The thrill-a-minute ride that is my life had a particularly exuberant swoop lately. Luckily it included an increase an age, which without a doubt made all the difference when the high school administrator giving me the keys to my classroom incredulously asked how old I was. Twenty-two sounds SOOO much better than twenty-one. Not. I’m going to let them be occupied with their ignorance and blind assumptions rather than reveal myself as their younger and more competent replacement. Even if it is only for a day at a time.
Before I got to teach high school for the first time though, I had a whole day to wallow in my Birthday. If you don’t know how I feel about my birthday then please refer to “Better Than Yours” a little further down the page. Anyway, Mickey loves me and I spent the day at Disneyland for free. I’ve recently learned that many people would consider this a bad thing, and that the joy of doing things alone is lost on them. I don’t understand that, even a little bit, because when else to you get to make every decision based on your own preferences and desires. I got to ride Storybook Land without any judgment, and skip the monorail because I think it’s stupid. And I still had a whole park full of people wishing me a happy birthday. (I also got asked out by a girl, but that’s neither here nor there.) Carrying a pink parasol- I’m pale, this was a strictly practical addition to my costume- and semi-molesting a caramel apple as I walked through New Orleans Square I got to be the belle of my own ball. This was followed by dinner so good all the neighboring tables knew about it (and started ordering it a la Harry Met Sally) and mildly sexually harassing a very hot waiter. Sorry Bret.
There may not have been sexy escapades this year, but there was lots of love, and a ridiculous number of promises for lunch and drinks, which I suppose goes along with the whole ‘being an adult thing’. Not that sexy escapades and adulthood are mutually exclusive- at least they better not be or I’m going to be redefining adulthood for my own purposes. But things have been distinctly drab since the completion of college and the acceptance of a living with my parents, scandalous-less reality. Twenty-one may have been so fantastic that it will be hard to beat, but damned if I am going to let twenty-two be the dip after the peak.
Anyway, my glorified babysitting job has recently come with some interesting challenges- some of them more expected than others. For instance, it didn’t seem at all out of line for me to explain the French Revolution with a bagel slicer as visual aid. But, talking about the first stage of psychological behavior (0-2 years old), while trying not to look at the girl in the second row that is 7 months pregnant was almost entirely beyond me. Threatening the class with various forms of dismemberment for talking during the test (i.e. “I will rip off your leg and beat you to death with it- and fail you”) comes without thinking. But trying to be my witty and charming self in a class half full of deaf students- when I don’t know whether to look at the student or the interpreter- was a challenge almost beyond my adaptation skills. The beauty of being a substitute is that all of these issues are only yours for one day, though you do get a whole new set the next day. If knowing how to handle that isn’t a resume booster then I don’t know what is.
Newsflash of the Week: I wore a dress to do my holiday shopping- for the express purpose of receiving exceptional service- and accordingly, it was bestowed upon me. I also managed to make one man trip. Apparently walking and thorough appreciation of my legs is not compatible. No permanent damage was sustained.