My dad sent me a cell phone for my birthday. Merkin and I have been dithering about buying one. For me, that is. Merkin doesn’t want to be seen anywhere near a cell phone. “It’s too easy to get a hold of me as it is.” I totally understand that. I thought it might be a good idea to get one for me, though. You know, for emergencies, and for letting my relatives know where and when to pick me up at the airport when I fly in for a visit. Don’t even get the Seattle sisters started on that fiasco.
Anyway, Dad took matters into his own hands and bought me a phone, set up my account, gave me a nice balance to get started, and mailed the phone to me. It didn’t come with a manual (refurbished, probably — which I’m totally fine with), and it took me three days to figure out how to get it to turn on. Yeah. Ha ha. I actually had to call customer service on my land line. But I’m all set now, so…yeah. I’m still trying to access the online owner’s manual so I can figure out how to program the thing. (Notice I didn’t say the “darn” thing because I’m actually very grateful my dad was so considerate to send me a phone.) As soon as I figure out how to use it, I know I’ll love having it. At least I can make calls on it now.
Other than that, my birthday’s coming up this weekend. I’ll be…hang on…2010 – 1975=35! I’ll be thirty-five years old. Wow. Not old enough to be reluctant to tell people how old I am. Actually, I don’t think I’ll ever be reluctant to tell people my age. I might have trouble doing the math in my head as I get older, though. Merkin has today off, so we’re going to BratzBasher’s school to have lunch with the spawn. She’ll be jazzed. Apparently, her class has been so badly behaved that their teacher had to assign seating during lunchtime. Of course, BB is seated next to jerks. I swear, Teacher does not get it. I tell her and tell her that certain kids cannot be placed near BB if she wishes the classroom harmony to remain harmonious. The other day, Teacher assigned Antarctica to be the one to inform BB of the required homework when BB got back from JET. Antarctica only told her one assignment. Dude. I know I’ve specifically mentioned the animosity between BratzBasher and Antarctica, and Teacher has even remarked on it herself, but the woman insists on putting those two together. Sigh. Anyway… when parents visit for lunch, the kid gets to sit with them at the visitors table. No assigned seating next to the jerks. Merkin’s making pizza. Homemade pizza. Yeah, I know. We spoil her.
What else can I tell y’all? Oh, BratzBasher is having to relive the 5th grade camp experience by writing a book about her week there. It’s a program called Treasure Book that provides a free, published copy of the finished book to the student. Additional copies are available for purchase. It’s been very enlightening for me. I’ve been taking dictation and typing out her words to speed the process along. (BratzBasher is not fond of writing.) I’m getting a lot more information about her camp week this way. A lot of it was really crummy. I hope Teacher won’t try to get her to edit out the bad stuff because I want the permanent record to be accurate (according to the narrator, at least). At first, I was opposed to the idea that BratzBasher wouldn’t be allowed to pick her topic — or at least be assigned something more pleasant. But BB’s story is coming out so well, and her style is so enjoyable, that I’m really looking forward to sharing this book with others. It’s going to be an honest, real story. It’s pretty cool.
The main problem with this book project is that the students are supposed to write out the story by hand in cursive on special paper. BratzBasher doesn’t do cursive. It’s taking her a really long time to write everything out. The first day, she made it halfway through the second sentence. I realize most of that is her dragging her feet, but I’d rather Teacher just let her print. What’s the big whoop? We’re going to ask about that while we’re there today.
I guess that’s all I’ve got right now.