I would rather study the anatomy of teeth than finish watching the Tiger Woods’ apology video. Literally. So, why did I view more than half of it just now, you ask?

His awkward staringdirectlyatthecamera moments were rather entrancing; it was like he wanted MEEEE to know how stupid repentant he is, without a shadow of a doubt. All he really made me consider is that he should get his parotid glands examined, because those puffy cheeks look like they’re storing something delicious. Plus, I’ve never really seen a close up of him without a million dollar endorsement cap on, which was novel for at least the first three minutes.

Bottom line: if I wanted to waste fifteen minutes watching a biracial man with humungous worldwide fame deliver a VERY slowly paced internet speech that covers many seemingly unrelated topics, I would have watched the State of the Union. But I didn’t. Scanning a transcript later is SO much more efficient, and maybe at this point in my academic life, studying dental anatomy is how I should be spending my time anyways. Hrmph.

And by that I mean, how to send the timelessly ILLOGICAL message that dancing is wonderful, so long as you avoid rhythmically moving your body in a way that could be considered sexual.

My alma mater high school just cancelled a formal dance b/c of gyrating moves that my former students were doing YEARS ago, though we would have never dreamed of canceling a dance because of such icky-ness. Were we the coolest teachers in the world that just really appreciated the creative expression of our adolescent students? HELL NO. Back then it was called juking, not “freaking”, and it was totally repulsive. Nast! We certainly asked that they stop.

However, school administrators in my conservative hometown seem to recognize this modern dance evolution as a dangerous prequel to HIGHSCHOOLERS GONE WILD! This is coming from a huge loserprude (me), and I’ll say it again: dancing is inherently sexual, and to say that it’s BAD is to say sexual=BAD, which is BAAADDDD!!!

These administrators should be tickled that so many students would congregate to publicly socialize instead of lurking off into the creepiness of an unsupervised high school weekend and have ACTUAL SEX. Duh!

This example of hormone-phobia makes me feel grateful to have been a part of an urban school that CHERISHED anytime we could get kids to stay on campus and have fun, because it meant they weren’t doing a whole lot of other things that we’d just rather not see high schoolers get into. They will anyways, but by canceling a SUPERVISED Saturday night activity because it’s just too suggestive means that they are ten times more likely to have an UNsupervised weekend evening … gross.

Tomorrow morning I might regret my overly liberal reaction to this story, but hear me now, BHS Administration: they are gonna do it anyways, why not let them dance away their sexual frustration? To be honest, if it were THAT gross, there’s no way in the world they’d be doing it in front of a million teacher and parent chaperones. In weird sweaty dress-up clothes, and poorly fastened floral accessories. Think about it.

“Yesterday I saw Sesame Street Live. I got a water gloe light. It changes into different colors. I like blue best. On Saturday I visited my Uncle Tom in the nursing home.”

Was I too old to see Sesame Street Live, at the ripe age of 8? Absolutely. That’s what you get for being the oldest child in a family of five: delayed exit from media designed to teach toddlers to read. I can’t complain though, since that souvenir sounds entertaining and my parents were very nice to bring us to any live performances at all. The more embarrassing detail might be that I don’t actually remember thinking I was too old for it, yet their own website states that it’s designed for kids ages 0 - 6. Did my folks understand how deep of a dork they raised? I hesitate to ask - the truth might hurt. :)

Well, more like young couple nowhere near having children is looking for an adorable feline diversion… which is proving a teensy bit harder than we thought it would be. My unrealistic expectations were that local shelters must be stuffed with baby kitties year round, and that we would saunter in and save the day for a helpless fluff of love. Easy cheezy.

However, apparently “kitten season” is not yet upon us - which I had never even heard of. We’ve scoured Craigslist, all local humane societies, Petfinder.com, etc., and none seem to have kittens available RIGHT NOW for adoption. Damn. I can’t be expected to be patient for a whole 48 hours when Jon is on board to get an animal AND we have Monday off to just play with it all day, can I?!?!

It may sound foolhardy to have the epiphany that kittens are cute and then move straight to adoption, BUT we have tossed around the idea of getting a cat for at least a year. Really! I hope that somehow we meet our future kittykitty very soon. Feral strays welcome! Just kidding. Gross.

Jon already has a name picked out, should it be of the male variety: Floyd. See here for the really classy inspiration.

So, happy Valentine’s day to our future animal companion, somewhere out therrrrre…

Some randomly scanned TV show just used the term “lusty little lagoon” to describe an everyday outdoor whirlpool.

Image of dirty hot tubs??!! BAARRRRRFFF!!! I don’t mean to be a complete party pooper, but I think that every hot tub in the universe should have been marketed as the POOPPARTY3000, which would be an even clearer name to describe a GERMONIC social hot water medium that apparently also gets referred to publicly as a lustylittlelagoon. Shudder.

I risked googling that microbophilic phase, fearing getting my internet tapped by the web police, and was extremely relieved to discover that no commercial products bear that diseased name. I guess I didn’t google some possible variants, like LuztyLil’gyun or something like that. Either way: OFF LIMITS. Learn about folliculitis, and you’ll understand my aquatic apprehension and desire to avoid colonization.

This all having grown up next door to a very old couple who proudly displayed a hot tub on their handbuilt wooden front deck, despite the fact that we lived ON A LAKE. FRESH water much? Like, one day they were sitting out there thinking BOY I wish I could boil myself in the open air while gazing at the naturally wide open water. In full body swimsuits from the 1930s. Because this ‘ish is nasty and we’re old.

Never again will I make fun of Kristen for being the world’s #4 germophobe, or any of the others in training who I also refer to as classmates.

This collection is much heavier on FLESH than usual, which I think is a subconscious drive because the fasting (and furious - Catholic humor) period of Lent begins next week. Last year we went meat-free for all forty days and I see no reason why we can’t dabble in that strange practice of vegetarianism one more time. We literally discovered entire categories of foodstuff that we’d never known about (tempeh?? seitan?! VEGETABLES?!).

It was a very fun process to go through together, but I haven’t gotten complete confirmation from Jon that he’s on board again. Considering I prepare a majority of our homebased meals (BECAUSE I LIKE TO), I would hope that my veggie vote counts for a bit more than 50% of the final decision. :)

I’m willing to compromise if that’s what it takes, especially looking back at these photos, which make it totes obvi why it would be a difficult walk away from such tasty tissues, I mean food, for a few weeks. Jon just makes a damn good meal. He’s a fabulous asset, and I enjoy complementing such proteinfests with crafty salads ‘n’ sides.

If I write one more RachelRayFanClub statement, I just might barf. Stopping now. Enjoy the foodage!

Today marked the delivery of TWO large envelope packages, which is always exciting. Even if you’ve completely initiated whatever order that sends the package your way, I think we can agree that receiving them is universally exciting and heartily patronize the post office whenever possible.

The first package, however, has been in transit for OVER THREE MONTHS. Literally. How in the world could the German and/or American postal services be unable to deliver this, and yet actually keep track of this little bundle for so long?!? Bizarrrre. Thank goodness the artificially sugar-free Halloween candy inside is scientifically incapable of aging. Katie, get ready for your housewarming present! ;)

In other postal news, my electronic attempt to get more fit has resulted in the actual responsibility to start getting up early and jumping around my living room. Let’s hope I don’t pull the muscles required to study… oh wait. Learning and fitness are almost mutually exclusive. Atrophy be banished!

I am very excited to be nearly done with our 2009 taxes. I have enjoyed preparing taxes ever since my first filing in 1999, because it always means a big REFUND and exciting cash flow surge to start the new year off ballin’.

Last year was a kick in the teeth since we actually had to pay Uncle Sam, but the same mistakes were NOT made this year and again we can now look forward to a personal micro-bail-out in the form of another lovely refund. Hooray!

I love me some Turbotax, but the screen above was almost too much to handle. REFUNDABLE DAIRY CREDIT? SENIOR CIRCUIT BREAKER CREDIT?? SEPTIC CREDIT?!??! This is nonsense! This state has some wild tax practices, but I’ll trust the machine and hope that I haven’t missed out on some opportunities to save money.

I hope your own tax process is going well. Cheers to taxation with representation… or something like that.

Yesterday my fell outside and hit and hurt her rearend. She couldn’t be a lunch Lady because of it. She said that she would go to the doctor if the wouldn’t go away in a few days. “

1. I’m moderately concerned about my diction here, given the obvious absence of “mom” in line one and “pain” in line 2. Was I so upset about this that I couldn’t write out those two words, as a sign of weird aphasic empathy for my mom’s severe pain?

2. She must not have been in that much pain given that I don’t remember this incident whatsoever. I do remember one time she fell up a few concrete stairs and got a nasty big shin cut. Good story.

3. GREENERIE TRIVIA: My mother was my husband’s lunch lady during middle school. Mine too. It’s a great sign that she has no recollection of him, because she only remembers the kids who are now incarcerated. Some middleschoolers are just memorable like that.