort of cleaning activity, I have an imaginary conversation with someone who's not there about a real incident with a person I'm mad at.

So I guess even in my delusional way, I'm too non-confrontational.

Maybe I need to have my pretend conversation with the actual person who was unkind or whatever. Usually whatever. Sometimes very little things hurt my feelings, thus an imaginary conversation versus a real one. Also, I generally discover that whatever it was that made me mad sounds really stupid when I say it out loud.

It could be a cathartic thing for me, but really it just makes me wonder how much of it my neighbors can hear, and whether or not they realize that it's a one-sided talk with an imaginary person and not a phone call or something like that. Some times when I finish my spiel I even do a little, "hanging up the phone" good-bye, so just in case someone's listening, they won't think I'm completely bonkers.

Which I totally am.

Still, though. You've gots to get it out, right? Maybe next time I'll try the imaginary person I'm actually upset with, as opposed to talking to a neutral, completely pretend, third party. Maybe that will be more constructive.

Or maybe I should stop cleaning. Yeah, I think that's the answer. I'll just spray a little Pledge in the air and pretend that I've dusted.

It's gotten to the point where watching anything to do with the presidential election makes me vomit.

Last night, for instance. That debate was just horrible. It makes me feel like our country has degenerated into a bunch of rude, cocky politicians that are completely incapable of formulating an actual response to even the most basic questions.

Ugh.

This is both parties.

When they talk about the middle class I can feel myself gagging and trying to push back the urge to hurl. Because, really, no successful politician (nowadays) knows anything about the middle class, except that we shop at those kooky discount stores and we drive minivans and have to take out home equity loans in order to build a second bathroom for the kids.

Seriously.

They all have terrible manners and no dignity and all of their statements just go around in circles without actually getting to anything that resembles a point. Oh, and they're completely incapable of getting anything done once they get into office. 

That's what those other branches of government are for. Duh.

So I shall keep my fingers crossed that we all come to our senses and vote for Winnie the Pooh. He's adorable, and I think that even though he wasn't born in America, he would do a fine job.

Mostly because he's aware of the fact that he has very little brain.

Why is it that some people feel that they are entitled to give their opinions, unasked, about personal details in other people's lives? For instance, yesterday, a guy at my husband's work decided to let my husband know that he's fat and he should do something about it.

Really? Is that okay?

See, my issue is that now I have to hunt that guy down and kick his butt. My husband and I are both aware of our weight problems, thanks very much, and, although it's none of your beeswax and I don't have to say this, we're working on it. Oh, and telling people they are too fat while you're on your way to go outside and smoke a cigarette is somehow less effective, just you know.

Also, because we have no children, I am constantly asked if we're planning on having kids and when and why or why not. Just because we have all of the necessary equipment and don't appear to have used it doesn't mean it's anybody's business. Maybe it's rude to ask people questions about personal details if you're not close friends, so maybe don't stop me in the grocery store and say things like, "Remember me? I was your teacher in third grade! When are you having babies?"

Ugh.

So I've decided to just go on the offensive. We're having t-shirts printed up that say, "Ask me about my: Weight problem/Bad hair day/Zits/Lack of babies/Flabby upper arms/Not wearing makeup/Eczema/Etc." That way, people can feel free to just go for it, while being oblivious to the fact that we may or may not be using sarcasm.

I really think it's totally inappropriate and rude to just point out people's shortcomings or ask casual acquaintances deeply personal questions. It just is. When my husband's brothers all tell each other they're fat or when my sister and I make jokes about not being able to breathe from the exertion of walking to the fridge to get another piece of cake, it's not the same thing because we're family. That's different. Don't decide that because you see someone living a way you don't agree with that you get to weigh in on it, just because you're a fellow human being.

IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. Shut it, or you may find my foot up your butt. That is all.

We both have the Ebony and Ivory song stuck in our heads this morning. This is probably because my husband described the dream he had last night to me and it included that song, which, in the dream, made perfect sense. However, although I have heard the real song a few times, I've heard the Joe-Piscopo-as-Frank-Sinatra version way more.

So THAT'S stuck in my head.

I have to find something to replace it, as it's pretty inappropriate when it's not in context and I can't seem to stop. I've tried all of my old standby songs, like Yellow Submarine and the Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? theme song, but nothing's worked yet.

I haven't gotten frantic yet, but when it's lunchtime and I'm making a sandwich and singing about someone else being blind as a bat while I have sight, we're going to have a problem.

I totally blame you, Mister. This is all your fault. Even though you are my amigo.

http://www.bing.com/videos/watch/video/ebony-and-ivory-classic-snl/1700cec0f8b4b79b5c191700cec0f8b4b79b5c19-1233198514934?cpkey=1700cec0f8b4b79b5c191700cec0f8b4b79b5c19-1233198514934%7CJoe+Piscopo%7C%7C%7C&q=Joe%20Piscopo

So I had this weird dream last night that I started having my high school students date each other so they could be more expressive when they sing Italian songs. It was specific students, too, not fake ones my brain manufactured for me so I could have a more pleasant dreaming experience.

Yikes.

It didn't work out so well, and they stared having a West Side Story-style dance-off/rumble in my back yard, complete with gangs, except one of the gangs had Hector Elizondo leading it and the other one was led by Peter Falk as Columbo.

I'm pretty sure this dream means I've been watching way too much TV while I've been crocheting and my brain is starting to freak out a little. There was even some snapping and people were wearing bandanas, so that part was cool, but I would never encourage my students to date one another. Especially since, right now, the only ones that are an appropriate age are related to each other, and everyone else is in elementary school or married. 

Yeah. That would be bad.

The rumble in my back yard, though, would be stupendous. I think I could sell tickets to that, as it was so magnificent in my dream that even though I woke up just a few minutes into it, I tried to go back to sleep so I could see more because it was making me laugh.

Rumbles are the best. That's about all I know.

It's usually a mistake to make generalizations about groups of people. Having said that, however, I do it all of the time, and I'm trying to make myself stop. One group of people that I think probably suffers a lot from this is home-schoolers.

I think the reason for this is because of certain families who don't make sure their kids have any social skills.

I was talking to a kid a few weeks ago about what he did in school. He tells me he's home-schooled, so I say, "Cool! What's your favorite subject?" He says it's Bible. I say, "Hmmm...so what's your least favorite subject?" Note that these are pretty standard questions I ask most of my kids so I can get them comfortable before asking them to sing in front of me, which is, understandably, difficult for most people, and I'm used to getting all sorts of responses. He says, "What do you mean?"

Huh?

I say, "Well, out of all the subjects you study, you know, like math and science and English, what do you hate the most?" He says, "We don't study those. Mommy says we'll learn plenty of that in college and she wants us to be prepared for our spiritual life, so we study the Bible. It's really the only book that matters."

I am not kidding. And this kid's got to be at least 14 or 15.

It's not the fact that spirituality is important to the parents. I get that. I think that people have every right to try to give their kids a strong moral compass. However....I mean, really...that kid is never going to get into college. He can read, but he can only do the most basic math and he knows nothing about science or, really, anything else.

This was one of those, "Oh, that's nice..." moments. What else am I going to say? I wanted to grab his mom and shake her and tell her that she's irreparably damaging her kid and she needs to knock it off, but I realize it's none of my business, so I say nothing.

Should I say something, though? Don't you need to cut the cord at some point so your kids can be independent human beings?

I don't know...I guess I don't have kids so I don't get to judge. I'm just glad that the lessons didn't work out and I don't have to see that train wreck anymore. That family was creeping me out, plus he picked his butt the whole time he was singing (which is also pretty bizarre for a kid his age), so that was gross, too. I think I see some Norman Bates action in the future (I know, I know, it's not the kid's fault). It also makes me feel bad for all of the normal home-school people who really take the time to do a good job helping their kids to become intelligent, well-adjusted adults. They get a lot of undeserved flak from people like me who forget they exist when they see a magnificent disaster like this kid.

Ah, the joys of teaching.

Sometimes spell-check makes me wonder. If I'm typing this before 7 a.m., which I usually am, and it's dark in here, which it usually is, because I have no lights on my keyboard, and since I've never learned how to type without at least glancing at the keyboard for reassurance, sometimes typing in the dark means I inadvertently switch letters. Inadvertently, of course, because I would never, ever actually misspell anything if I could actually see my keyboard. It's my super power.

Anyhow, then the stupid spell-check kicks in. My biggest issue is that it will auto-correct a word like "teh" to "the," which is fine, but it lulls me into a sense of security and then it takes a word like "poopie," (which it says is misspelled, but I say otherwise) and changes it into something ridiculous, like "people," which is nowhere near what I want it to say.

Then I have to go back a click the x on the little box that pops up with it's stupid helpful suggestions.

I guess I could just turn it off but then I'd have to fix all the other little errors that it actually does correct, and that would be lame because I am much too much too busy for stuff like that.

Or maybe I just need to stop using made-up words (like craptastic and douchbaggery).

This page is chock-full of red squiggly lines now...awesome. Take that, spell-check. I'm not fixing those errors and you're going to have to live with it because there's no substitute for longer words like those. Hahahahahaha.

I left my phone on last night, which is something that I rarely do, because every time I leave it on at night, I get drunk-dialed. A lot.

So guess who got drunk-dialed last night? At 1 a.m.? Three times?

At least the phone was in our T.V room and not in our bedroom, but I still heard it. I didn't check it, though, until this morning, and I thought it might've been a bad dream, but there it was, on my caller ID.

So, Brenda (yep, I looked it up online and it's a 21-year-old girl from Santa Fe, so I'm pretty sure it was a wrong number), thanks ever so much for enriching my life with your confusion and for giving me someone to laugh at this morning, because I had a whole scenario in my head that involved you trying to reach your ex-boyfriend and being frustrated because his message was different and no one was picking up, even though you kept calling. I even had you saying the word 'hijole' a lot because, well, after all, this is NM, and that is what you say when you're drunk-dialing your ex at one in the morning (at least, if you're part of the drama being re-enacted in my brain). Next time, please leave me a drunken message, because that is so much funnier, and if my phone's not on, it won't even bother me and I can play it for all of the people in my office the next day.

That's what normal people do, right? Sure.

I finally had a good weigh-in this morning.

Well, I guess I've been having them for a while, because in my book, staying the same or losing two-tenths of a pound is still positive, but it's nothing like seeing a pound and a half down when you step on that evil little piece of plastic.

Seriously...I think it may be possessed. Just a little.

I've been dieting most of my life, but really seriously for the last two and a half years, and the last eight months or so have really just been about maintaining, so it's nice to get a little progress in there.

Especially since I know what the progress is from.

We switched over to full-fat dairy, and I haven't been buying any more lowfat anything. I heard a co-worker talking about going to a nutritionist, and she said he told her that full-fat stuff is better for you. I didn't really need to hear the "why" portion of the conversation, as I loves me some fat.

So we made the switch.

Same amount of calories every day, just more fat. It does mean less food, but I have to say that real butter and whole milk are freaking awesome. Plus, it's been ingrained in my brain since the days when I was little and my mom was the one on the diet that whole milk is bad, so I feel deliciously evil as I have my cereal.

Bahahahahaha.

Maybe it's just coincidence, but I don't care. I'm pretty happy about it. I think maybe the next phase of my diet should be finding a nutritionist that says regular Coke is healthy, because if I had a diet that included butter, whole milk, cheese, ice cream AND Coke, I would think I'd died and gone to heaven. Mmmmmm. Regular soda. I love the sugary goodness, plus it gives me that hyperactivity that other people mistake for giving a crap!

I think I should write their ads.

Ah, well, I'd better stay on track. I still have pants that I bought on clearance in an optimistic moment that I'd like to be able to zip up at some point.

Pretty happy about the fat being a good idea, though. Lowfat just isn't as delicious.

This morning, I busted into a box of Honey Smacks. Not the generic kind, the real kind. It was so exciting for me, I thought I might crap my pants.

Except that it's 5:30 in the morning, and I'm not wearing pants.

I don't know what it is about non-generic cereal that makes me feel as though I'm living the rich life, but it does. Maybe I should buy it more often. It was on sale this week, with a price only slightly higher than the generic version, but it's a bonus-sized box, so the price per ounce was actually slightly lower. There was also a toy in it, as opposed to the cutout alien that was on the generic Lucky Charms box that I just finished. Really, what good is a toy that's actually ON the box? You know that kid's mom isn't going to let him cut the whole back out of the box. Yeesh.

I know, no one cares about my cereal buying experience. Really, this bowl of Honey Smacks is pretty much the most exciting part of my week, unless you count the cannibal lizard and the almost getting hit by a car thing.

I need a vacation. Or maybe it's just time to hit the coffee. Either way, I think it may be a looooong day.

Yes, it's time for yet another open letter to someone who's not ever going to read it...

Dear D-Bag Who Almost Hit Me Yesterday As I Was Crossing The Street:

I realize that you have a BMW, and I know that owning one of those bad boys is an awesome responsibility. You're pretty much required to go at least ten miles an hour over the speed limit. However, I'd really appreciate it if you'd look when you're making a left turn onto a street to see if anyone may be crossing. As it was dusk and I wasn't wearing a big old reflective vest or anything, I can see that visibility may have been a bit poor, but the fact that I was crossing at a legally acceptable crossing and the fact that I was crossing right underneath a streetlight might've given you a clue that a pedestrian just maybe might've been in the street. I was directly under the lights, buddy. Yeah.

Oh, and here's a tip: When driving in White Rock, the speed limit is 25, not 45. I can see how telling the difference between a 2 and a 4 might be a little difficult for someone such as yourself who obviously has vision difficulties, and perhaps intellectual ones, as well, but perhaps if you'd...I don't know...slowed down a tad before turning, you may have noticed the two large adult people crossing under the streetlight. One of whom (yep, me) you came less than a foot away from smashing.

Just in case you're wondering, if you had hit me, I would've made sure that not only did you lose your BMW (which would've been completely covered with my innards), but I would've sued you for a crap-ton of money, and if I would've died, my husband would've beat the holy hell out of you and my ghost would've haunted you forever, and I've seen enough scary movies to know how to get my spooky on. Just in case you're unsure on that point.

So, maybe, just maybe, slow down a little and look before you turn. Oh, and if you start turning and you see that you're about to hit someone, applying brakes is also a good idea. That's the little pedal just to the left of the gas pedal, which you're apparently comfortable using.

Have a super day, D-Bag.

Love, Me

Nature is awful.

I could just leave that sentence there, just like that, but I'm pretty sure a roaming band of hippies would come and kill me. In fact, this is only a recent opinion, since up until Sunday, I thought nature was pretty cool.

No more.

I was working feverishly to get as much done as possible this weekend, and I decided to take a ten-minute break to go outside to get some fresh air and sun and all of that.

BIG mistake.

I'm sitting in my chair, looking out at the trees and whatnot, when I hear a little rustling noise. The first thing I see is this little blue thing, whipping around. Yep. It's a lizard tail, and it continued to thrash around, completely unattached from its owner, which is gross enough that my stomach was a tad queasy.

Then, I saw the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life.

A foot away from the wildly thrashing disembodied tail was the baby lizard off of which it had fallen. It was being swallowed alive by another, bigger lizard.

I wanted to try to save the little lizard, but its entire back end was already inside of the bigger lizard (I know, because I could see it moving through the other lizard's skin), so I thought it might've already been damaged enough that it was going to die anyway. It was clawing at the air with its front legs, trying to save itself, and the big lizard was just calmly staring at me, trying to decide whether or not I was a threat, and chowing down on the baby lizard.

WHAT THE HELL?!?!?!

I did not know that lizards ate other lizards. Especially little baby ones. It was like watching a lizard horror movie, but in real-life, in my own backyard. I haven't been able to go back out there since, as I'm too afraid.

Afraid of seeing more nature.

As I said, nature is awful.

Apparently, this blog is my area to complain about things that I can't or won't complain about in real life. That being said, I have a complaint about something that happened on Saturday.

I was called by a teacher's organization and asked to judge an honors audition, last-minute, because they hadn't found anyone and someone gave them my name, plus it was just one student, so it wasn't going to take too long. I said that I would, showed up and the whole thing went fine, until I realized who the teacher was, at the end.

She's a piano teacher.

Now, some of you may think this is just fine, but it drives me crazy that people who are musicians think that they are qualified to teach any instrument, just because they're familiar with music. No, no, no, no, no. Voices get completely screwed up that way.

Now, this kid was young, and there was no recognizable damage, but it was apparent that she knew absolutely nothing about diction and that she didn't know anything about the way singers do things at competition. It's slightly different than the way other musicians do things, and it was very apparent that she hadn't studied with a voice teacher.

And that's not her fault.

So, she got a rating sheet full of tips, and her teacher was very nice to me and even said she's been trying to encourage the kid to find a real voice teacher, which made me feel slightly better.

But then the piano teachers showed up and crapped all over me, treating me like I deal in some music-related field, rather than actual music, and I'm some hillbilly from goodness knows where that hasn't read a note of music in her life and is living in an outhouse with seven other hillbillies somewhere in the mountains, brewing up moonshine and planting taters. So I just showed up, in my Sunday best, to write on a sheet of paper. Come on, guys. Give me a little credit.

I'M A SINGER. So I teach singing. That is my area. I don't crap all over everyone else's musicianship, so why do they crap all over mine? If there was a sight-reading contest, I bet I'd win at least 75% of the time, and I got almost all As in theory at college (except that one semester when I got a B because the grad student lost four of my papers, which I'm still pissed about, by the way, but never mind). I don't teach strings, even though I took about nine years of lessons. I (sometimes, if they beg me, because I have a complex about my craptastic piano playing) only teach very beginning piano students, because I really have studied it extensively. I'm just not able to play terribly well because, among other reasons, I get too nervous and then my hands shake. I don't teach any other instrument, even though I've taken classes in many of them and read books about them, and I understand the ways to play them and how they work. I leave the teaching part to people who've spent more time on the instrument and know it really well.

Ugh.

I don't know why I feel so pissy about this, and for sure I wouldn't have stayed cranky if I hadn't been pushed, for the zillionth time, to join the community choir, even though I've told this particular pusher that I don't sing in choirs right now. I just don't have the time to do it, and it's not really my cup of tea, although I do love listening to a good choir. I'm just working on so much of my own music for, you know, JOBS and stuff, that I don't have the time or inclination. I'd bet that I get asked to join choirs/handbell choirs/praise and worship teams/etc. about ten times a month. Almost every day. It's fine that people want to ask, and I'm flattered, but why can't anyone take no for an answer? I'm trying to have some semblance of a career, and if I can't put it on my resumé and/or I don't get paid for it, I can't do it right now unless I have an emotional reason to do it, like singing for a friend's wedding or funeral or doing a fundraiser for one of those groups that does good stuff for people.

Or because they offer me cake and/or wine at the end. Maybe cake and wine would put me in a better mood. I doubt it. People's egos annoy the crap out of me. I need to get one of those and then maybe I'll say something about it when it's happening and I'll feel better about the whole thing. Yeah, not going to happen.

Oh, and they published my article in the paper and added a comma to a place where I most certainly did not put a comma and I'm also annoyed about that.

I realize that has nothing to do with my page, but I needed to get it out before I exploded, and I didn't want to just save it for tomorrow and have to write a whole page about it.

Happy fricking Monday.