I told my students they were not allowed to start their essays, presentations, etc with a dictionary definition. I gave no such dictum about starting with an Urban Dictionary definition. As such, here we are:
Category: Memories and Anecdotes
A Nicer, Truer Hufflepuff You Never Will FindPosted on
I think if a member of the Hufflepuff house were to reach into the sorting hat in a moment of need, they would withdraw their hands in slight surprise, having just reached in to find my hedgehog coming to their rescue. They would have, of course, roused her from a nap, and so she would naturally be a little miffed, and thus, a little spikey. But a true Hufflepuff, seeing the good in everyone, even a perturbed hedgehog, would reach back in to find my hedgehog quite forgiving, her quills now laid flat. And in that moment of need, my Hufflepuff would offer the greatest support in any Hufflepuff’s moment of need. She would give a good snuggle, and all trouble would vanish.
I’ve been Captained, and I’m a Puddle of HappinessPosted on
There’s something completely irresolute about finals week; as such, unless explicitly directed, I avoid giving final exams. Instead, I like to leave my students thinking about the final chapter of their high school career with something less final and more… open-ended, more upbeat. I want my students to leave my literature class thinking about morals and the self–because, at least for me, that’s what literature actually is–words that express morals and self, and those concepts can’t really be tested by an end of year exam.
A Fair and Balanced Account of Valentine’s Day as a Holiday.Posted on
Yesterday my Facebook feed was abuzz with adorableness on Valentine’s–people publicly declaring their love and celebrating their flowers. As a manifestation of how old and mature I’m becoming, many of my friends posted pictures of their new Valentine’s–little babies covered with smooches, or pregnancy announcements clad in pink and red.
And honestly, it truly was adorable. I enjoyed it. I clicked the like button many times! I was happy it was Valentine’s Day!
But I was also a little bit cognizant of how much I would have hated my Newsfeed on Valentine’s Day five years ago–in the most cliche way of course. And though it was cliche and perhaps unnecessarily bitter, I don’t want to delegitimize the loneliness one single girl can internalize while scrolling through a Facebook Feed Full of Love.
So, remembering my former self, I decided to chronicle my 2015 Valentine’s Day here, where people actually need to CLICK to see, to choose to imbibe this particular love potion.
The Word, The WorldPosted on
One mild panic attack later, and I know I’m officially back in Provo. I’m home, but home feels a little different now. That word feels different. Maybe because the world feels different now.
Part of me wants to maintain the wild facade that Jeremy and I suddenly became multi-millionaires that could whisk across the country on a financial whim, but the truth is that this summer was partly financed by a lot of people’s kind and generous gifts.
- Florida was a gift from my parents.
- Hawaii was a gift from Jeremy’s parents.
- Seattle was our gift to one another.
- And, if I’m honest, New York was a gift to myself.
Novels and NoodlesPosted on
My mom, my working mother, my corporate powerhouse mother, spent a lot of money and spent even more hours on my childhood hobbies. She frequented the sweaty YMCA while I “played volleyball,” and massacred basketball. She sat through one too many poorly rehearsed renditions of Easy Note “Just Breath” in poorly executed piano recitals. My mom carted me to singing groups and dropped me off at school extra early so I could learn Spanish and practice the Oboe. If I wanted to be well rounded, well, darnit, she was going to see to it that I was.
But the key part of the above sentence is:
Never Judge a Biker by its CoverPosted on
One day freshmen year (of high school) my dear friend Elly came into the theater before school sobbing. Splotchy cries, streaming tears, suffocating breaths. Everyone in the theater leapt to our feet, ready for damage control. We were pretty sure that a cruise-liner full of her closest family members had sunk or something–such was the decibel of her sadness.
An Insight into AnxietyPosted on
The Schlemiel and SchlamazelPosted on
Artless Foreshadowing: I have a vertical second degree burn–currently blistering–in an unspeakable location.
My sister and I? We’re spillers. We spill things. We spill a lot of things.
Blog of DisparagementPosted on
Believe it or not, my job doesn’t consist of a bunch of students standing on our desks and yawping barbarically all the time–like I wish it did (and if you don’t get the reference, repent immediately by renting Dead Poets Society). My job doesn’t consist of every student waiving their Hermione Hands all around until I call them so they can express some longwinded thought. Believe it or not, my classroom is not all love notes all the time.