Facebook Warning

So there is a certain someone out there ( you will recognize yourself ) that only told me a half-truth, so to speak.
She told me to join Facebook. Becuase it's fun. And addicting. Which I suppose it just might be. IF you are given all of the early warning labels. Sound warning horn here. Enter strobes.
I didn't know it would be like contacting everyone I went to high school with, then college with, then worked a myriad of jobs with, and then went to church with in one foul swoop. Like a high school reunion on crack.
And while I can see that once the early onslaught of "friend contacts" calms down it could be fun. But I couldn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned and awoke violently several times from dreams that included people I haven't talked to in years. For a reason. Except for one lovely dream which didn't have certain people per say, but encompassed the overall... feeling..if you will. That was the one that entailed me pulling handful after handful of dirty hair out of my clogged bathtub drain.
Now don't get me wrong. The people who have contacted me thus far, have made me smile. Remembering all of the fun times we shared or their quirky personality or even a confidance. Some people you love dearly but time and distance and circumstance causes a seperation.
But others, well others, you simply manage to extract from your every day communication because you would just rather not be burdened.
And quite frankly some of those relationships ended because I straight up said so for valid reasons and I needed to "weed my garden" of just that... the weeds. Life is too short to spend it with people who don't appreciate us fully, or even partially, no?
Maybe I should just write under my information "section" that if you have had the same problem for ten-plus years and have done nothing about it OR you have never heard yourself say you are sorry, please don't contact me to be your friend. Because seeing your face everyday, even in a thumbnail, makes me nauseous.
Chances are these people feel the same way about me and will not even attempt to contact me... but I DO have my pointer finger at the ready- to deny! the friend contact if necassary with one little push of the key.

Something Has Come Up

As a teacher of high school emotionally disabled students, you run across a lot of... odd stuff. And I wouldn't dare to make or poke fun at them to the world because I would seem crass and uncaring. But I do to thier faces. Because it often times helps us all cope with... the weird stuff.
For example, one of my students has Pica. Which means he will eat just about anything. Like tacks, or staples or his plastic binder. Loan him a pen? Forget about it. Give him paper? It's gone. He gives a whole new meaning to the saying "I ate my homework". Oh wait... that's dog.
But I love this kid, and we joke about his eating of "stuff" and we laugh together, because what else are you suppsed to do? And when we played a trick on the other students and had him jump up and down and had the teaching aide shake a box of paper clips so it seemed like all the metal was jangling in his tummy, it went down in history as one of our favorite moments in all of time. Because he can't control the Pica and so he must learn to laugh about it. Or else he will become a murderer just because he can't quit sucking on his Algebra book.
At any rate, one thing about most high school boys that is universal is the onset of puberty. And all of the "things" that "grow" from it.
And in my classroom I have had my fair share of what some guys refer to as the NRB ( No Reason Boner ) and believe me when I say I do my best to turn a blind eye.
But at the moment I have a student that tends to be... "going through puberty without control" and it's making me feel a little on the hinky side. Becuase I can tell a kid he needs to shower when he really stinks. I can tell a girl that her shirt reveals too much boob fat and needs to cover herself. I can even tell the pica eater to "stay away from my paper clips"... but I dont' dare confront the boy with the... risen appendage... with anything.
So this boy keeps "getting himself into this situation" and then standing in the middle of the room by the half-wall room divider. Hiding "certain parts" of his body. Which is inappropriate- as in CLASS IS STARTING. And I am GIVING A LESSON. But I just can't say it. Because I don't really know what it's like. And frankly, I don't want to know anything more about it.
I asked my husband about it and he informed that this is sorta normal at certain ages. And the wearing of baggy pants might help. And that I should leave him alone.
But when your classroom is all about structure and then the Boner Boy is over against the half-wall rubbing it out, what is the female teacher to do... when already the boy is ostracized for a myriad of other eccentricities. Because honestly, at this point in the game, if you made it into my classroom? You are most likely already on the "outside", if you will. So the "group" confrontation would be beyond humiliation. And there sure as hell ain't going to be no "private confrontation" between me and a boy and his... grody thingy.
So I am hoping this phase passes by sooner rather than later.

Babies to Min Pins?

First of all, I hate leaving a depressing blog standing alone. Because then the five or six people who read it might think that I am laying in a human puddle heap on my bed, sobbing and sad. When actually the reverse is true... I lay in a human bawling puddle in my bed BEFORE I think to blog and then the cathartic transition occurs and I am... better.


That being said, I have had a busy week. At least in my world "busy", which means my computer sucked and I committed to going to the high school play and I had dinner with friends ( which is a whole OTHER blog-worthy story) and some other super duper boring crap.


But some people around here have made a decision.


And somewhere between the corn-maze, wherein my husband decided at the petting zoo we should seriously consider raising Pygmy Goats, and the Miscarriage, where I seriously considered raising a child.. ( I can joke about this people... I am the who missed carrying my child!) we opted for a "tweener".


Which is the phase between goat and human. Dog. Miniature Pinscher Dog. A little tiny yapper that needs adorable sweaters and can hunt prey. The breed sounds like a perfect combo between my husband and myself. Oh yeah, and our condo association. Because that is starting to qualify as the third party in our family making decisions.


Which is weird, because I can have a baby... which could grow to be 150 plus pounds, but I can't have a dog that grows past what, 22 pounds?


At any rate- for anyone that thinks they have a "better dog idea", please don't. We have done our research. We have taken at least five "which dog suits you best" quizzes and this adorable little bee-yatch is what is going to happen. And we are most likely going to be getting just that. A bitch. Man, nothing like using an appropriate swear. Because when you talk to dog breeders they throw the "B-word" around like a gyno saying the Va-j-j word. And I know I should grow up, but seriously? I always stifle a giggle like a girl hearing her papa fart in church.


Anyway- it's Miniature Pinscher around here folks. Come June, I will actually be busy because me and the "Pin" are going shopping.

PS- after the "husband" reviewed my blog- he clarified the dog would be a "dude-dog honey, and you are NOT taking him shopping"...
I say we will see.

Silver Linings

I should have known this morning when I dropped my plastic laptop onto my hard wooden floor that it wasn't going to be my most favorite of days. It is what I would end up calling a day of second chances.

Becuase luckily the laptop is still under waurantee, so aside from my hard drive crashing, it's completely replaceable. And is nothing like the other news I would ingest later in the day. From a borrowed computer. And humbled my frustration.

Because my friend. She is dying. Of cancer. And I am sick. But I have a second chance. She was sent home from the hospital to die in some weeks time.

I am going to compose a letter to her tonight. I am not sure what it is I am going to say. Or what it would be I would want to hear if I were her. But it is definitely time to pour my heart out to her. To say everything I wouldn't want to regret not saying.

There are not too many opportunities for us to do that.

And while I don't mean to minimize or compare the two in any way, I do know that we should take silver linings when we can get them.

Corn What?

Sunday I awoke to a beautiful crisp Fall day. The agenda was empty and the energy level was high. Before I could hear myself think right I asked ( begged) my husband if he would take me to a corn maze. That's right- a corn maze.

Growing up in a corn-town, it was every adolescent's rite of passage to rise before dawn, garn a garbage bag and old tennis shoes, board a bus with a cooler full of Gatorade, and head out to the fields to pick and pull the tassels off the top of the wet, sharp-edged corn stalks.

It was brutal work and paid slightly more than minumum wage. The "season" would last from 1-5 weeks and your schedule was unpredictable. But at the end of the summer, you and all of your friends walked away with a few hundred bucks in the bank, some serious corn-leaf scars, and a knowledge of corn that would leave you recieving odd stares anytime you dropped a "corn fact".

So a few years back when the corn-maze concept began to sweep the midwest, I was intrigued. Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to garner the interest of my fellow city folk to actually drive the one hour from the Chicago with me to explore any such thing.

Therefore, it has been one of my secret burning desires. To go to a corn-maze. I never said I was hard to please OR exciting...

So off we went, with our maps and coffees and high expectations.

There were actually THREE mazes to go through. One being a pirate, the other two McCain and Obama. As we neared the entrance to the first one, the pirate, I could feel my heart start to race. I retied my shoes. I hiked up my jeans. I took a deep breath. We waited in line for our turn and were asked if we would like the one dollar map.
"Why, yes!! " I exclaimed with reckless abandon. "Umm, Billy, do you have a dollar? Will you give her a dollar?"

We set off.... looking at our map directing us to the first of ten "clue posts".

Maybe right around now I would look around myself and realize that most of the patrons were under the age of 10. But no.

Within about ten feet we found the first "clue post"...

Hmm, that was easy.

The cleverly written clue, while cute and "pirate-y", was basic. Something like...
"Ahoy my friend, take a right to get to the end".

I looked at the ground.

The correct "paths" were thick slabs of matted down mud.

The incorrect "paths" were freshly plowed field.

Hmmm. I think we follow the slabs of matted mud. Don't you honey?

Things were fairly anti-climactic from there. We sort of race-walked the rest of the way through. When we neared the first finish, I asked Billy if we should try the other two. His response, " I think we have seen enough, don't you? "

I had to admit, we had.

Not that the corn-maze wasn't great fun and nice date with my husband on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. It's just that I think it was actually more fun to detassle the corn than walk on a path through it.

I Need an Intervention*

Will someone PLEASE come over here NOW and place a padlocked chain on the refrigerator? Or at least black ball me from all of the local eateries? Please? 'Cause there is some kind of eatin' frenzy goin' on over here and I am afraid I am in the eye of that there storm!
It all started last night with the "big night out"... DAMN those mini crab cakes! They got my sugar and fat free palate all stirred up with emotion. And then today when I woke up and weighed myself I saw that the scale was reading one of the lowest numbers I have, I mean HAD, seen in a long time.
And excitedly, to stay on course, I followed one of the Weight Watcher commandments and ate a sandwich before going to the bridal shower at Maggiano's today- so I would feel satiated and not overeat. Ha ha... satiated my ass! Apparently this person has never been to a bridal shower at Maggiano's.
The bread came. I skipped the butter. Score one for lean me!
The chopped salad came, along with the spinach one, and fried calamari and the bruschetta. I loaded on the salad and bruschetta- and blew off the fried stuff. Scores are tied.
THEN came the lasagna, the cream sauce pasta, some... what was the healthy thing I blew off again? Oh yeah- somewhere among the pasta there lingered some fish. But I feasted heavily on the pasta-particularly the lasagna. Hmmm, let's check the score now... oh yeah...? How about I am down. WAY down.
So by the time the cheesecake came and landed squarely in front of my plate, I knew it was a complete blow out. Bite after delicious bite it went down. Gulp. I couldn't even see straight it was so good. I was like a crack addict, knocking the other well-dressed ladies aside and spilling waters to get dibs on some seconds.
As I lumbered to my car I thought may pants my explode right off of me. Leaving decayed shreds of black cotton schrapnel on windshields everywhere. This walk, while precarious, and thankfully incident free, would be what is henceforth refererred to as my exercise for the day.
Then there were the goody bags. And believe it or not, the smell emanating from the bag tantalized me so much that I actually opened it, because by now I am a complete sugar whore. And I managed to devour an entire coconut brownie on the car ride home.... even though my poor tummy was screaming for my sweat pants, a break, and a couch.
And in the truest of Lori fashion, I decided to say screw it... and ordered up some deep dish sausage pizza for dinner. Oh - and a side salad. To keep it lean and healthy. If that isn't the joke of the frickin day. I mean what kind of facade is that? A SIDE salad?
Did I hear someone mutter the words "addictive personality"? Just be thankful that your fingers were nowhere NEAR my mouth today.

*To spare myself any further humiliation, there will not be any pictures in this post.

Big Night Out

I wondered how last night would turn out all week. My husband and I hadn't been to a bar in the city in over a year. To prepare for my big night out I hit up Target for a cute shirt ( note to self: Don't go to Target to get "going out" clothes, better to save it for teacher clothes and underwear). I also ate a husband encouraged sandwich, so as not to get loopy after one beer. I stroked on the eyeliner thickly, like a four year olds' crayon. I busted out my hoop earrings that are large enough to hula in.

And when we got there I felt a little bad for the host. We were celebrating his wife's 40th birthday and the guest list didn't seem to be matching up with the attendees. But the food was delicious ( how can you NOT like mini fried crab cakes that you dip into a Mayonnaise sauce? ).

We ordered our beers and quickly fell in line with the beer drinking cadence around us.

We found ourselves socializing with another couple for the majority of our time. They were nice enough. The woman had a buzz cut. I kept staring at it when we talked. I had to stop myself many times from asking her how she felt about her hair cut. Because I went through a phase where I wanted to look like Sinead O'Conner but never had the cojones to go beyond a trim. And I kept thinking about the time when I was in church with my mother and I had on jeans that "had a long rise" and when I sat the bulge in the crotch suggested I was sporting a penis in there. And I began to panic and kept whispering to my Mom that "These jeans make me look like a boy!!"... in that completley horrific way that only adolescent teenage girls do.

I digress.

The conversation rolled into the "What actor would play you?" variety. My husband said ,"That guy from the Sopranos". And I have to admit he's pretty spot on. I hoped no one would ask me, because I have no idea who I would say. My mind seems to get trapped somewhere between who I would want to be like versus who is actually a likeness of me... Because I would say Fergie but the people would be thinking Kirstie Alley.... And the words Fat Actress come to mind. Which by the way, the season is readily available on DVD at my local library. Seriously. ?? ( I mean is it just me or is this kind of thing not exactly a bedrock of literature?).

Anyway, a good time was had by all. Uneventful, but pleasant. We left at 10:30 ( I know what you are thinkging! Party animals!! ) as the beer bus rolled up to take off the others to a night of Salsa dancing and who knows what at Excaliber ( umm... NIGHTMARE...). I am sure by now that most of them are laying in bed right now dying for a glass of water and a cheeseburger, and trying to recall the details.