Stuff I Don’t Understand #1. Or #37. Either way.

There are lots of things I don’t understand about myself, about life, about lots of things. The following is just one of them.

I’m pretty fearless about a lot of things. I’ve gained a reputation in my family as the one who will always survive, but will do it in the most adventurous way I can. My mom told a friend of hers when we were in Honduras that she had no doubt that we’d make it out, but we could do it one of two ways. If Heather was in charge there would be a plan and a backup plan, and there would be tickets booked for all contingencies. If I were in charge, we’d get out, but we’d end up riding to the airport/janky airplane in someone’s field on the back of a donkey for which I bartered. If it’s exciting and/or could make a good story, I’m generally in.

When it comes to people, however, I’m exceedingly cautious. I was very shy when I was younger, and I grew into or forced myself to become social enough to fake extroversion when I need to. It took an act of will and a good dramatic foil to teach myself to express when things anger or annoy me, and I still only do it when I feel it’s absolutely necessary. I spent a year and a half not saying things that were on my mind because I was afraid to push too far. I like to think I’m growing up, but at my core I’m just a shy little girl.

I still find myself unable to trust others to manage their own thoughts. I feel like it’s my duty to protect them from what’s going on my head so that they won’t have to deal with it. I just hold my breath and hope that eventually the world will read my mind without my having to articulate. That is a recipe for regret. It’s often said that writers and lovers of words are such because they are people who struggle with their own ability to solidify and realize what they truly want to say. They spend lifetimes frustrated that what they write will forever be just a doodle of a daisy in the face of all they wish to say. I think a lot of times I have so much that I want to say that I’m afraid I’ll botch it, so I just don’t say anything. (In fact, as I write this I’m thinking “I’m not saying this right. I’m not going to be able to explain, so what’s the point? I might as well just delete it, because when I read it later, I’m going to be disappointed in myself for not getting it right.”) I analyze all the good things that could come of speaking up. Then I analyze the downsides. Then I spend my days fixating on the ways that speaking my mind could go horribly wrong and mess up the status of my lovely quo. I typically only let my guard down enough to think about the way things could go well when I’m asleep. I wake up trying to grasp the dream, and then chide myself for hoping.

As a champion at guarding my heart, I don’t think I’ve learned where the line is between guarding it and building a fortress around it. I don’t want to be this independent. On the other hand, it scares me to be dependent on someone only to realize that they’re not so committed to being depended upon. (I know there’s a dangling preposition there, but I can’t get rid of it.) I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to give in to being vulnerable enough to be dependent until I’m forced. This is why dating doesn’t work for me. The people I’ve truly been interested in in my experience have always been my friends. It does not, and will never, make sense for me to date someone in order to get to know them. I already don’t let my guard down easily, so why would I let it down with a near-stranger who happens to be buying me dinner?

I struggle with knowing how this conundrum plays out in my life. I don’t want to be independent forever, but I’m unwilling to love a stranger just to have someone to hang out with. I only see myself being interested in people who I’ve already gotten to know as friends, but I move around so much that I’m always leaving friends behind. I guess that’s where the adventurousness comes in. I think I’m adventurous because I have a gift at acting on faith. Not giving in to the pressure of settling is an act of faith for me. My standards are high: I want to love my best friend. I want to be in awe of the fact that that person chose me, and I want them to feel the same way. I want to be just enough the same to always have fun, but just enough different to always challenge the other. I’d rather be single than be less than that, and that takes an act of sheer faith to wait.

Choosing to Stand With Honduras

As of June 29th, my sister Heather and I considered ourselves refugees. All year we had planned to go to Honduras to work with a small team of missionaries in Tegucigalpa serving children, building houses, and making ourselves useful. We got to Honduras on Tuesday the 24th and went straight to an elderly home to bring some joy to their day. Picturesque as that seemed, things became disjointed quickly. Throughout the last week and a half, our perspective has greatly changed. We have been disappointed by the actions of our country, and we have seen the disconnect between actual events and what gets reported in the media firsthand.

This situation has taken us by storm because, in the very short time that we were in Tegucigalpa, we fell in love with the people there. Honduras is the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere (IFAD). The majority of the population lives in a state of desperation. It was an immediate reality check to realize that, while I may be frustrated over not having enough money to buy more clothes that I do not need, those people are literally unable to feed their children. In the midst of that poverty and desperation, they find the wherewithal to be loving, patient, and grateful for what they have. In my world, where barely surviving is relatively foreign, that gratitude in the face of hopelessness is incredibly humbling.

We were in Honduras during the political action that some are calling a “coup d’etat”. We carefully followed the Honduran news as the president pushed an election in which few people believed. We got daily reports from people witnessing what was going on in the city. When the government shut down the power to avoid the broadcast of Zelaya propaganda on the proposed day of the election (and the day of the removal of Manuel Zelaya), we spent the day completely without phone, Internet, or television, in a state of information darkness. Throughout all of this, we were aghast at the complete lack of attention from the news media to this major political occurrence that was happening to our lives and the lives of the people we cared about. Michael Jackson took precedence.

On Sunday we found out that the Congress had impeached Manuel Zelaya and had taken him into exile. To be honest, we were pleased and saw that as the best solution. The missionaries we worked with who know Honduras well felt that that was the best solution to a cancerous governmental problem. Micheletti, the next in line, had indicated that he did not support Zelaya’s attempts to change the Constitution and extend the limits of his term. As soon as events took a turn for the dramatic, it canvassed the world news. Instead of reporting the events in Honduras and the opinions of Hondurans, the news reported exactly what the Central American leaders wanted to be reported. We were out on the streets briefly on the day of the coup- the calm, quiet streets where Hondurans were quietly and safely staying in their houses as they had been told. At the same time we looked at pictures on CNN of people rioting in the streets. When 90% of Hondurans support the actions of their Congress, we were blown away by the fact that riots and backlash were reported all over the news. We were completely taken aback when President Obama spoke up in support of Manuel Zelaya. It is widely the opinion that, by supporting Zelaya, one supports Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez, Cuba’s Castro brothers, and Nicaragua’s Manuel Ortega, a trifecta of would-be Communist dictators. Obama called on Honduras “to respect democratic norms, the rule of law and the tenets of the Inter-American Democratic Charter,” which the Legislative and Judicial branches of Honduras believed they were already doing.

This has greatly changed the way we view media. It has taught us to look not only at what is being said and pictured, but also at what is not being said. As a long-time consumer of the news and a social studies teacher, I may never be able to view world news again without a great measure of cynicism. I will heretofore encourage my students to dig. I have realized how important it is to receive news from its place of origin, even if I have to use the Internet to translate it into broken English. It has also led me to passion and action. For the first time in my life and the lives of all 10 people who went with me, I participated in a protest in Washington, D.C. in front of the White House. It is my great hope that through all of this I will be able to increase awareness. I consider it my duty to spread the word about Honduras and what the Hondurans want. On top of that, however, I consider it my duty to plead with the world to delve before they decide. It seemed in this situation as if the world had made up its mind before ever taking the time to understand it. In the last week, Honduras has ended up standing alone, defending what she considers to be a legally sound action, against an entire world that accuses her of staging a coup. My sister and I are choosing to stand with Honduras.

Somewhere Between Unsure and A Hundred

I try to refrain from posting too much on here about school, education, my students, etc. That’s probably why I don’t post much anymore considering that’s what I do with 80% of my time. Today, however, deserves a post. I still haven’t come down from my educational high. But first, some background:

REWIND: A few weeks ago there was huge drama when Dr. Firn (superintendant) sent out a letter to the 8th graders informing them about their high school choices. In describing New Tech, the letter was poorly worded and came off as very demeaning to our students, staff, and the rigor of classes that we offer.

Basically what came to light in the hubbub was that parents had been told by school board members that their kids weren’t going to meet graduation requirements if they stayed at New Tech. According to what they were told, the data indicated that our students weren’t learning anything, our classes weren’t honors level, and our students were level 2-3 students (that’s low). It is a gross understatement to say that our parents were pissed. That’s basically telling them that, while they’ve seen HUGE growth in character and intelligence in their students, and while they watch their dear babies scratch and struggle and hang on for dear life to earn a B and be hugely proud of that B, in reality their kid’s education is inferior and is not going to be acknowledged by the administration.

The parents got the wolf pack together, got organized, did crazy amounts of research, and showed up en masse at the school board meeting. The letter was sent out too late for the parents to get on the agenda, but it’s law that they have to allow anyone to speak for 3 minutes at the beginning of the meeting. The parents just wanted to express their concern and request a meeting with the parents, Dr. Firn, the school board, the teachers, and the students- all the parties involved. Two parents spoke about 2 different topics they’d decided on. One of my kids, Curtis, spoke about his experience at the school. He talked about how he’d always been a good student and a leader, but how he’d never until this year had to try or work to earn a grade. He told them he’d NEVER until this year been proud of a grade he’d received.

The board voted and agreed to have the meeting. Action is not usually taken based on the speaking segments before the meeting, so that was a big deal. Nothing has come of that meeting yet.

TODAY: All of that helps to make today more spectacular. My kids took the English I End of Course test today. I was straight up nervous. On top of it being my first state test as a teacher, there was the added pressure to beat the other English teacher’s scores from last year. 93% of his freshmen were proficient. It’s worth noting that the main high school in the county’s proficiency rate is in the 40s.

I prayed for a long time last night. Today, as I was administering the biology test, I walked around and prayed for each of my kids. I prayed for my voice to haunt them in the back of their minds, for focus, for confidence, for patience. I even prayed for their subject-verb agreement.

After they finished, one of them came up to me and said, “Ms. Stewart, I think I did good! I might not have done so well in class, but in there it was just like everything you’d said just hit me in the back of the head!”

After the kids were gone and the answer sheets sorted, Chris took them to Central Office to be graded. We all waited around, torturously unable to work on anything. He came back sooner than expected, which was a blessing on the stress levels.

He walked in and had us all come into one room. Carter had to go get LaBree out of her room, so we had to wait. Chris told some random story about the scanning machine while we were waiting, and I was going CRAZY. They were laughing at me because I was shaking and bouncing and fidgeting and ridiculous. LaBree came in and sat down, and still Chris was stretching the conversation. I burst out, “JUST TELL US!”

He made me come up and stand beside him and said, “In her first year of teaching…..Stewart’s freshman clas received an overall score of………….(long pause)…………..100%!!!!!”  I SCREAMED and jumped up and down like I’d won the lottery. ::Hugs and high fives all around!::   100% proficient. That does not happen. I could not stop grinning. Cloud nine never floated so high. LaBree’s biology kids were 98% proficient, which is amazing. One kid out of hers didn’t pass. He’ll take it again on Tuesday. It was an amazing day for Anson New Tech.

The thing is, how do I beat that? I can’t imagine that that will really ever happen again in my teaching career. So next year if my students get a 98% pass rate, it will be ridiculous to be disappointed (because that’s ridiculously high), but I probably will be. It’s been hours since I found out, and it’s still ethereal. All those times this year when I had minor panic attacks that my students might not actually be learning anything and I might be a horrible person who is ruining the youth of America one project at a time….? I’m over it. George W. Bush, my 100% proficiency IS LITERALLY no child left behind. How about you get someone to give me a raise?

Bandaid

I have been waiting for this Easter break since Christmas. In some ways I’d been waiting for it since Naomi’s wedding. I’ve had a countdown on my computer for the last 2 months. Easter break meant not only the first time I’d been home since Christmas, but also the first time I’d seen my most important friends since Naomi’s wedding. It did not disappoint.

Throughout the last 9 days I have reunited with the SuperFriends through lots of food, the fort, the holler, Fairmont, Morgantown, Panera, the Suburban, my parents’ ever-changing house, and extremely conservative and unabashedly voiced opinions (not so much ours). I have spent the night with Heather, gone to Blackbear with Heather and Sara, shared new music with Sara, gotten my hair cut and lusted over George with mom, had lunch and looked at the improvements on the classic cars with dad, taken Maggie to a movie, eaten dinner with mom, dad, Jess, Jen, Maggie, and Heather, and a lot of other miscellany. It’s been good to be home.

I do, however, have a ravaging headache because I do not like my dad’s coffee. Today I tried to drink a Pepsi to fend it off, but no such luck. I could have fought it off by making a pot of the Starbucks they have on hand after dad polished off his “Jamaican Blue Mountain”. But I didn’t, so instead I just focus on my forehead. Thrice I convinced whoever I was with for the day that it was necessary to make it to Morgantown or Clarksburg in order to sneak in some Starbucks. Muahahaha.

I could stand to stay here for another while and not head back to the ‘Boro. I do miss my own space, though. I miss my stuff and the way it’s organized and so very ME. But it is nice to be home, to be known and understood, to be appreciated for the nuances that the ‘Boro people just haven’t learned to recognize yet. I do, however, think that it is better for everyone involved if I am not at home for long stretches of time. It makes everything harder. Before I left for NC, I was home for 8 months. That was just long enough for everyone in my home life to get firmly attached to the idea of having me around. I love being home, and I appreciate and long for it more when I’m away. But (while they would disagree) I think it’s a bit selfish of me to stay for too long and let everyone get perfectly content and attached before ripping myself away again. Not to say that I won’t visit as often…I will. But it does hurt to be the one who is constantly ripping the bandaid off.

This is going to hurt me just as much as it hurts you.

My Travel Journal Misses Me

Journal from the Airport

3/6/09

The Sun is setting in a spectacular fashion directly behind the routinely wearied head of the American Airlines attendant at Charlotte Douglas. It amazes me how airport names mean nothing until you use them, and then they’re stuck. Detroit Metro. Pittsburgh International. London Heathrow. London Gatwick.  Charlotte Douglas. Vienna International. Sydney. Dallas Fort Worth. DFW was the last piece of America I saw before leaving for Europe. Now it’s the blessed location of my bestie, who I’ll see for the first time since her wedding in 3 hours. Excited, exhilarated, anticipatory…none of these adjectives are strong enough. The term “missing” aptly describes my feelings for not ever seeing Nai. That is because the few people who actually manage to become close to me become a piece of me. When they are not there, it is like a piece is missing.

We once dreamed of living in a commune with all of our beloved ones, growing corn, and happily being socially awkward freaks for the rest of our lives. Unfortunately, we’ve all been forced to grow up and make lives. I love my job more than any working schmo should, but I would trade a lot to be a socially awkward corn harvester.

The list of lessons, blessings, delights, and obsessions I have collected from Europe is nearly inexhaustible, and there are several journals devoted to them. There is one skill, however, that I adore over and over: the ability to pack everything I might need and more for a weekend or a week in the space of a backpack. To stroll into the airport, swipe my credit card, get my ticket, and saunter onto the plane is the most empowered and unencumbered feeling. I am tied down by no checked bag or lost luggage counter.

I am ease and low-maintenance and spontaneity in one. I am boarded. I am excited.

Wasting Time Before Bed

Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
For each question, press the next button to get your answer.

Many of these are lame. I’ve asterisk..ed my favorites.

IF SOMEONE SAYS ‘ARE YOU OKAY’ YOU SAY?
The Christmas Song (Rosemary Clooney)

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Jack Hinks (Great Big Sea)

*WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Far More (The Honorary Title) (Touche)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Piano Song (Meiko)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Pony (Erin McCarley)

WHAT’S YOUR MOTTO?
Jingle Bells (Billy Vaughn)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Up the Spout (Mateo Messina)

*WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
World Spins Madly On (The Weepies)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Wildwood Flower (Reese Witherspoon)

WHAT IS 2 + 2?
Someday I’ll Fly Away (Nicole Kidman)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Tell Me What It Takes (Lucero)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Two Pina Coladas

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Only Fooling Myself (Kate Voegele)

*WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Hard to Find (The American Analogue Set)

*WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Move Away (The Killers)

*WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Still Fighting It (Ben Folds)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST??
Refiner’s Fire

*WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
Cocaine Habit (OCMS)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Can You See His Blood (The Firemen)

*WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?
Vienna (The Fray) (True)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Bad (Cowboy Mouth)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Walkin’ After Midnight (Patsy Kline)…more like walkin after 10:00, but I have a schedule to which to stick…

A Transparent Transition of Power

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about…stuff. There’s a lot bouncing around in my head on several different, yet related topics: independence, community, God as Father, motives, emotions and the demonstration or suppression of them, being open to being loved (by God and people), to name a few.

I very pointedly feel that God is trying to lead me into a direction of concluding…something. I think that something has a lot to do with the fact that I am EXTREMELY emotionally guarded. For as long as I can remember I’ve been this way, even down to the little things. I always felt like I had to react to every present I received with the same level of excitement so as to not hurt anyone’s feelings. Ever since the time in 3rd grade when I told Erin Tennant that I had a crush on Todd Taylor and she told the whole class, I never wanted anyone to know if I were attracted to someone for fear that word might get out. I think my biggest fear in that was that people might see me and assume emotions onto me, feel sorry for me, or something. I do nearly all of my important communicating via the written word because I consider myself completely unable to balance subjects that cut into my emotinoal interior with verbal expression. Nearly everything that’s happened in my life has been affected by and contributed to this guardedness. At some point I read Proverbs 4:23, “Above all else guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life”, and ran with it, using that verse as free reign to add layer upon layer of protective emotional neoprene.

This emotional detachment has led me to become more independent than I ever intended or thought myself capable of being. I always assumed that, as the baby of the family, I was overly dependent. One day I looked at my life and realized that I make a special point not to need or have to ask for anything. Obviously this doesn’t always work, but to a degree… When I was young I just didn’t like to ask for things and inconvenience people. I still don’t ask people for things when I can avoid it, but I’m pretty sure the reasoning goes deeper than that to a stubborn need to feel capable enough to handle it on my own. As an introvert, the independence also comes naturally-if I don’t need anyone, I don’t need to break out of the introversion unless I want to.

Sometime in my teen years, I read the blessing and the curse to my generation: I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Josh Harris. Between that and the pain that I saw important people in my life suffer, I deduced that I would be better off just being happy by myself than opening myself up to being broken. Without necessarily meaning to, I became very insistent upon being whole, happy, and fulfilled by myself.

To be honest, I feel like I have cheated even the people closest to me out of the most elemental aspects of relationship. I may be occasionally marginally open and vulnerable, but there are very few people I’ve let close enough to potentially hurt me. Even with those that I let that close, I generally fail to invite anyone all the way in. When pain threatens, I immediately do everything I can to make it seem as if I am completely unaffected.

Not that I’m NOT any of these things anymore, but I’ve started to think about them. I think it’s kind’ve unfair to be so secretive about my emotions. Whether the emotions are positive or negative, the other people involved have a right to know how they affect the world around them. I, in general, tend to feel things very deeply and become deeply attached to the few people I let close to me. I’m sure that’s hard to realize, however, because I don’t really express it. It also keeps me from forming new relationships, thinking I am sufficient on my own. This, however, is contrary to the nature of God, who lives in community and created us to live in community.

Above all of this, I think this independence deprives God of the Fatherhood that He desires. At church last Wednesday, the speaker listed a series of characteristics of those who have an “orphaned spirit” (in relation to the “father heart of God”). They included: lack of belonging and direction, guarded hearts, independence and self-reliance, distrust of authority, need for control, need to prove rightness, inability to have lasting relationships, relationships with a whole level of woundedness and distrust, fear of commitment, reliance on technology for communication to remove engaging humanity, difficulty embracing something we didn’t have to earn, drive to succeed and prove oneself, perfectionism, and an inability to receive love and acceptance. It is uncanny how well that describes me.

Independence is essentially the opposite of being still & letting God fight for me, of letting God’s strength be derived in my weakness. That’s difficult when all I’m focused on is being strong. This search for strength leads to me deriving my worth and self-esteem from the things about myself of which I’m proud. It leads inevitably to comparing myself to those around me, which leads to comparison and judgment, either of myself or someone else. Inversely, it leads to deriving disappointment from the places where I don’t live up to what I expect of myself. If I were to let God be the strength, then I wouldn’t need to judge myself or anyone else. On some level I think this is next to impossible, but this is where motives come in. I’ve been wondering about motives a lot lately-are they ever truly good at their heart. For instance: do I want to be a teacher because I love English or because I want to impact people or because I want to be immortalized through the success of others? At the core, do I just want people to come back and be grateful or remember what I taught them? Because if so, that’s an awful motivation. But if my worth comes from the fact that I’m loved, none of that matters. If I were to boil it down, I’d love to be able to say that my only motivation for wanting to teach is a desire for others to be able to gain understanding and find a way to be successful. But the only way I can truly say that is by giving up my need for other people’s opinions of me to determine what I do. Then and only then can I desire to help only for the sake of helping, love only for the sake of loving, give only for the sake of giving. That I desperately want.

This has seriously been coming at me from all angles lately. Written out, it seems simple and lovely, but this is an extremely difficult idea for me to put into practice. It means realigning everything that I am into a new way of seeing things and operating. At this point I’m just doing the best I can.

Psalm 18:35: “Your gentleness makes me great.”

Out of Love for Naomi

Because she tagged me. I think I have a real post coming pretty soon.

4 Things I did yesterday:

1. Taught Whitman, Hughes, Angelou, Ginsberg, and Hoagland all in the same class period
2. Stood in the cold for half an hour talking to another teacher and the set of twins in my classes (or “Squirrelly and Stressy” as I like to call them).
3. Drove to Concord to go to church
4. Had a quick coffee at Panera with Mike & Melissa

4 Things on my Wish List:

1.To start grad school

2. Tier 1

3. A little gnome to grade all of the grammar assignments I assign so that I can spend my time grading the weightier assignments, yet still grade for correctness on the grammar.

4. A trip to Vienna

4 Restaurants I like:
1. La Fogata (Wadesboro)

2. Oliverio’s (Home)

3. Cruz & Muir (Michigan)

4. Busstop Wurzelsepp (Neuwaldegg)

4 TV shows I like:

1. Arrested Development
2. The Office
3. House
4. The Soup

4 People I tag:

1. Heather
2. Rachel
3. Deborah
4. You

Dear George

This post is dedicated to my hair stylist, George.

His wonderfulness has swept the females in my family away. We all, willingly and in sound mind and body, have taken to driving an hour each way to Pennsylvania to pay more money than anywhere in the Fairmont area charges to get some George love.

Here are the reasons:

1) He literally makes you feel like the most important person in the world. My sister, my mom, and I get our hair cut there. My cousin has gone there with us twice. He remembers everything we talk about. I’ve often wondered if he takes notes. He remembers that the first time I went there, I was reading War and Peace. The first time I got my hair cut, he became literally vaclempt at the fact that my hair was too short. It was as if my hair was his hair…as if it mattered. He always has something to talk about, and its never the stupid stuff that hairstylists usually talk about. This time we came up with a genius business plan to lease out gay men to use their talents. (Call GayHarmony for inquiries.) He’s very concerned that I’m not dating anyone, and spent a large amount of time brainstorming places to meet people in small towns.When he talks to you, he randomly pauses to look you in the eye in the mirror and converse for a bit. I know it’s part of his job, but he does it very well. We all feel like he’s a part of our lives, if only just for one day every few months.

2) He gives an amazing blow and shampoo job (purposefully inverted). I would pay him to wash my hair every day. When he dries my hair, it is shiny and smooth and shaped and soft. Hair is never the same as when George dries it.

3) He’s really good at his job. I mean REALLY good. He’s a master stylist. He started as a shampoo boy at the resort and worked his way through cosmetology school up to…master. The haircut he gave me last time was supposed to be for growing out. He wanted my hair longer, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it cut until Thanksgiving or Christmas. The cut he gave me was short and layered, and it grew out better than any haircut I have ever had. I have never liked a haircut when it hit my shoulders until that one. This time he didn’t cut much at all, but it’s a completely different cut than the one with which I started.

4) He cusses randomly. Not out of context…but he just does. It’s hard to explain why this is so endearing, but it is. When the  guy cutting your hair randomly says, “So I said, ‘F^&* it, and just read the summary”, it is funny.

5) He is very, very attractive. Everything about him, from his face to his hair to his jeans to his conversational skills and eye contact are appealing. I make a special point to wear my contacts for the appointments so that I don’t have to take my glasses off and miss it.

On top of the love of George, the place we get our haircut is magical. It’s a resort with a special building full of antique airplanes, another with antique cars, a hummer adventure track, a ski hill, habitats for moose, mountain goats, lions, zebras, black bears, and other animals. lakes, golf courses, polo, horse trails, 3 very different hotels, and fancy fancy restaurants. It’s like fantasy land.

Reasons to Hate Wadesboro

#1: You cannot buy a rolling pin ANYWHERE. These people are supposed to be home-bred, fluffy biscuit-making folk! How the heck do they roll out their round little biscuits without a rolling pin?! You can buy cookie cutters at the Walmart, but if you have any desire to roll out dough to a nice, flat 1/8″ slab and cut seasonal shapes, you’re screwed.

Rant over.