Sectumsempra!

Dear Dumb Teenagers Behind Me at the Movies,

Listen, I am so sorry that you have never read the Harry Potter books.  I find it very difficult to believe that you haven't seen the past seven movies, and wonder what the heck you were thinking seeing the very last movie of a rather complex series?

Your stupidity/poor planning aside, it was really rather inconsiderate of you to talk through the entire movie.  I tried to put myself in your shoes.  Really.  I know it is hard not to talk in a movie, and have to force myself not to do it too much.  But you see, I have bionic hearing.  I could hear every freaking word you said!  And I could not concentrate because I was so worried about that guy you liked, what should you do after the movie, or your friend's explanation of Snape's role in this whole movie.

You are soooo lucky that I finally whispered "We can hear every word you are whispering!!" and not what I really wanted to say, which would fall along the lines of:

SECTUMSEMPRA!


AGUAMENTI!


FURNUNCULUS!


PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!


I didn't pay $9.50 to listen to your stupid conversations!  Close your pie hole!

Sincerely,
A very cranky Non-Mommy

Wonder What She Remembers About Me?

Today, I returned to the town that I have lived in for the past 13 years (give or take) to visit THE lady doctor.  You know.  Yuck.

While in this town, I needed to pay a friend of mine that is currently building me bookcases for my classroom (as a side note, do you have any idea how difficult it is to find bookcases for a classroom that are not as tall as the Eiffel Tower or hideously expensive, and will stand up to the crazy antics of monkey children?).  My friend mentioned that he would be painting a room at a home in a neighborhood that I was familiar with.  Knowing his general location, and car, I decided to just run to that house and give him the money quickly.

Awkwardly, I walk to the door of the home of someone I don't really know and, with a fat wad of cash in my hand, I asked if Joe Blow was there because I needed to give him money.  The woman that opened the door looked at me oddly.  I mean, she probably thought that I was a stranger coordinating a drug deal in her living room.  As it turns out, I had had this woman as a professor in college.

After dropping off the cash and putting the weed in my bra I thanked the kind woman for allowing me to invade her home.  She interrupted me and asked me if we knew one another.  I told her my name, and that I had taken an economics class with her many, many years ago.  I never expected her to remember me.

She smiled and said "Of course, I remember you in my class!  And you were in my class on 9/11, I remember it well!"

This is mind boggling to me.  I took one class with this woman, and what I remember about the class is that a) it was very early in the morning and I was very sleepy  b) I used to pass a lot of notes in this class, to stay awake c) I should never purchase a brand new car, because it is an economically poor decision and d) I was in her class on 9/11, and remember her telling us what had happened.

Anyway, this was probably boring to you, but I found it so interesting that she would remember me, and that just as she will always be cemented in my memory for that tragic day, I have apparently been cemented in hers.

I shudder to think what any other professors remember about me.  Really.  I would hazard a guess that they would remember sleep, doodling, passing notes to Sarah, Amanda and Erin and, in a few cases, a very pale blonde that was sick with worry because she had a test and had not studied.

My Life Rocks

This is how my day has been:

I woke up, and was lazy.

I took my nephew to the pool, as I do every day during the summer.  I could rhapsodize forever about how much I love the pool.  I love it, love it, love it.

I later put on a very comfy dress that shows more skin than I'm comfortable with, but I'm just staying home, so who cares?  The dress also shows off that I have, for the first time in all of my half-albino life, TAN LINES.  Yes, a miracle has happened.

I laid in my bed, my most favorite place in the world, and read a book that was no literary award winner, but it was an easy read.  The ceiling fan blew air on my shoulders, and it was most pleasant.

I played baseball with my nephew in the house (it's too hot outside!) using a squishy pool ball and a plastic rolling pin.  It was awesome.

I ate a most satisfying dinner in a quiet, calm home while reading the above mentioned easy read.

Summer is awesome.

I never want to work again.  Now, if only I could find that sugar daddy so I don't have to work...

Speechless

In June, I was fortunate to travel to Europe to visit a friend in England.  While on this trip, my friend and I went for a short trip to Barcelona, Spain (which I have blogged about).  It was quite easy to put pictures from the Spain portion of my trip up on my blog, but for some reason, I have just had a hard time blogging about England.

Going to Spain was ok.  It was nice.  It had some great points.  But I secretly found myself longing to go back to England, and was so happy when we finally touched down in the UK.  There is something about me that you need to know.  I don't just like England, I LOVE England.  Love in a crazily deep way.  I don't know what it is about England, but I just feel like I fit in there somehow.  It has its perks and its downsides, but I find it absolutely charming, delightful, and incredible.  This was my third time in England, and I came home even more in love than I could have ever imagined.

I HAD A FANTASTIC TIME.

So much, so, that I have been melancholy ever since.  I haven't had the heart to talk about it and I think about England all of the time.  In my head, I'm constantly trying to figure out how I could afford to go back, and make it work with my friends' schedules.  I mean, how can you not love a country that has adorable kid things like this in their schools?



A country in which you can ride a large ferris wheel called the London Eye and see, from the sky, one of the most famous palaces in the world?



A place in which you can easily walk the route Prince William took to his wedding, and sit in St. James Park and eat a hot dog?



A place in which this teeny, tiny back garden is fairly typical and no one blink an eye?



A place full of history and a deep sense of pride in a monarchy that has lasted hundreds and hundreds of years?



I will try to share some of my pictures with you, but I could never do it justice.  I cannot even begin to choose what pictures to show you, there are so many things that we did and saw.  The trip was not just incredible because of the many sights that we saw, but it was incredible because of the people as well.  Everywhere we went, I found the people to be extremely friendly and outgoing.  I never wanted to speak because they sound so dignified and I sound so...American.  But they managed to overlook that and let me be a part of their fantastic country for a few weeks.

Stay tuned for exciting highlights from my UK journey!

Argh

I went to an outdoor wedding last night.  The bride was a young girl that used to be a part of my life, and I loved her!  She worked in my classroom as a teenager, and I even spent a weekend with her and her siblings while her parents were out of town.

The wedding was lovely, but it was hot.  All was going along smoothly.  The bridesmaids came down the aisle, and then here came the bride, escorted by her father.

BAM.

I started blubbering like an idiot.  I'd like to blame it on the heat, or that this girl is special to me, or that I'm upset because yet another young person from my life is getting married and I am still not.  But it was about my dad.  All I could think about was getting married without my dad, and how hard that will be.  I kept thinking about the fact that some day I will get married to someone who will never even have known my father, and that kills me.  It will be the longest, loneliest walk down that aisle for me, but I wouldn't want any other person to take me down the aisle.  There's only one person that belongs in that spot.

It's been a year and four months.  So much has changed since then.  In pretty much every aspect of my life, I am happier than I was a year and four months ago, which sounds very odd to say because my dad was my world.  But I know that he's happy that I am happy.  It's still very odd to think that I will never see him again.

I dream about him almost every single night.  When I used to dream about him, the dreams would be me looking for him, or talking on the phone to him and not being able to see him, or I'd be sobbing in my dreams and wake up sobbing.  Now, though, I dream about him every night and they are just normal dreams.  I treasure them because I hear his voice and see him again.  I hope they never, ever stop.

Grief is very weird.

And, I miss him.