Time for a change

I haven't ranted in over a month! This is a problem for me because I started this whole blog thing as an outlet for my deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings. Here's the reason why, I'm boring. I haven't been on a date since school started (got blown off for two, if that isn't any indication of my loser status I don't know what is), so I don't have much to talk about when it comes to being a twenty-something spinster. As such, I am feeling like I need a change of pace.

Recently I thought about my career choice and whether or not I am cut out for it. I have yet to come to a solid conclusion, but I thought that if I turned my blog into a forum for discussing the idiosyncrasies of and odd happenings with my pubescent (and in some cases prepubescent) children, I just might survive my first year of teaching. So, while I will, from time to time, discuss my disgust of my generation (oh, and happy moments when they roll), I have decided that it will be more beneficial to my mental health to vent about being a middle school English teacher.

A few things you should know right off the bat, I love teenagers. Truly. They are quirky and awkward and I LOVE that! They are often dealing with things way beyond MY maturity level because times have changed and they have a lot on their plates. As such, while they drive me nuts, I understand that they are trying their best to understand and be a part of this thing called life. All that aside, I am going to tell you the funny stories of my encounters with the most awkward of the adolescent years. On that note, here are a few of my favorite stories of the year thus far:

I have a student, bless his little heart, who LITERALLY (and for those of you who know me, I don't use that word lightly) picks his nose throughout the majority of class. We are talking fifty minutes of gold mining, here! It is so distracting! What do I do to make it stop? Do I put my box of tissues on his desk each day and say, "Here, try these. They are much more sanitary." Or do I call him out on it and subject him to enough embarrassment to scare him for life with the hopes of halting his hideous habit? I mean, I am not the only one who notices. Other teachers? For sure and I often wonder about this. If I am not the only teacher noticing his need to dig a little deeper, then how is there anything left for which to dig? It's not a bottomless pit of mucus! Other students have also caught on to his deed. They don't want to work with him or touch his papers because at least one of his fingers is stuck like a magnet up his left nostril. I, for that matter, hate grading his papers because the whole time I am thinking, "Dear golly, I am going to get a boogie on my finger!" I love my middle school students!

The Monday after Halloween, one of my students came to school with a different shade of locks. As he walked into the classroom I said, "Oh, John [name changed to protect identity] got a make-over over the weekend." To which another student, over hearing, replied, "Yeah, he was at a party and fell asleep and his buddies dyed his hair." I looked at her quizzically and inquired, "Fell asleep? Really? Do I have 'idiot' tattooed on my forehead?" She looked at me sheepishly and suggested no, but "I can't say what really happened, right?" "Right," I replied. Boy would I like to fall into a deep enough slumber that someone could dye my hair and I wouldn't wake up. Oh wait, I have covenanted not to do such things. I love my middle school students! (I know, isn't it sad that at such a young age they are already mixed up in this garbage.)

I love to scare my students. Being an English teacher, I have more than the usual teacher's opportunity to do so and have taken advantage of such opportunities a few times this year. The most recent incident occurred just this past week. I was reading aloud to my students, which I am want to do to break it up every now and then, and circulating the room to make sure they are following along (as all 'with it' teachers do-thanks Barb). At any rate, in the story we are currently studying, there is a scene where one of the characters scares another. I thought to myself, I have to do it! I simply cannot resist. So I tried it out with my second hour. The kids all have their faces in their books, not even paying attention to me, so it is all too easy. I picked my prey. I stalked up to her slowly like a feral cat after a field mouse, and when the timing what right I hunched over, stomped my right foot and yelled, "Boo!" right in her face! She jumped so high, she almost touched the ceiling (okay, not really, what element of literature is that?) It was golden. Made my day. We all had a good laugh and continued. Well, in my next hour, I tried the same thing to a student who is stone faced most of the time (as such, I have made it a goal to get her to smile as often as possible. Smile count: 1. But I am not giving up). Anyway, I got nothing. No reaction. She just looked up at me, while thinking, I am sure, "My teacher is an idiot and a freak." Whatever. I said, "Dang, you're good," and kept reading. My fifth hour victim had the best reaction. If only I could have taken a snap shot of his face for all to see. It was like he was at Nightmare on 13th and the guy with the chainsaw just jumped around the corner. He was mortified and jumped out of his desk. Then he yelled, "You're so mean!" I lost it. I could not stop laughing. In fact, there were moments later on in class where the image would pop back into my head and I would start laughing again. Golden.

More stories to come, but 1. they have to happen, and 2. I have to remember them. Enjoy!

Keeping the Sabbath Day What?

I am a sinner. I need to get this off my chest and then I will repent and be a better person. Honest.

Truth is, I feel better than I did this morning, but I still need to put something into cyber space so that I can sleep easier tonight. Confessing my sins isn't what I need to get off my chest and certainly not something that I would share with a global public. The topic today is the lack of decorum held by my generation and I am sure the generations to follow. There are two things I noticed during my Sabbath day worship. A lack of respect and clothing.

As mentioned in a previous post, I attend a Young Single Adults ward and all that implies (I don't really know what that means, but I couldn't fight the urge to add a cliche). Today I distracted myself from feeling the ever-present, strong and wonderful spirit by allowing unrighteous thoughts to cloud my better judgement. I would like to say that they were about the six-foot-two, brown hair, blue eyes in the lime green tie, eye candy, blessing the sacrament, but alas, that would be a lie and yet another sin I would add to my plate. I was distracted by the Daisy Duke-inspired shortness, and legs for miles I witnessed in the chapel (there I go with those blasted cliches again). Not only that, but there was way too much "Cleavland Rockin" and sexy bare backs. What's the deal? Have we forgotten the purpose of the Sabbath day? While I recognize that the brethren were inspired to start Young Single Adult wards as a tool to help us become "anxiously engaged," I do not condone the meat-market mentality that has overtaken the hearts and minds of the young and single community. I'm sorry ladies, but what you are advertising is not celestial marriage, but rather loose morals and free milk. Bold and crude, I know, but somebody needs to say it. Its no wonder the young men of the church have a problem with pornography, they can't even avoid it in a house of the Lord.

Nobody's perfect. I know that I have my fair share of problems, and as you can deduce from the topic and ranting of this post, pride is definitely one of them. I am not flaunting that fact. I am merely trying to work through it in a ridiculously public manner. I just wish that more of my generation took more time preparing themselves spiritually than physically when it comes to "worshiping" on the Sabbath day.

Ladies, we have immense power! And with great power, comes great responsibility. We should be using our bodies and minds to be charitable. We should cover up and get to work. Men need all the help they can get in the spiritual department, and we should be there to help them not hinder. I simply cannot wait for winter!

One other Sabbath day tirade and then I will let this dog lie: Relief Society is not social hour. I have to admit for the first time ever, I walked out today. The beautiful young ladies circumambiently perched by me this day were so busy chatting, quite loudly mind you, to even have a clue what the teacher was teaching (she was discussing fidelity, virtue, and chastity, topics all young women these days could benefit from). They were blatantly ignoring the teacher and those around them who might actually care about the lesson. A young lady in the row in front of me actually tipped her chair back in order to chat with the girl next to me, and they certainly did not whisper! The girl in the short skirt on the other side was discussing the attractiveness of a young man in the ward. I couldn't take it anymore! I gathered my stuff and transplanted in the foyer and attempted to scripturally study the topics of the lesson alone. The only problem was that I was livid. I couldn't focus because I was so turned off by the lack of decorum of the daughters of God that surrounded me. I know, a problem I have to work through on my own. I was the one that got in the way of my feeling of the spirit. That being said, I still think that too many of the twenty-something spinsters of my generation use church service as an excuse to catch up on the latest gossip. If you want to chat for three hours, do it in your house instead of the Lord's. Some of us are there to feel of the spirit and gain insight into what really matters in this life. Whether or not you really want to be there doesn't matter anymore once you walk through the doors. Since you made the choice to attend church, you must accept the consequences that come with it. Sunday appropriate dress and attitude. Be respectful of those that have spent hours praying over and planning lessons. Show the love and respect you should feel for your peers by not distracting from the spirit. Take a journal and write down thoughts and impressions if you are finding yourself bored on Sundays. Don't turn to your neighbor and start gabbing on and distracting them, yourself, and your peers. Thank you. That is all. I must retreat to my closet now, and begin my penitence.

Fed up with the d word

So here's the deal. I am a twenty-something spinster who sincerely hopes to become a twenty-something housewife. Sad, but true. But with all this talk about divorce, I am beginning to wonder why I should even bother. If marriage isn't worth fighting for, especially of the eternal variety, then why should I even step in the ring? Don't get me wrong; I know that marriage is tough. And if the relationship is abusive then by all means get out! But no relationship is always a picnic. Why are so many couples in my life giving up? Don't those covenants mean anything more to these people than just a piece of paper that can easily be shredded beyond recognition? I apologize if I offend any of my readers, but this is a subject that has been plaguing my mind A LOT lately and has been causing problems in one of my relationships. I will say this, however. My good friend is in charge of ward stare in her ward and tonight she has decided to revolutionize the way it is done. I say more power to her, but that is not the point. The thought she has chosen to use tonight is one from Joseph Smith that discusses the fact that fear and faith cannot reside in one person. So although I am tempted to be burdened by the fear that marriage is a crock and not worth my time, I am going to choose instead to have faith that I will be able to find a man who will be in it for the long haul. Eternity is a long time, so why would you ever opt to spend it alone?

Return from Hiatus!

I doubt anyone will read this because it has been so long since my last post that you all just as soon forgot that I was ever giving this blogging thing a whirl. Truth is, as my last post suggested, two months can indeed be an eternity in the mormon world. For the last two months I have been busy attempting to save the youth of the latter-days and I finally have my freedom back! Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the little tikes, but it will be nice to do what I want on Wednesday night instead of being subject to consuming luke-warm mediocre pizza with hormone-crazed, teenage girls--I love ALL of them, truly I do!!! But a return to the life of a twenty-something spinster is much welcomed.

Much has changed since my hiatus, but that is not the focus of my blog. As already mentioned, I have spent the last two months in gospel seclusion, otherwise known as a program called Especially For Youth. The youth need counselors that are older and wiser telling them what to do and that's where I came in. I was not the only one, obviously, but oh, the things a bunch of marriage-hungry, hormone crazed twenty-somethings will do! I would love to share many of the stories of the "hooking up" that took place, but alas, I love those people and would hate to have them disown me into the eternities. So instead the topic of this blog--written like a true English major only two paragraphs in-- is age. For those who know me intimately, they know that this is quite the sensitive topic now-a-days. But again, that's not what is important. What is, is that too many twenty-somethings are becoming thirty-somethings and they do not seem to be concerned... Should they be? I emphatically declare, "YES!" Especially if they are gentlemen.

This idea was sparked by a few happenings that occurred to me over the last few months. First, I was set up on a blind date (remember how those who love me need to save me from my disease better known as singleness) with a fabulous young man. I will say that he was handsome and it was delightful, with full sincerity, none of that sarcastic stuff I am known for. We joked, we laughed, we witted. We have kept in contact with the occasional text message inside joke and playful bantering. I actually wouldn't mind going out with the gent again. But here's the thing: he seems to be in no rush. Hmmm, that is not coming out right. Allow me to explain. He is on the last leg of his twenty-something-ness, if you know what I mean (just in case, 29 is the number you are looking for) and it is my firm belief that he has past the point in his mormon dating career where he can saunter around when it comes to finding his eternal mate. The boy has been home from the mish for eight years! It is definitely time to buckle down and take a knee. At any rate, I have been bold with this boy: told him I think he is great and that I would fancy a second go around if he felt the same way to which he recited a list of excuses. I live by the pink Bible and therefore can be fairly certain there will not be a second date. I do not approve. Not that he won't go on a second date with me, that my friends, is NOTHING new. What I don't approve of is his inability to commit and DATE or stop pulling me, or other ladies, around.

On that same note, one of my good friends has had a similar situation. She has been dating a boy for about seven weeks. Keep in mind that she was also EFYing, so dates are limited to Friday nights and the occasional sneak out during free-time, regardless, I would argue that the two had really hit it off. Well summer is quickly coming to an end and they will be moving to different parts of the state to complete school and start their careers, etc. He doesn't want to do the long distant thing. She does. The problem I see is that he is closer to thirty than he is to twenty and I think that if he has found a great thing he should do whatever it takes to seal the deal! I just don't understand. Don't men know that women have a bit of a smaller window to multiply and replenish the earth? It seems to me that our generation has become too complacent in "hanging out" and it is taking us too long to reach the alter.

A topic for another time: How young is too young?

When to say when?

I apologize for slacking in the blogging world. I have been preoccupied with bigger, better, and quite frankly, more important things. Before I get into today's ramblings, I suggest you all read CJACRUN's comment on this post. It is good stuff. And CJACRUN, you are a phenomenal writer! Remember how you answered all my questions on my application for the yearbook staff? They thought I was so much more witty than I actually am! Fooled 'em!

Anyway, the truth is, I haven't had anything, "being single" related happen in my life lately. I have had a few conversations with a few fellow singles, but nothing exciting to report there. Oh, unless we should take a poll...Even at the ripe old age of 25 should you go on a date with a person you are not sure you would want to marry? Voice your opinion in the comments section.

I guess I can tell you about my second attempt. On Sunday, I went to ward stare again. Had a brief conversation with said prey from last post and he didn't even listen long enough to ask for my name. Nice. Needless to say my confidence is shot once again. I may be a little pudgy with a zit here and there, but does that qualify me to being black listed in the YSA world? Oh wait, that's not what it is, it's because I am old! Really I'm not, but by YSA standards I may as well be 80! Really I don't know what it is. I might have a message on my forehead that is invisible to me, but visible to men that says "spinster" or "not interested." I know that is ridiculous, but obviously there is some kind of barrier, right!? My excuse now is that I am moving so there is no point in getting to know the men in my ward, right? Although, two months can be an eternity in mormon world. Is it worth it?

Yep

So Sunday night was the big test. I went to ward stare, I selected my prey, and then... Nothing. It's not that I chickened out, the timing just wasn't right. I had to do somethings for my calling, so I never got the chance to start what I can only imagine would have been a completely awkward conversation. Fret not, however, because I will have the chance again and again, as single's wards always have transparent activities to get the singles with all their hormones in one central location. Awkward. As one soon-to-be-married member of my ward pointed out last night, "It's a single's ward. It's supposed to be awkward." So true.

"A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love , from love to matrimony in a moment."

Just a little note before I get to today's thoughts. I know that I can say some things in this blog that might sting or might be a little unsettling. That is not their intent. I am writing simply to give myself an outlet. I do not wish to offend, especially those that I love. If I have or do offend, I apologize; however, I am certain that it will happen again. On to my thoughts...

So this one ties in better with the title of the last one, but I think the two are connected anyway. Remember my oracle, Jules, I was telling you about? Well, as always, she had more to say about what is wrong with our generation. We are afraid to date. Not only are we afraid to date, but we worry too much about marriage. These seem to contradict, no? Allow me to explain. As I said in my last post, we tend to hang out rather than go on dates. As we hang out we "get to know" each other and then decide whether or not we want to go on a date, if we go on a date at all. It seems that my generation goes straight from hanging out, to being exclusive, to being married without a whole lot of dating in between. I dare say that we don't really even know how to date--guys, ALWAYS walk a girl to her door at the end of the night. It doesn't mean you have to kiss her, although do if you are feelin' it. And always open the door, pull out chairs, etc. BE gentlemen and if you are, she will be a lady.-- we have forgotten how to do it because we just don't. Jules says this is because we want everything to be perfect. We want to know the consequences before we make the actions. We have all become skeptics. And since we want to know what we are getting into, we put up barriers. A boy or a girl will do one weird thing and we throw in the towel. So he picks his nose at stop lights (everyone has tried it at least once, no sense in denying it), but that doesn't mean that he can't make an amazing husband! Marriage is tough. It is a blessing worth fighting for. That means that your soon-to-be-spouse, who is out there I promise (which is what all my friends keep telling me-bless their hearts), is going to have flaws. That is a fact. How you deal with those flaws will determine the level of happiness in your marriage and beyond. "He sips soup through the gap between his front teeth" "Don't touch that-it's a trademark move." Watch the movie and be edified.

One last thing. Asking for and accepting a date does not equal asking for and accepting marriage. Yes, the stereotypical mormon moves quickly, but not that quickly. Dating is fun! It is an opportunity to discover who you are and what you want in a spouse. It is not like signing your marriage license. So girls, when he asks you out, GO! and enjoy yourself. Learn something new. Boys, ASK! You don't have to decide if she will be your wife before you take her to dinner. Yes, it costs money, but in the eternal scheme of things, money is no object! :) And finally, don't go to a movie on the first date. How will you ever get to know each other if you can't talk? Save the movies for when you are hitched. It will keep the temptations away and once you are married, you don't have a whole to talk about anymore anyway :)

"it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

Rejection sucks. It doesn't matter why you are being rejected or how many times. It is never fun. Today I was discussing my self-proclaimed spinsterhood with a very good friend, let's call her Jules. She is always willing to talk and always willing to solicit advice, asked for or otherwise (but I still love ya Jules!). At any rate, she went off about what is wrong with us twenty-somthings. I should mention she is a rather conservative young lady, a bit of a traditionalist if you will, but every now and then she makes a good point: "Dating doesn't exist anymore. That's what's wrong with your generation."So true. We don't date. We "hang out," participate in NCMO (if you don't know ask your mom, or a teenage boy with raging hormones), and then if we really like the person we think about going out, like in public, with dinner and a movie or bowling (when you are "dating" there is only so much you can do when you are mormon). According to my sage adviser, Jules, this is backward. And I agree. But what are we going to do? (I just committed two grammatical sins, anyone?) If a boy just walks up to a girl he finds attractive at an activity or on the street and asks her out, he is seen as a creep and would probably be maced. But that's how it used to be in the good ol' days before texting, facebook, and e-mail. Human beings would actually interact-like face to face-I know, unheard of. Weird. But I swear to you it is true. Which reminds me of something else I was thinking of today. See, I had another job interview today and I had the hardest time articulating my thoughts into words. Because of technology, we don't have to do that all to often anymore. It's a problem (what is ironic about this post is that I am participating in the very thing I am ranting about :)). So I have decided that at a young single function in the near future I am going to interface the old fashioned way like they did in my novel (anyone guessed it yet?) and walk up to a boy that I find at least mildly attractive and talk to him. I know, loony bin, but it just might work. I challenge all you other spinsters to do the same! I will let you know what happens when I do and I know just the event: ward stare [aka ward prayer-a tradition in student wards that I still have yet to figure out-we drive to some place to participate in an activity that is sacred and meant to be done in our closets (privately). Just another chance to oogle the goodies-am I right guys?). Anyway-I will let you know how it goes. Until then, "If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or even so similar beforehand, it does not advantage their felicity in the least." More on that tomorrow.

"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance"

It's summer. At least in the life of an aspiring school teacher-cache county school district, if you are reading this my students refer to me as captain, my captain. Hire me! Don't you love the dash-Emily Dickinson eat your heart out! But I digress...Oh, because it is summer I am reading a lot of books of a wide variety-stick with me, there is a point here-one of which has also been the inspiration of my rantings and thoughts. Yesterday I was at lunch with a fellow spinster-and I say that with the greatest sincerity-and the current book I am perusing came up in conversation. *Disclaimer: I am a cynic. Blame it on my father, my no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealin'-great-great-grandfather, or my choice of study at college, I don't care. The truth is, I have a hard time not being skeptical. That being said, I know passive voice (If you haven't guessed it by now, I want to be an English teacher, but I break all of the rules), I was complaining to my favorite spinster about the nature of this novel. I will not disclose the title of the work as I am sure I would have a hound of angry loyalists, my aunt being one of them, searching for my address so they can come slit my neck in the night. I don't like it. It is so degrading and chauvinistic, even though it is written by a woman. All the characters care about is getting married. A new man moves to town and all the single ladies start going all "Mean girls" on each other to gain his hand in marriage. Barf. Their is more to life than marriage, right? Wrong. As my eloquent friend pointed out at lunch, "In our world, being single is like a disease. Everyone thinks something is wrong with us and they can't wait to fix it." Do you know what it is like to be asked at every family function about your dating life? If you are a fellow twenty-something spinster you do. Never mind the fact that I am brilliant, according to my mom and that history professor that reminds me of my dad, I am talented, freakin' hilarious, a college graduate, and a world traveler-I recently returned from Madison, WI, believe me, its a whole 'nother world over there. Let's talk about the novel I want to write, my greatest fears, my next trip-I'm thinking going old school on a train-or my exercise plan, anything that will keep me from seeing your face contort into what I can only imagine is your fart face as you attempt to keep that disappointed look in your eyes from being obvious when I tell you that I am currently not seeing someone..."When you say you are seeing Penny, what exactly do you mean?" Disclaimer #2: I tend to throw in random movie and television quotes. I cannot for the life of me remember the word "collaborate" in an important job interview, but I can tell you the plot line of just about every episode of my favorite television show or movie. Which brings me to the title of this post. That novel that I told you about. It has started to grow on me like a tumor that turns out to be your twin that you consumed in the womb and as such I have decided to pay tribute to its glorious lines by including them where I can in my posts. Brownie points to whoever can guess the novel. Sorry mom, you are out of the game. Oh yeah, to finish my thoughts about the conversation I had with my fellow leprous-lady, we are happy. We love being single. Yes, we want our prince charming to come and sweep us off our feet. We want our lime jello laden, mini van drivin' eternal bliss. But we also recognize that some people are like a fine baby sharp cheddar, they taste better with age and are worth the wait. So for all you aunts, uncles, and creepy cousins out there, the next time you saddle up to your twenty-something spinster cousin, before you spray your partially masticated frog-eye salad on her new dress as you open your mouth to ask her when the big day is, remember, you may be married, but she can travel around the world without a sippy cup in her purse or a vomit stain on her blouse. Ask her what fun plans she has for the summer and hurry home because you know how cranky junior gets when Mr. Bear keeps him up past nine o'clock.

Peer Pressure Pandemic

So, after much urging by my mother, and with a little soul searching, I have decided to begin writing. It seems so cliche in a world inundated with the ramblings of so many. I doubt that very many will read this, but it will make my mother happy and in the eternal scheme of things, that's all that really matters, right? Hi Mom! So here is how it is going down. I have taken it upon myself to be the voice of the twenty-something population that is taking Utah by storm. There are so many menaces out there now-a-days! Sheesh. I have narrowed it down to just Utah because being in your twenties and, the real kicker, single in Utah, is different than being single and in your twenties, heaven forbid you make it to your thirties, anywhere else...although, I have never really lived anywhere else so if you can prove me wrong, power to you. At any rate, I will make observations at my various social activities, also known as "Young Single Adult" activities and comment on their lucidity. Not that exciting? Perhaps. But maybe, just maybe, somebody out there will be able to relate and feel better about the disease from which they suffer. Oh, and in case anyone reads this and they are not related to me, I am an unemployed college graduate, female, single, and you guessed it, mormon. Stayed tuned for tomorrow's post that explains the disease and how everyone and their grandma has the cure but you.