Sunday, November 04, 2001

Grumble. Blarg. I am trying to fix the stupid comments so that the counter works again, but so far the only thing that I have been able to accomplish is making A> appear next to my comments. If all I wanted to do was make A> appear next to my comments counter, do you think I wold be able to? No, of course not. And I was so proud of myself because I installed some new tricky software on my computer all by myself. Maybe I am only allowed to have one computer miracle per day.

Yesterday, I went to the Hempfield Craft Show. My mom's best friend from college (whom everyone, even at the age of 50, still calls Kuhlen-- her last name-- which makes me happy to think I'll still be calling Enders "Enders" and Wetzel "Wetzel" 28 years from now) was in town. So Kuhlen was here, and she is very fun and cool, and they were going to the Hempfield Craft Show and they asked me if I wanted to go, and I was like, "I like craft shows. I like Kuhlen. I benefitted from the scholarship fund that the craft show supports. I'll go."

Hmmm.... Somehow, things did not compute in my brain. Why did I not realize that practically every teacher I ever had and didn't want to see (as in, I did not see Doc Kondravy, Mrs. Wetzel or Mrs. Minnich) would be there? Why did I not realize that the food they would be selling would be hot dogs with sauerkraut and those subs I used to eat every day in junior high with the mysterious pink meat such that the whole craft fair smelled like the school cafeteria? Why did I not realize I would run into the mothers of a bunch of people I lost touch with four years ago? Why did it not make sense to me that my fourth grade teacher- who was pregnant when I had her; we were so excited- would be there and her son (who I went to see the day he come home from the hospital) would be like, 12, and running around in a soccer uniform. Why did I go? What was I thinking? What? Why? Why? WHY?

It was not that traumatic. It was just very strange. I ran into this teacher that people used to refer to as "Mrs. Fetterf*cker." (Not her real name) She was with Mrs. Shenk, my 8th grade science teacher who of course remembers me because 8th grade was the cow manure/Science Fair Jr. Grand Champion year (If you don't know about me doing a five-year long project about cow manure and my local fame, we probably became friends in college-- I'll tell you sometime over a bottle of wine). Mrs. Shenk was all, "Angie, hi! How ARE you?" And Mrs. Fetterf*cker was like, "Didn't I have you?" and I was like "No, actually, I don't think so," but all I can hear in my brain is "Mrs. Fetterf*cker. Mrs. Fetterf*cker." It was like that scene in Bridget Jones' Diary (the movie version) where she has to introduce her boss Mr. Fitzherbert, and all she can think is "Mr. Titspervert." Luckily, I didn't slip away and exited the conversation quickly enough. Sigh.....

It did occur to me, though, that when and if I end up substitute teaching, I will be having similar experiences every day. Stay tuned....

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