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Category Archives: Random
This is the extent of my patriotism
I’ve got McDonald’s on the brain. I think it’s probably because I’m sitting in one, mooching off their free Wi-Fi and sipping an iced coffee.
When I was growing up in France, (oh hey, if you’re new here: I lived in France from age seven to about high school. Good, now you’re all caught up.) the only fast food available was McDonalds. Well, okay, there was this other establishment called Quik Burger but somehow it just wasn’t American enough for us. So by default, whenever our family decided to go out for fast food, we would inevitably end up at McDonalds.
When I moved to Michigan for college, I avoided McDonalds like the plague. Why go there when there were so many other tantalizing options? Now I had a choice between places like Taco Bell, Burger King, Wendy’s, Subway, Arby’s…. All that yummy food and so CHEAP! I was giddy with the possibilities.
At the time, Max tried to get me to accept McDonalds into my repertoire of fast food options. It was a slow, uphill battle, and when we married he sounded even more convincing as my husband: I eventually relented and learned to love the place again.
A few weeks ago, I was at my local McDonalds all by myself. I was all alone because Max had taken the good car (the one with air conditioning and an automatic transmission) all the way to Oregon for some kind of “conference”. So I was left with the other car, trapped inside the house for more than a week unless I could brave the stick shift around town. So every day, I would plan an Outing. It had to be in the morning (because of the AC situation) and it had to be within a two mile radius away from any hills (I was still shaky about the manual transmission thing).
So I landed at McDonalds for an early lunch. I ordered a hamburger and fries during a really busy lunch hour for them. So busy, in fact, that when the credit card swipey thing didn’t work, they lady just told me to go sit down and enjoy my free lunch.
Wow! Food tastes so much better when it’s free!
When the line had died down, I decided to treat myself to a McFlurry for dessert since I hadn’t spent anything on lunch.
I ordered an Oreo McFlurry. The young white guy behind the counter punched some buttons, then asked if I wanted Ranch or Italian with that. “What, now?? No, I said I’d like an Oreo McFlurry!” So he got a cup and started filling it with…. M&Ms.
“NOOOOOOOO!” I practically shouted to him as he proceeded to mix the vanilla ice cream with it. M&M’s are not at all my thing (it’s a long story that involves vomit).
So he makes me an Oreo McFlurry and gives me BOTH McFlurrys since he doesn’t know what to do with the other one. And that’s how I got eight dollars worth of food for a little over two bucks.
Gotta love America!
i didn’t lose the sweet tooth
We drove from Alabama to Michigan in one long eighteen hour drive on Monday.
I knew my pleas to split it up into two days would be useless in the face of my husband’s perfect logic: Why ruin two days instead of one? Why spend money on a hotel room when we can sleep in our own bed at mom and dad’s house?
So we left at 5:00 AM and got there at 11:30 PM. But there’s no real need to feel sorry for me because I’ve developed some pretty good coping mechanisms over the years. My first strategy (and the most effective one) is simply to conk out. Sleeping for four hours takes an 18 hour drive to a 14 hour drive. Much better. My other strategies are to call people and chit chat on the phone, listen to podcasts, and…. munch on munchies!
There’s just something about eating junk food on a long car ride that makes the trip a bit more enjoyable. That’s why when we stopped to get gas, I came out of the rest stop with some Skittles and some gum.
I happily tore into the Skittles after lunch. I told Max I’d eat the first half of the package while he was busy polishing off the Doritos. I was almost at the end of my candy allotment when I felt a loud crunch in my mouth.
I moaned. This was either going to turn out to be a really stale lemon Skittle, or….
…my tooth. My crown, to be exact. The crown I’d had put in to the top right hand side of my mouth a mere two years ago by my incompetent dentist. So I spit out the lemony mass, and salvaged the crown by wrapping it in a napkin in my purse. When I looked in the mirror to survey the damage, this is kinda what I saw:
Okay, so I don’t really look like that, but in the absence of an actual picture from my camera, you’ll just have to trust me that I am now Hillbilly Sarah (at least until I see the dentist tomorrow).
There are three good things to come of this:
- THANK THE LORD it didn’t happen until after my ten year reunion. My vanity could not have handled it!
- There’s no pain involved.
- This is a golden opportunity to convince myself and others that the best thing for my poor mouth right now is to just eat ice cream until my dentist’s appointment.
at least I wasn’t arrested
Today, we’re jumping on a plane headed for my ten year high school reunion. Actually, we probably won’t literally be jumping on a plane. There’s always lots of fun security and shoe-removing before there’s any actual jumping.
I’ve always been terrified of walking through that little archway that’s supposed to detect any metal on you. It’s silly because the worst that could happen is that it beeps and then you embarrassingly remember you left your keys in your pocket. But still. I end up holding my breath walking through that thing.
One time a few years back, as Max and I had our luggage on the conveyor belt for the see-through thingy, they stopped me and my bag.
“There’s a knife in your bag,” the TSA agent told me.
WHAT?
I didn’t pack any knives. I was sure of it! I left all of my knives, guns, and explosives at home. Promise!
Then she unzipped the front pocket of my backpack and pulled out a butter knife from our silverware set. It was left over from a picnic or some such nonsense. We obviously couldn’t board with it (you know, butter knives being as sharp and dangerous as they are) so we had to throw it away right then and there.
So much for being a seasoned traveler….
a library is not a fruit
Some random thoughts about the library:
- Have you ever heard people call it a “li-berry“? I’m not sure if it’s a regional thing, a cultural thing, or what. When Max went to a certain rinky-dink graduate school for a semester when we lived in California, their college library was in a portable. Max didn’t think it deserved the extra “r” so he referred to it as the liberry. But most people who call it that don’t seem to be doing so as a joke.
- I don’t understand why more people don’t go to the library. It’s like a bookstore where all the books are FREE (just as long as you bring them back, that is). And DVDs? FREE! And entertaining/educational children’s programs? FREE! I’m sure if I had kids, I’d be living at the library.
- My local library had a book sale, and I picked up this book for my first graders next year:
It’s a must-have for teaching young children to make inferences and draw conclusions. Short text and beautiful pictures lead naturally to “why” questions. Here’s my favorite page, with the text: “Never take a giraffe to the movies”
I can’t wait to see what hilarious discussions ensue from my kiddos next year!
A cautionary tale
My husband is out of town for a little more than a week to go to a conference. Apparently, he couldn’t handle driving 40+ hours across the country with no cruise control and no air, so he took MY car… leaving me with the car with no cruise control, no air, and MANUAL TRANSMISSION.
In preparation for his departure, he had been teaching me how to drive wtih a stick shift. I kinda have the hang of it, but it doesn’t stop me from having a heart attack every time I need to use the car.
So last night when I decided I needed a gourmet sandwich with some gourmet ingredients, I thought to myself: “Why not avoid a panic attack and just walk the half mile to the store?”
It was a great idea! Except that it was 98 degrees outside and positively sweltering. When I finally made it to the store, I just about collapsed into a sweaty heap in the produce department.
When I recovered, I made my way to the deli counter and asked the nice 40-something lady behind the counter how much the prosciutto was. $12.99 a pound. Then she asked me how much I wanted.
“Three ounces”, I said.
Meat Lady: “Okay, there’s sixteen ounces in a pound, so…. that’s about half a pound, right?”
Me: “…”
Me [once I picked my jaw up off the floor]: “Ummm. I think it’s actually closer to less than a quarter pound”
The moral of the story?
Be cool, stay in school!
Oh, and Don’t be a wuss, and just drive the car already!
Now where’s my genie?
I wish…
- that a certain math teacher hadn’t interrupted my student SIX different times as he was retaking his standardized state test! (She just stood a few inches in front of him and watched him bubble in answers. Yeah…. not helpful!)
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that tomorrow was the last day of school
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that my classroom would de-clutter and organize itself
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that eating vats of ice cream had no consequences
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that I could speak Spanish and wouldn’t need a translator to talk to a parent
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that we lived closer to family and I could go to my nephew’s first birthday party this weekend
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that my seven IEPs would write themselves
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that there was a Michaels or Joann’s nearby — I have to drive so far to get supplies for my store!
The good news is that this weekend is a three day weekend for me!
What are you wishing for today?
Stomaching stomach
When Cinco de Mayo falls during Teacher Appreciation Week, good things happen. Especially when your school population is 80% Hispanic and several moms are willing to throw the teachers a giant, homemade fiesta!!
I walked into the lounge today and was met with a delicious spread of tacos, enchiladas, tamales, queso, and three kinds of homemade salsa: hot, hotter, and set-your-mouth-on-fire.
I took samples of quite a few things, and after I had finished what was on my plate, I contemplated going back for more. I was sitting across from Ms. M (who also happens to be Hispanic) who seemed to be enjoying a cup of soup of some sort. When I asked her what it was, she said it was called “menudo” and that it was delicious.
So I went and got some.
It looked more like a stew than a soup. I ate quite a few bites since it was tasty, but after a while, the consistency of the unidentifiable meat started to bother me so I discreetly threw the rest of it away.
Ten minutes later, when I was back in my portable chatting with three other staff members, I asked my aide (also Hispanic) if she had tried the “menudo”.
“The menudo? Do you know what’s in that?” she looked at me skeptically.
“Um. No…..”
“It’s cow’s stomach!” She couldn’t stop giggling.
Another staff member shook my hand and congratulated me on my “bravery” (“I’ve never known a white person to go near the stuff!” she claimed).
My aide made me an honorary “brown person” (and she’s allowed to say stuff like that because she’s Hispanic…)
Then the speech pathologist made me this badge, which I wore with pride for the rest of the day:
Note to self: bring a Spanish-English dictionary to the next Cinco de Mayo potluck!
Never take fashion advice from fifth graders
Last week, I wore a chunky white bead necklace and one of my fifth graders said I looked like Wilma Flintsone.
Today I wore the cutest bright green dress from Old Navy. A different fifth grader pointed at me and said: “A green leper!!!”
He meant leprechaun. But that doesn’t make me feel any better.
The art of persuasion
My brother has a new site called noticer where he posts links of interest. This charming letter from a third grader protesting Pluto’s demotion made me smile:
Can you tell it’s dinnertime right now?
I was talking about lunch yesterday with Max and he was saying something about not wanting to have a sandwich because that’s what he has for lunch every day at school.
I have a homemade burrito every day at school (basic recipe here). I make them every three weeks in big batches and then freeze them. If I could, I would eat them on the weekends too, because I love them THAT MUCH. And I’ve been eating these for lunch for…. two years now. I had a teacher recently tell me that when she sees me, she thinks of burritos (and it makes sense since I only see her in the lounge at lunch)…. which isn’t a bad thing to be associated with I guess.
Anyways, it got me thinking… if you could only eat one food (or dish) for the rest of your life, what would it be?
When I lived in France, the answer would have been Oreos. Wait, maybe donuts. When I was in college, I would have said French cheese and French bread. But now? I think the answer would be cake balls!
