How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

Popular Demand

Except I suppose that "popular" part remains to be seen.  People around here have been telling me that I should non-sarcastically produce actual "Stick the Fish" t-shirts and that people would then buy them.  I had my doubts, so I'm taking it to you, the people. 

They'd probably be pretty simple, with Stick the Fish printed across the front and the blog address much smaller underneath.  I'm thinking they'd go for about $15 for short-sleeved, maybe $20 for long-sleeved, although I suppose it could be less if we had a whole bunch of them made.  If you'd be interested, comment or e-mail me (the link is below my picture) and tell me how many you'd want and your sleeve length and color preference.  Since I'm guessing that we'll want to choose one color for cost reasons, I'll add up all of the color votes and then either go with what you've chosen, or if I don't like it, choose something that I prefer.  Such is the nature of democracy here at Superfantastic.

Once I have an idea of how many, I'll get the specifics on price and figure out shipping and all of that.  And don't forget, Mother's Day, Father's Day, wedding, and graduation seasons are coming up!  What better way to say "thanks Mom/Dad," "here's to a long life together filled with love and laughter," or "way to go, Grad!" than with a t-shirt lovingly purchased from the internet?  Anyway, let me know...

Laundry Day

I am currently wearing jeans with a big hole ripped in the knee.  And my left knee is feeling so retro!  Remember?  Remember when we would wear ripped jeans out of the house and not only because all of our other jeans were in the washing machine?  Because we thought it was cool?  Back in high school, I worked at the Finish Line, where I spent a lot of time kneeling on my left knee while lacing up shoes and was constantly wearing out the left knees in my jeans.  (Gap jeans!  Because I was 16 and had tons of disposable income!  I haven't even looked at non-Old Navy jeans since I can remember.)  Of course, that was before it was deemed unprofessional for bored teenagers to sell shoes while wearing jeans and we were forced to begin wearing the left knees out of far more professional khakis.  Which sucked because you couldn't wear ripped khakis with your grunge-tastic flannel from Farm & Fleet!  Eddie Vedder would so not approve.

Come to think of it, I remember very recently seeing some pre-shredded jeans for sale at Old Navy and thinking I thought we as a society had come to a consensus whereby we would no longer pay full-price for ripped jeans.  Apparently not.  Apparently I had given society far too much credit.  Which really shouldn't surprise me since this is the very same society that is responsible for the commercial success of Cheez Whiz and the continued career of Jennifer Love Hewitt.  And do not even get me started on those stupid rubber flip flops with kitten heels!

And now I realize that I have stooped to posting about the state of my laundry day wardrobe.  Which, allow me to say would not be nearly so dire had I not spilled coffee yesterday on my last clean pair of jeans, which I assume was punishment for stopping at Starbucks despite the fact that I was already running over 30 minutes late.  But I HAD to.  Because I didn't have my afternoon coffee and I was getting a headache because I am an addict.  And yes, I've gotten all the way to recognizing the problem and have refused to do anything about it because it's a one cup a day habit and I can totally live with that.  And if it weren't for the shoddy workmanship of the Starbucks iced coffee lid, we wouldn't even be having this rather stream-of-consciousness-y one-sided conversation.

So blame Starbucks or thank Starbucks or whatever.  I have to go change the laundry.

Licensed T-Shirts Coming Soon!

It's the very latest in annoying Christian jargon and you'll only see it here, folks.  I present: Stick the fish.  You'll be hearing it from your annoying neighborhood Christians any day now.  (And before the hate mail starts, allow me to assure you that of course I am not insinuating that all Christians are annoying and certainly not the ones you know.)

We coined the term while driving to the rodeo (yes, Internet, the rodeo that I attended two and a half weeks ago.  I know, alright!  It's just that I've been distracted by all of the funny winter and the shiny sequined Olympic people with their compelling backstories of personal tragedy.  And a sport with sweeping!)  We were stuck in traffic and discussing those people who choose to stick not only the one large Christian fish emblem on their cars, but also several small ones and we got to wondering whether those small fish might represent the children of the family.  What, though, do parents do if all of the children aren't, shall we say, resting in the arms of Jesus?  Does each child automatically warrant a fish, regardless of the destination of his or her immortal soul?  Or is it possible that the parents wait until each child has had his or her own come to Jesus moment to place his or her representative fish on the back of the family minivan/SUV?  In which case, all of the got saved/was born again/accepted Jesus as personal Savior/asked Jesus into heart/became a Christian...type phrases could be replaced with the efficient "stuck the fish."  For example:

"Little Billy stuck the fish this weekend!  We're so proud!"

"Don't worry too much about Amanda.  Our youngest didn't stick the fish until she was 19."

This could be a powerful teaching tool for those who believe that salvation, once found, cannot be lost.  Because those suckers do not come off your tailgate!

I choose not to stick any representative fish on my own personal car since my driving is what Christian jargon describes as a "bad witness."  Because I don't think Jesus would cut people off or call His fellow drivers "rat bastards."  Unless, of course, they were driving 15 under in the far left lane, in which case it is not so much an insult as just a statement of fact.

So I'll soon be selling the rights to my new catchphrase and then sitting back to collect my millions, just as Jesus intended.  And you'll be able to get a lovely array of fine quality Stick the <><! hats, t-shirts, keychains, mousepads, bumperstickers, onesies, pencils, pens, zipper-pulls, hard candy, bracelets, earrings, stickers, temporary tattoos, socks, shoelaces, bookmarks, plush toys, magnets, mugs, hoodies, Bible covers, and totes at a Christian bookstore near you!  Can the Stick the <><! Compilation Album (Various Artists) be far behind?

Save Yourselves!!!

Hide the children!  And in the name of all that is holy, do not go outside!  It is below freezing out there, people!  God help us!

I LOVE winter in San Antonio.  It descends with a good week's worth of warning, lasts about three days, and everyone freaks the heck out.  And they NAME IT.  In recent years, we've suffered through The Bitter Blast and The Arctic Blast.  This particular cold snap has been entitled The Big Chill by our NBC station.

The local news has also helpfully advised us to 1.) get out the blankets (All of these years I've just been laying on top of my bed shivering!  Thank you, local news!) 2.) bundle up, and 3.) pray to the god of quickly ending cold snaps for relief from this monstrous winter weekend of doom.  And they showed us lots of local idiots out last night with no gloves or hats,  in some cases without even coats, sharing such valuable insights as, "it's cold!"  They even helpfully showed us this morning how to scrape ice off a car by demonstrating on the back of their van's side mirror.  Call me a daredevil, but I drove to church and back this morning while totally disregarding my back-of-the-side-mirror ice.

But when I went to leave my friends' house last night in my coat, scarf, hat, and mittens, I was mocked.  "Look at the Wisconsin girl bundling up like it was Alaska out there."  That, my friends, is because the Wisconsin girl is not stupid and does not like to be cold.  While I do not find thirty degree weather to be freak-out worthy, it certainly is mitten-worthy. 

And now, I present these important pieces of winter-weather advice from a seasoned Yankee driver:

1. Slow the hell down.
2. Start braking early. 

I would have thought that this was common sense, but the news lady's "there were 400 accidents over night" sort of blows that theory.

We have been very fortunate to bear the brunt of The Big Chill over the weekend or schools all over the area would have been closed.  I remember, growing up in Wisconsin, a total of three winter weather-related school closings.  Three, in my 13 years of public school.  One was clearly when I was in elementary school because I remember suiting up in the moon boots/snowsuit combo to hike over to my friend Brianna's house to play (not that I didn't wear this ensemble to school on regular days too. Because if you didn't have a snowsuit, the teachers wouldn't let you run, dive, and sliiiiiiiide on the ice at recess!  Or push other kids off a snowdrift in a game of King of the Mountain!  Safety, schmafety, kids!  Just don't get your clothes wet!)   Once, when I was in middle school, the wind chill was predicted to reach 72 below, so it seemed advisable to let people stay in.  And finally, we once got a snow day in May.  Because no one was prepared for the snow, it being May and all.  Otherwise, like it or not, we went to school.  I can also recall in college being out in the 40 degree weather in jeans and a t-shirt.  The previous day we'd had a windchill of 40 below, so it was 80 degrees warmer!  And sunny! 

Now that's winter, South Texans.  Not that I would have you change a thing!  Please, please keep buying all of the stores out of everything, making a special graphic for the news, and dressing inappropriately because your coat didn't match your shoes and don't I understand that a hat would ruin your hair!  Ah, winter in San Antonio.  The most wonderfully absurd weekend of the year.

I WON'T LET YOU

I've been called a lot of things throughout my teaching career, from the adorable, all the way up to, I imagine, things that would melt the paint clear off the walls.  There was one eight year-old girl who inexplicably called me Plum for an entire summer.  And a little boy from India who called me by the name of some sort of Indian dish, which he sang repeatedly in a high-pitched voice.  (All of his teachers were assigned food items as nicknames, each with a corresponding ear-splitting song.  Except Jennie who, by virtue of her ponytail, reminded him of a girl from his school.  Her song went, "you look-a like-a Tiffany with your pony taaaaaaaaaail!") 

I do tend to get "mean" and "evil" on a semi-regular basis, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not.  Nothing irritates a kid like a nonchalant, "yes, it's true" when he has just called you mean or evil.  Or when his threat to tell his mom exactly how mean you are does not cause you to stop fiendishly torturing him with spelling words.  Good times.

My all time favorite was a six year-old who I saw for two hours twice a week in DC.  She was a tiny little blonde girl whose angelic appearance masked the beast within.  We'd do alright for an hour or so, followed each night by an explosive tantrum which always included a phase where she, curled up in the fetal position while crying and kicking the wall, would scream YOU'RE MEAN!  YOU WON'T LET ME!!!  I never did find out what I wouldn't let her.

Vicki suggested that I use this as a warning when I was doing my "I am the law" speech to the 200ish high schoolers that someone foolishly put me in charge of on a weekly basis.  "And finally students, above all, I need you to realize that I'm mean and I won't let you."  Perhaps that would have been a deterrent to those considering paying homeless people outside the 7-Eleven to go in and buy them beer, which they would then drink in front of their rat-fink roommates and get busted and sent home by their mean, not-letting Program Supervisor.  One boy, who had not only pulled the beer trick to the tune of two cases, but also brought his own personal vodka/green food coloring cocktail in a Listerine bottle, accused me loudly and repeatedly of ruining his life.  Oh, the tears.  Good thing I have a heart of solid rock!  (Fun fact: The dad who was forced to pay extra for his son's express return and who picked him up from the airport was a federal marshal.  Smart move, Junior!  Really top drawer!)

Also, chatty high schoolers who will not listen to your repeated entreaties that they show some respect and listen to the speaker LOVE to be put in a corner!  They don't believe that you are serious with this order.  Because you don't look that evil and surely the Geneva Convention has some sort of age restriction on corner-sitting.  And that one Constitutional amendment that you were talking about when they weren't listening!  This is cruel and something else and the amendment, the number of which they couldn't be bothered to learn, protects them!  Oh, but not from over-tired, underpaid civic educators, kids!  Your corner-sitting ass is mine!

Ah, memories.  Most of the stories these days are angst-free, although at times still highly comical.  Maybe I will tell you some if I discover a way to do so while avoiding a "Kids say the schmaltziest things!" essay.

In the meantime, be advised that I am, in fact, mean and I will not, under any circumstances, let you.  Pass it on.

Black Tuesday

Let's begin with Valentine's Eve, shall we?  I was in SuperTarget, looking for this shirt, which my friend Vicki was wearing for her own V-Day observance.  Remember how I told you the thing about my ankles being bad?  So there I was, walking along when suddenly my boot heel went out from under me and my right ankle, the feckless wimp, did nothing to stop it.  I thought for a moment that I was going to recover, but it was not to be.  I landed smack on my knees between two racks of yoga pants.  On a positive note, the ankle was not sprained, so I was not forced to hobble, or worse, hop on one boot all the way out of SuperTarget.  Ideally, I would wear nothing but sensible, flat, rubber-soled shoes to avoid this type of situation, but what fun would those be? 

(And also, the worst ankle sprain I've ever suffered happened while wearing tennis shoes.  I was walking down some extremely uneven porch steps and landed on the side of my foot.  I also scraped the hell out of the back of my hand, but did not drop the campaign literature that I had been in the process of hanging on doors.  Now that's commitment.  Or total inability to make good split-second decisions.  Because I so would have sacrificed those door-hangers if I had realized that it meant keeping all of my skin.)

So anyway, I discovered when I got home from Target that my fall was executed in a spirit of great patriotism!  Because it was in keeping with the falls of several members of the US Olympic team.  Sure their falls happened while propelling themselves over sheets of ice or hurtling down snowy mountains, but allow me to say that Target linoleum is nothing if not slick.  Sadly, as is the case for so many Olympians, my fall put me out of medal contention.

Valentine's Day itself dawned bright and beautiful.  Sunlight streamed through my bathroom window, the better to see the new zit above the corner of my mouth by!  And then I went to the pool and got all ready to swim.  Then I pulled my swim cap over my hair, at which time it promptly ripped right up the back.  And I decided to pack it in and go home since there wasn't time to drive to the store, buy a new swim cap, drive back and swim enough laps to make it worthwhile before it was time to go to work.  (I know I haven't talked much about the swimming recently, but rest assured, it continues.)

Then for the real high point of my day.  I got to work to find a dozen roses and a balloon on my officemate's desk.  No big deal until she complained about it being embarrassing and how her boyfriend should have had to come into their meeting to deliver them so he'd have to be as embarrassed as she was.

Valentine tip #1: Whining about receiving roses for Valentine's Day makes you sound like a spoiled princess, upset that you didn't get that gold-plated pony instead.

I did, however, receive a box of Godiva chocolates from one of my students, God bless his mother.  And Newsweek still loves me, judging by its prompt appearance in my mailbox.  So it was an exciting night full of current events, dinner (I cooked, Internet!), Gilmore Girls, and Olympics with the roommates.

And now, if you'll excuse me, a new swim cap is not going to buy itself.  Nor will its cousin, a spare swim cap.

Thrift

A tradition started a few years ago in our singles group whereby we mark the occasion of a certain February holiday with a thrift store party.  Actually it started as a way to have some fun on the actual day, but the tricky thing about these date-sensitive holidays is that they don't stay on weekends for very long. 

Anyway, the general idea is that everyone buys a wacky outfit at a thrift store and we eat and sometimes karaoke and generally ignore the reason for the party in the first place.  Until last year when it was hosted by a couple, who having married young, completely missed that point and put up red hearts everywhere.  We even had to play a game matching famous couples. 

So this year, we were asked to host it here and we declined to do any sort of Valentine theme (except for the conversation hearts which Holly required.)  We went over to Party City to see what we could see, and here is what we came up with:

Complete with novelty red carpet.  Here I am doing my best red carpet walk in my platform shoes and Jan Brady/Wednesday Adams/Nanny McPhee outfit (that Nanny McPhee reference was not entirely appreciated--I've seen the preview.)

Here we have Holly and Melissa who appeared ready for their Dynasty catfight.

Krystal (who is not a midget--just sitting in a weird wicker chair) got this classic homemade Noah's Ark jumper, accented by the pony tail/bangs look and authentic Keds.

Amy forgot to get an outfit.  She always dresses like this since she moved to Texas.

Jumpsuits are going to be huge this spring.

Kathryn makes a rather convincing hippie, for a Republican.

Say goodnight, Lissa.

Did anyone else notice the interesting placement of those sequined flowers?  Anyway, Happy Valentines/Thank God I'm Not in a Bad Relationship Day, everybody!

Conspiracy Theories

Three in particular which have recently come to my attention.  These might have gotten past the less astute observers among us, but my finely tuned sixth sense for evil-doers picked right up on these blatant and heartless schemes.

First, I present the case of my co-workers and their not-so-hidden message.  For Christmas, I received "fun" socks from not one, but two of my co-workers.  This may seem harmless and even thoughtful since many of the people at work are pediatric therapists and spend a lot of time running around in their socks.  So they like their socks to be cute.  I received one pair of socks with large blue whales and one pair with frogs and the words "Hop to it!" sewn in.  Awwwww...cute, right?  I was not fooled, Internet!  I see the message.  "You are fat (as a whale) and lazy (Hop to it!) and we, your co-workers,  have chosen to convey this message through the medium of novelty socks."  WWSD, people?  What would Santa do?

Our second conspiracy revolves around the phenomenon known as "stretch denim."  This, at first, seemed like a boon to a person such as myself who suffers from Flat Butt Syndrome, in which there may be plenty of fat on the body and yet the trunk area is disproportionately lacking in junk.  So your traditional denim, cut to fit your glutto-typical woman, tends to hang off the butt in an unsightly manner.  But this stretch denim, it does not hang!  That is, for the first...oh let's be generous and say three minutes of wearing.  At which point the stretch properties go into overdrive.  And the entire jean becomes stretched to the point of actually falling down, making the average woman think My jeans are super roomy and therefore I've clearly lost weight without even dieting and can continue to eat any damn thing I please!  Old Navy, funded by the snack cake and toaster pastry industries, has clearly tried to pull one over on us.

Bringing me to my third, and most devious group of conspirators: Girl Scouts.  You're all "we're cute and enterprising and live by the Girl Scout law."  Oh really, Girl Scouts?  Does that law not include anything about the evils of high pressure sales?  Have you no moral obligation to divulge your overwhelming share of the responsibility for America's obesity epidemic?  You know perfectly well that you produce three distinct varieties of cookie so identical in their deliciousness that the people whom you pledge to "help at all times" are paralyzed by indecision and forced to shell out for each and every one.  This trifecta of tastiness (Samoas, Tagalongs, and Thin Mints) not only has a going rate of $9, but also contains the suggested daily caloric intake of the continent of Asia.  I will sic Oliver Stone on your sash faster than you can say "cookie badge."  Unless of course you'll throw in the Thin Mints for free.  I mean, you said yourselves that they're thin, so it's almost like they don't even exist.  But they are soooooo good from the freezer.  And I've got a little extra room in these here stretch jeans.

Yet another reason why I could never be a rock star

But we'll get to that soon enough.  First, allow me to present a pictorial summary of my trip to the San Antonio Stock Show & Rodeo.

Rodeo Queens!  (Thanks, Jenny for letting me borrow the hat.)

First stop at the rodeo.  [Insert Brokeback Mountain joke here]

Then we found our seats.  Here is a view of the opposite corner.  See the exit sign?  No, the one above it.  Look three rows above it, and there you have where we were sitting.  Sodas were $3.75 but the oxygen masks were complimentary.  And if you look about six inches above our seats, you will see the AC vents.  Brrrrrr!

Then we saw some team roping, followed by saddle bronc riding:

And bull riding.  This particular cowboy was having a bit of a rough time.

While this one had a slightly better time of it.

And then it was time for the main event.  Keith Rural in concert.  Wait...that's Keith Urban.  Ha!

But then, there he was in all of his Keith Urban glory.  Those arms, those eyes, that hair.  Seriously, the hair.  My hair has never looked that good IN MY LIFE.  I, however, have never in my life had a mullet.  Which Keith did.  Oh yes, we saw the picture of Keith rocking a bleached-blonde mullet.  So I guess we're sort of even, hair-wise, Keith and me.

Keith reminded us many, many times that he was aware that he was in SAN ANTONIO!, TEXAS!  He managed to work one or both into each and every song he sang.  Which is yet another reason why I could never be a rock (or country) star.  I have trouble keeping track of what day it is, much less in what city on a multi-national tour I currently find myself.  I would definitely be booed off the stage for shouting the name of the wrong locale.

Here is Keith taking a walk around the perimeter of the rodeo grounds, continuing to sing and play as he, I swear, tipped his head toward the fans so they could PET HIS HAIR!

And then he got in the back of a pick-up truck with his band and rode off into the...well, not the sunset exactly since it was only about 4:30, but into the other part of the AT&T center where we could no longer see him and his lustrous flat-ironed tresses.  Goodbye, Keith.  SAN ANTONIO! misses you already.

Also, yay Steelers!  And I am available for a trip to Disney World, should any of you need a seat-mate for Space Mountain.

The State of the Union if the Union Were in a Tiny Humorous Nutshell

For those of you who are not huge civics geeks like me, willing to give up hours of your Tuesday night to the State of the Union and its pre- and post-speech analysis (and who possibly also think that Tim Russert is a rock star) I present this summary of last night's State of the Union Address:

Some guy whose title I can't currently remember: Oyez!  Oyez!  The President of the United States of America!  (Ok, so this part is not actually so important, but one simply does not have enough opportunities to use the word "Oyez.")

President Bush: Classy tribute to Coretta Scott King

Everyone: Standing ovation.

Justice Samuel Alito: Holy crap, I'm at the State of the Union!

President Bush: The State of the Union is strong.

Everyone: Applause/uncomfortable glances toward gallery to see if honored guests are buying it.

President Bush: We were attacked on September 11, 2001.

Everyone: Wait...what?  We can't clap for that.  Can we?  We're not sure!

President Bush: We will not be attacked with the weapon of fear.  Anymore.

Everyone: Boo, fear!

President Bush: You defeated my social security plan and now your grandchildren won't be able to afford prune juice in their golden years.

Republicans: Wha?

Democrats: Sarcastic applause.

Me: Sarcastic applause!  Genius!

President Bush: No Child Left Behind is a huge success!  Test scores have gone up!  Because we started testing!  And the score for not testing is 0.  But now that we test, we have numbers!  And they are higher than 0!

Republicans: Thunderous applause.

Democrats: Do you also hear those crickets?

Public school teachers and administrators: Honey, I think I just burst a blood vessel out of righteous fury!  Call 911!

President Bush: But now we will do more!  We will have more math and science teachers!  We will figure out some way to lure them out of high-paying math- and science-related professions.  Then we will have higher scores in math and science!

Republicans: Yay!

Democrats: These tumbleweeds over here are troublesome.

People with lucrative math- and science-related jobs: Ha!  Good one!

President Bush: We are now aware that the attackers who attacked us on September 11, 2001 made phone calls.  And if we'd only listened to those phone calls, we could have stopped it.  Never mind that we missed a lot of other stuff!  So now we have a moral imperative to listen to the terrorists' phone calls.  And how will we know who the terrorists are until we listen to phone conversations and see what you people are talking about?

Republicans: Clap, clap, clap.  Clap...clap.

Democrats: Would it appear unprofessional if we crawled underneath these desks?

The Fourth Amendment: Ack. Cough. Wheeze.

President Bush: God bless the United States of America!

Members of Congress: Clappy clap clap, now can we finally get out of here and start talking on TV?

And now, we bring you the Democratic Response with Governor Tim Kaine of the Commonwealth of Virginia:

Governor Kaine: Here are all of the good things that we're doing in Virginia which are so good that they are much better than anything that the federal government is doing.  Here are some good things that the state of Illinois is doing.  As well as Massachusetts.  Even Republicans in states are doing good things!  In conclusion, state government good, federal government bad, vote for me in '08 and God bless the United States of America.

Discussion questions:

1. How did a Democrat get elected governor of Virginia?  Is this a sign of the apocalypse?  Why or why not?

2. Has Ted Kennedy's head gotten even bigger or is it just me?

3. Nuke-lee-ur or nuke-u-lur?  Compare and contrast.

4. On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being "eh" and 10 being "Tom Cruise v. Ritalin") how much do the terrorists currently hate our freedom?

5. When the framers required that the president update Congress on the state of the union "from time to time" did they mean even if it pre-empted Scrubs?

6. Write your own State of the Union speech (or Democratic response if you're a commie pink-o lefty-lou tree-hugging long-haired hippie.)  CHALLENGE: Don't use the words September, eleven, partisan, God, or bless.

Thank you, and best wishes United States of America.