Benjamin Buttars and Wolfgang

Nevada, this one's for you, girlfriend:

Nevada wasn't the only one who noted that my student, Benjamin Buttars would make a better glittery vampire than Edward. (I added the glittery part because BB despises glittery vampires.)

If you look closely at his face you can see it shimmering.

(he he he)

Imagine me breaking out into an evil mad scientist laugh as I made BB's face sparkle against his will.

I never noticed it before, but Nevada has a point.

If you look closely you can almost imagine Benjamin Buttars sitting in class being repelled by the scent of true love.

Look at him struggling to resist his conflicting impulses. Should he turn and run from love? Or should he take a bite out of it?

But who does he love? Is it the lovely Jasmine seated next to him? She is muy muy bonita, afterall.


No! It is the lovely April sitting across from him. (Sorry Jasmine. Blondes really do have more fun, trust me.)

Now scroll back and watch him struggle.

He he he

(I should have been an evil mad scientist instead of an evil mad English teacher.)

What will Benjamin Buttars do? Can he control himself for love?


Nope.


But will he and April still live happily ever after?


Or will Jacob come between them?

(That dude's name isn't really Jacob, it's Justin.)

Real life is an awful lot like movie life if you ask me.

And guess what else Benjamin Buttars is in real life?

A ROCK STAR!

He's got a band and he's going to share his music with us. But first you'll have to sleep over in my comment box waiting for the ticket booth to open. (Didn't I tell you guys my students were V.I.P.'s?)

And here's one more weird Benjamin Buttars story with a Wolfgang twist:

Next week BB is going to New York for a journalism conference so I'm like, "you oughta go see Les Miserables on Broadway since we'll be reading it next month."

And you know what he says to me? He says, "I've seen Les Miserables on Broadway many times."

So I'm like, "Oh yea, well I bet you haven't seen it more times than me. I've seen it six times! TOP THAT Benjamin Button!"

And you know what he says to me? He says, "Oh yea, well I played Jean Val Jean during my summer stock theater days. TOP THAT Dummy!"

Guess what popped into my head as soon as he said that?

Wolfgang.

I had a vision of Wolfgang pushing Jean Val Jean down the stairs. Isn't it weird how life plays itself out backwards and upside down and sideways?

Do you think Wolfgang was foreshadowing his own Benjamin Buttars envy?

Just in case, I hereby declare Benjamin Buttars ineligible to compete in the I-double-dog-dare-you-to-steal-my-heart-from-Wolfgang-contest.

It wouldn't be fair to put a tremendous Austrian up against a summer stock Jean Val Jean/glittery vampire/rock star.

No doubt Wolfgang would push him down the stairs.

So do you want to see the first finalist in the contest?

It was a tough choice.

I was going to pick Kyle Kyle, but he fell asleep.

And then I was going to choose Emma because she wears tie dye and because she was born with a tooth in her mouth, which has gotta be some kind of omen, don't you think? But Emma is almost as mouthy as Kyle. The first thing she says every day when I walk into class is "Can we cancel class? Can we? Can we? Can we? Huh? Huh? Huh? Can we go home? Huh? Can we NOT take this quiz? Can we NOT do this assignment?"

So I've decided the first finalist will be Raphael. He used to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and he's a French beat boxer. (I'm hoping French beat boxing is more romantic than Americn beat boxing because boxing isn't my favorite violent sport.)

Serotonin Surprise

Yesterday Iwa asked me a really important question.


She wants to know what people who are non-functioning non-depressives should do if they don't have the cash or the unfortunate friends to land them a luxury hotel for the weekend.


I have the perfect solution--they can live vicariously through me.


I'm going to live vicariously through me too because now that I'm functioning again, I'm feeling depressed. (Are we only content when we're not cramming a gazillion things into our day?)


So let's live vicariously through me together.


Did you guys bring your sunscreen and your earphones because I'm ready to give you guys your present now.


Lather up and plug yourself in . . .


Now scroll to track 57, sit back, and get ready to chillax.


Hand me your brain.


(Don't worry, I'll be careful with it.)


Now close your eyes for your surprise.


No peeking.

Surprise!

I brought you some serotonin!

I hope you like it. I know February and March is the pits when it's cold and dark and dreary and drab. It used to throw me into a grand funk, anyway.

But wait there's more.

Do you want to take a dip in the pool? I think they mix the water with satin because it feels like you're swimming through silk.

Or we can fall asleep on the balcony together.


Or we can just stare into my son's deep blue eyes until we're in a hypnotic trance.

But first let's lay out and release the serotonin until our moods are elevated to sheer joy. (Or at least to near joy).

Which chair do you want?

Okay, no more talking for at least 20 minutes while we release the serotonin.

(Oh, you'll have to hit reply on track 57 about 25 times because it only lasts 40 seconds. My apologies for the inconvenience. I hope it doesn't mess with your mojo.)

p.s. what is mojo?

DEAL WITH IT!

Aloha Peeps!

Guess where I was all weekend!

I was valentine-ing in a luxury hotel with my hub and my cubs on the other side of the island.

Neither my husband or I can take credit for planning the delightful weekend, we were merely the benefactors of a dear friend's romantic misfortunes.

In short, our dear friend was handed lemons, which he passed on to us to make s'mores.

Is it bad that I had a delightful time making s'mores out of our dear friend's lemons?

Would it make it any better if I said it wasn't all delightful, it was also little bit insightful?

Remember in my last post I confessed that I am, as of late, a non-functioning non-depressive. (I can't seem to get anything done, even though I'm emotionally fine and dandy.)

(Of course I blame this--and all of my other problems--on my hair, because taming the shrew takes a lot of energy).

If you too are suffering in silence as a non-functioning non-depressive, here's a mind blowing tip: Go chillax in a luxury hotel. There's no functioning required in a luxury hotel. The whole concept is set up so as to allow you to be non-functional.

It's pure genius!

Besides this insightful epiphany, I was also able to confront and embrace three truths about myself while chillaxin at the luxury hotel.


Truth #1: So I ain't gots no class (DEAL WITH IT!)

Truth #2: So I ain't gots no shiny straight hair (DEAL WITH IT!)

Truth #3: So I ain't gots to spill truth #3 cuz it ain't none of your beeswax! (DEAL WITH IT!)

(It's really liberating to confront and embrace truths.)

I have had issues with truth #1 for a long long time--ever since my MIL made me pull a ratty cooler full of POP, as she calls it, through the lobby of this very same hotel several years ago. (Note: This very same hotel where we've sat poolside with Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey.)

I have an aversion to looking like trailer trash around beautiful rich people. I think it may have something to do with my inner wounded child being dropped off at school in a station wagon held together with duct tape.

But this weekend I realized that class is a state of mind.

So what if I don't have dazzling diamond necklaces dripping into enthusiastic bronze cleavage!

So what if my kids sneak their own Ritz crackers and bite-size Snicker bars to the pool while I'm drooling on the lounge chairs!

So what if my boys do Nacho Libre leaps through the lobby and stop, drop and roll into the elevators!

So what if we eat at Burger King on valentines day with the other two lame-o couples on the island!

Truthfully, I don't eat there for the food, I eat there for the wrappers. Have you ever read the wrappers at Burger King?

Hee-larious!

Sometimes I order everything on the menu just to read the hee-sterical descriptions of each food item.

When I grow up I want to write for Burger King. Either that or I want to marry the writer for Burger King so he can make me laugh AND make me feel like I'm having it my way. (Such an attractive quality in a man.)

To our credit, we also took our kids to Chilis for the all-you-can-eat chips and salsa.

Again, I don't go to Chilis for the food, I go for their playlist. They really know how to pump up the jam, especially in their restrooms, which I personally think is a brilliant idea.

Yesterday my husband asked me why I was spending so much time in the restroom and I told him I thought I might have the stomach flu, but actually I was listening to the Counting Crows and Foo Fighters.

But shucks, I digress.

More about my delightful insightful weekend tomorrow. For now I gotsta go pretend to be functional.

(DEAL WITH IT!)