The Five Things I Remember About Elementary School

1. Oregon Trail.  WHAT IS UP original computer game!  No, children of the 90s, I do not mean "video game," I mean computer game - and not World of Warcraft.  Oregon Trail was this amazing invention that was not an invention at all because it actually happened once in America's history.  It was both educational and wildly entertaining.  What I learned from this brilliant game was that their were some people that moved north with carts carried by oxen.  The highlights of the game were when fires broke out destroying all 80lbs of your food and your fictional sister broke her arm. Usually when the broken arm screen popped up, your elementary self was all, "I have a sister?"  Most of the historical accuracies included that hunting was the most entertaining part of the journey, and everyone died of dysentery.

In this screen shot, you are obviously about to die.  But you should still press the arrow keys to "look around."

2. Time Out.  I used to get put in time out frequently in elementary school . . . or whatever version it was back then. Sometimes I just had to move my flag from the green "safe" zone to the yellow "warning" zone.  What was I doing that was causing me to be so wildly disruptive in class? Punching? Kicking? Swearing? Oh no . . . I was singing.

3. Boys sucked.  This knowledge was not exclusive to elementary school.  It followed me for most of my life.  But boys in elementary school can be pretty cruel.  As a girl they wouldn't throw me the football. Actually, as I am typing this and reflecting, I am realizing maybe that wasn't because I was a girl. Perhaps it was because I lacked any athletic skills.

4. Re-enactments.  One year, this teacher wanted us to get an idea of what it was like to hunt for food.  In order to do this, she took us outside and separated the class into the hunters and the "wildebeests."  She then told us that the strategy used by tribes was to find the weakest and slowest member of the heard, separate it from the pack and then take it out with your bow and arrow.  She then proceeded to duct-tape a bag of candy to me and gave the "hunter" half of the class water balloons.  I'm not kidding.

5.  Power Rangers.  Every day of lunch in the third grade I pretended to fight the janitor who came to empty our trash under the guise of being the pink ranger.  I KA-RA-TE chopped and kicked and said lots of "hay-yas."  To this day I can still remember all 5 original characters and who replaced them.  I also have all the McDonald's power ranger happy meal toys and their zords.  I was told not to brag about this today by my co-worker.

Billy, Kimberly, Jason (later Rocky), Trini (later Ayesha), Zach (later Adam)

Fruits of My Labor

Well as a follow up to the other night's baking extravaganza, I feel I owe the interweb a review of my masterpiece.  Note that the recipe was courtesy of The Wheat Belly Cookbook.

It does not taste like cardboard or twigs as I imagined.  It did, however, try to kill me.  Now, you may be thinking, "Morgan, we all know you tend to have a flair for the dramatic," which, you know, is true.  But this was real LIFE.  My mouth did not have enough saliva produced to move the bread from my teeth to my belly without pausing for awhile at the top of my esophagus.  For those of you without a medical degree, this means I was choking.  Badly. Like grabbing my throat and scrambling to a glass of water, so I didn't drop dead on my kitchen floor with the entire loaf of bread still to eat.  I have an ongoing theory that it was a density problem.

When I took a second bite, saw my life flash before my eyes again, and then really tasted my creation, I thought, "It needs peanut butter."

I will obviously need to proceed with caution, always making sure I have a trained supervisor who can perform the Heimlich around during consumption. But overall, I feel that I have made one small step towards a healthier lifestyle, that won't kill me . . .like the vegetables* attempted to. . .

* Look I am making a foot note for the vegetable story . . . is this how you make footnotes?
June 16, 2014: So last week I purchased some healthy snacks and put them in the fridge at work. Today, when I pulled out my pre-packaged celery and carrots with a hummus pack on the lid, I noticed the bottom of the pack bulging a little. Being curious, I poked the bulging carton only to be greeted with a noise like a gun shot, a tiny hummus container launched into my face and the general explosion of vegetables and their filth all over me and the table. Shocked, I looked up to see the 3 other people in the kitchen staring at me in horror. It just proved what I have always known. Given the chance, vegetables will kill you

Saturday Night Date

Tonight (Saturday) I spent the evening with the love of my life.

Usually presented to married couples by people who love them most, I was given my Kitchen Aide mixer two years ago for Christmas (I guess nobody was feeling overly optimistic on my marriage prospects).  Though we don’t spend copious amounts of time together, when we do see each other, it’s usually delicious.

This particular night as I whipped egg whites until they became fluffy (this was news to be BTWs) I contemplated life’s biggest mysteries.  Like why are carbs so delicious and does Lea Michelle work?  The first though was brought on by my recent venture into the world of gluten-free living.  5 days in, I don’t hate it, but I also haven’t been staring down the barrel of a large pizza.  When that day comes, my commitment shall surely be tested. 

The second I contemplated because I follow(ed) her on Instagram, and I’m 100% certain all she does is travel to exotic places and have people take pictures of her from behind.  

I'm just saying, I count four "casual shots from behind," and two different trips in one screen shot.  But I digress.

I have started The Wheat Belly Diet by . . .well I can’t remember who it is by.  Anyways, in an attempt to have some semblance of an enjoyable life, I am currently whipping up a batch of essentially carbohydrate-free bread.  I am almost 100% certain that is will taste cardboard and small twigs.  But after laying on the couch for 10 hours straight today, I decided there was nothing more exciting than dirtying every single pan and appliance in my kitchen at 9:00 at night.

I just pulled this bark loaf out of the oven, and we are having a staring match as it cools.  Who will blink first?  What will it taste like? Why does it look a little like wet dog food?  The adventure continues. . . 

This is how I think when I am left alone for too long. 

Life Lessons Learned from Nicholas Sparks' Movies

Whilst watching Safe Haven tonight, I reflected on all the Nicolas Sparks’ movies I have watched over the years. Through this moment of introspection I touched on how each one of them has left me with an interesting perspective.  Though incredibly similar in execution, each movie has profoundly impacted me in a different way.  A way I would very much like to share with all of you.

 1.     While watching "Safe Haven" I learned that if you work as a waitress in a small beach town, you will meet a hot widower who looks like Josh Duhamel, and therefore hit the jackpot. There were some other undertones about the trauma of abusive relationships, but this was my main take-away. 

 2.     In "The Notebook" I learned that some people have the truly terrible misfortune of having to choose between James Marsden and Ryan Gosling.  There are no words for how difficult a decision this must be.  I have been making a pro and con list for the last hour, and no one has pulled ahead.

 3.     A "Walk To Remember" showed me that it is ok to get married right out of high school, pending that someone in the marriage is going to die shortly after.  Otherwise, better not.

   4.     Message in a Bottle" taught me that no matter how much you love someone, it isn’t enough to keep everyone from dying in the end.

  5.     In "Last Song" I discovered that Miley Cyrus truly isn’t good enough for Liam Hemsworth, and they probably aren’t going to make it.  There was no real lasting message other than that.  Wait, I changed my mind.  I learned that raccoons will eat sea turtle eggs. BAM.

   6.     I discovered through "The Lucky One" that it is ok to love a stalker if and only if he is Zach Efron. 

 7.     "Dear John" taught me nothing, because I’m pretty sure Channing Tatum didn’t take his shirt off. I think all the ladies will agree with me when I say, “What’s the point?”

 8.     Non specific to movies I also discovered kissing is better in the rain, everyone in small North Carolina towns owns a row boat and bad people will most likely die . . . some good people too. . . but mostly bad. 

Thank you for taking this journey with me.  The moral of my own story is I watch too many horrible Nicolas Sparks’ films, but also think very highly of the casting choices in the male leads.

The One With the Princesses

My list of Disney Princesses (DPs for short) in order of who I respect most to who I think should be dethroned.

  

     

           1. Mulan is first for obvious reasons.  She is not motivated by selfish ambition, she is trying to save her family. The beautiful Mulan dresses in drag and fights as a badass ninja warrior.  This teaches young girls that they need to act like boys to get ahead in life.

   

    

          2. Belle is a close second because she reads.  We will choose to look past the fact that the intelligent girl gets the love of a beast who turns into a man who is obviously gay.  Seriously, we are letting it go.

           3.   Pocahontas is pretty fearless, jumping off that giant cliff and all.  She teaches girls that they have to be athletic to get a nice tall build.  She climbs a bunch of trees, is good at rowing, and she can paint with all the colors of the wind.  Plus, she snagged Mel Gibson before he got crazy.  Points.

  

         4.  Repunzel was not a DP when I was growing up, so she doesn’t have my 100% respect.  She is pretty spunky though, and she wields a mean frying pan.  Her flaw is her emotional instability, which she makes up for in hair.

            5.  Jasmine gets a bad rap because of her outfits, as she should. I mean, parachute pants have never been in.  Sorry MC Hammer. But she does have some moral fiber to her character.  It is admirable that she is tired of being rich and spoiled, stupid, but admirable.  Her idiocy continues when she hands that kid an apple and then acts surprised that she got in trouble.  She gets the coveted middle spot for good intentions but horrible common sense.

      

             6.  Cinderella could use a backbone.  That is why she is on the backside of this list.  Anybody who is content getting yelled and cleaning has too many self esteem issues for my taste.  Plus, she encouraged small children to think of rodents as friends and supported her boyfriend’s foot fetish.  Think about it.  It’s weird.

     
     
     7.   Sleeping Beauty.  This chick is famous for sleeping.  I mean really?  I take naps every day, and a hot guy on a horse has yet to wake me up.  Not to mention she has an entourage and still can’t pick out a dress to wear. 

   




      8.  Snow White has the most obnoxious voice in the world.  Be honest, that chick could win the Noble Peace Prize, and I'd still smack her with Repunzel's frying pan for that squeak.  Not to mention she took an apple from the most terrifying old lady ever.  Everyone knows if you are going to accept food from strangers, they need to at least be attractive. 





     9.  I feel bad putting Tiana at nine. I know virtually nothing about her, except that she wasn’t a princess, she was poor.  Which is fine, except that she willingly decided to stay a frog for love.  I will give you $100 if you can explain to me how that is a good example to set for anyone.

    


     10.  Ariel gets my least amount of respect.  She gave up her voice to an obviously untrustworthy sea witch, and she did it for a man. Let’s talk about what that teaches our children.  “Sweetie, you just need to be pretty and silent. Then a man will like you.  If you really want him to get hot and bothered, comb your hair with a fork.” But the biggest reason she is number 10 is that she’s a ginger – which is why she sold her voice and not her soul to the devil.

The One With the Trophy Wife

In my youth, I thought that I would be happy if I became a trophy wife.  I could lounge about while my Race Car driving husband made all the money and be, you know, rich.  (Yes, I picked a Race Car driver to be my income generating man candy. Due to racing’s lack of popularity among women, and the fact that you can meet drivers before a race, I feel I could actually have a shot.)

But then I realized something.   I am too opinionated to be a trophy wife, and my guess is, that’s not going to fly with my non-existent Race Car driving husband.

 So then I thought, “I could be a stay at home wife, who cooks and cleans!”  Then I laughed at how ridiculous that seemed, because, let’s be honest, I’m not prepared to take on that kind of responsibility. I am skilled at cooking two meals, tacos and those Bertolli frozen bag pastas that claim to feed two, but really feed just one. 

And cleaning?  My idea of cleaning is putting everything in stacks and placing it carefully around my apartment, behind bigger stuff.  Or placing bills and mail in decorative bowls so you are distracted by the bowl and fail to see the disaster of my life sitting inside it.

 

And laundry?  I’ll do it because it smells nice, but I’ll also leave it down in the dryer until it becomes absolutely necessary for me to make the trip to my basement to get it.  And even then, I’ll keep the clean clothes in the laundry basket until all the dirty stuff piles up on the floor, and it becomes pertinent for me to empty the clean stuff to pile in the dirty stuff so my room looks clean-ish.

I don’t want you to think I am a pig.  I keep a clean bathroom, I Clorox wipe surfaces down.  But when it comes to general crap  – it is just going to be thrown on the first available surface I see when I walk through the door.  In my old apartment, it was on a chair that no one realized I had until I moved – today it is the kitchen table.  It is around this table where you can find my shoes, shopping bags, work bag, books, and mail.  It isn’t used for eating, that is what the coffee table in the living room is for, on the off night I decide to make tacos, again.

So all this to say that I am not exactly domesticated wife material.  But based on that fabulous sales pitch I just gave, if any of you men are willing to take a shot, I’d be willing to get married for a teal Kitchen Aide mixer.  I am actually a fabulous baker.  And by fabulous, I mean I buy box mixes and add chocolate chips to them and believe that is enough to tell everyone what I baked is from scratch.

The One With the Walking

People that walk slow. OH MY GOSH!  I cannot mentally FATHOM why is takes people so long to move their appendages.  I will take some responsibility, in that I walk faster than the average individual.  I have short legs, and  the misfortune of having tall modelesque friends, so I have overcompensated with a spritely stride which makes me travel further and faster than the average Homo Sapien.  But that is beside the point. Everyone else needs to be accommodating.

This is what I imagine these sloth like people to be thinking as they clog up streets, halls and alleys, “Ho, hum, what a wonderful stroll on this six inch path with lava on either side of it, making it impossible for kind strangers to pass me.  I think I’ll move as fast as Pangaea did when it broke into 7 continents.” It is so inappropriate and irritating.  Usually there are two of them walking at that robot like pace, holding hands, and it is all I can do not to sprint through them yelling, “Red Rover.”

I used to run into the problem frequently with athletes in college.  Mostly on the brick pathways where on either side were signs that said, “Please Stay of the Grass.” These Neanderthals would carefully place one foot in front of the other, as though it was the most tedious task they had to do all day.  My greatest fear is that it was the only thing they ever accomplished at school.  They were so unmoving that I wondered if perhaps they were statues, erected to block my only way to the dining hall.

Since I am often stuck behind someone slow, I have developed a particular set of skills to try and move around them.  First, I walk as fast as possible to where they stand, stop as far behind as is socially acceptable, then engage in what I like to call “revving.”  I call it this because I equate it to a car that is going to take off full speed.  It involves quick and hurried steps, until I am breathing on their neck, then I ease off, then scamper up again, and repeat the awkward heaving breathing.  I do this in the hopes that they will become frightened of the strange blonde that keeps aggressively moving into their personal space, step to the side, and let me pass.  Athletes don’t catch on so easily, unfortunately. I also engage in the “hand shoo”, where I make wild gestures like people do to dogs when they want them to stop sniffing their crotch.  Occasionally, if I am in a rule-breaking mood, I’ll step into the lava, grass, or busy street to move around these people.  This is done in an angry huff, with arms swinging to show them I am truly irritated in their social indecency.  It is also a warning that I am capable of moving quickly, so if someday I kick them in the kneecap for their sins, I will be able to escape.

Note to all you slow walkers out there: Please do better.  You are ruining the bipedal way of life for all of us.