As We Go On, We Remember...

As I watch little Jennie prepare herself for her upcoming graduation, I think back to a time when I was preparing for such an occasion myself. The week before graduation...when you are stressed out with finals and highly anticipating the day that you will be able to break free from the bonds of Clovis Unified. Days filled with tests and final essays, and trips to the learning director’s office where he informs you that you will most likely be suspended and unable to walk with your graduating class…or was that just me?
While I was not a “stellar” student in high school I was no trouble maker. That was until the day I decided to wear backless shoes to one of the last days of school. You heard right folks. BACKLESS. I know what’s going through your mind. What would induce such madness? Why would I trifle with something as seriously meaningless as the Clovis High dress code? I’ll tell you.
1. I was 17 years old and while I was no bad girl, I did, on occasion, like to push the envelope.
2. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it was the last day of my finals and I woke up 30 minutes late for school. I literally jumped out of bed, changed my clothes, threw a hat on and some—gasp—backless shoes, grabbed my keys and a pencil and ran out the door.
As I was jamming to the N building (funny how the details of this experience are still so vivid) pencil in hand, I heard the clip clopping of high heels behind me and an “Ummm, excuse me, young lady??” in a nasal, desperate attempt at an authoritative voice. I turned around and began walking backwards, facing, what I had not yet realized, was Satan-- in the form of a 5’2” bushy-haired,tacky pant-suit wearing woman.
“Where do you think you’re going,” she asked at a decibel level not of this world.
“I’m headed to my final, I’m a senior, and I’m so late, and I’ve gotta take this test…,” was my frantic, disjointed answer.
“Are you wearing BACKLESS shoes?,” she asked.
“ Oh…yeah…sorry. I’ll go home and change, as soon as my test is over…”
“No, you won’t. You’re going to turn right back around and go straight to the office to call your parents. You’re not going to class until you are wearing dress code appropriate shoes."
At this moment I had two options. I could stop where I was, do exactly as I was told and walk to the office, where I would have waited for probably a good two hours before I could finally get a hold of one of my insanely busy parents to ask them to pretty please bring me some shoes that they would have had to go all the way home for. Meanwhile, I would miss not one but both of my finals, and have to postpone the day I could finally say I was no longer a student at Clovis High School.
OR
I could continue on my way to class, take my finals, and change my shoes after I was done with my tests, which I had offered in the first place and felt was a perfectly reasonable negotiation.
I elected to go with the latter.
I picked up the pace a bit and yelled “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I’ve got finals that I can’t miss.”
I turned around and started running as fast as I could (which was hard to do in those all too hazardous backless shoes) toward my classroom. As I ran I heard Little Miss Pant-Suit yelling into her walkie-talkie, “We’ve got a Code 6! I need some help out here! We’ve got a student on the run!”
I turned the corner to the N building and into my classroom. I quickly apologized to Mr. Menendian (my most favorite teacher) for being late, grabbed a test off of his desk, and sat in the back of the class with my head down. My heart was totally racing. I was a fugitive. It was awesome.
I was just finishing my final when the phone rang in the classroom. I listened intently.
“Hello? Yes….Yes, she’s here….uh huh….uh huh…okay….I’ll let her know.”
I was then called up to the front of the class.
“Uhh…Webster, I’m told you need to report to your counselor’s office immediately. Though I should probably ask you to leave now, I’m going to let you finish your test before you go on your way…okay?”
I thanked him and sat back down. Caught. How did they find out my name?! How did they know where to find me?! And right before my second and LAST final. One more test and I could walk away from this place forever. The temptation was just too great.
I turned in my final to Mr. Menendian, and the bell rang for the next period. I scurried out the door and headed to my next class out in the P building. I took the long way, avoiding Learning Director offices and areas I knew were regularly “patrolled”. I could hear over the loud speaker, "Amanda Webster, please report to your counselor's office...Amanda Webster, please report to your counselor's office." I was aware of my surroundings but tried to focus only on the task at hand. I had to get to P-13. P-13 and I’m scott free.
I could see the prize in site. I power walked my way to the door of the bungalow, and just as I got to the door Mrs. Bennett was just getting off the phone. There I stood, like a deer in the headlights as she made her way over to me. It was as if it were all happening in slow motion.
“Amanda, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you come to class today,” she said. “I’m supposed to send you to your counselor’s office, with an escort, this very minute.”
There was no escape. An escort? What is this, Alcatraz? I need a guard now? An unnamed student suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the doorway and we were quickly on our way.
The unnamed escort said nothing to me on the long walk over. She looked like she could have been a prison guard. I asked her if she would consider such a profession after high school. She did not respond.
As the door swung open to the waiting area of my counselor’s office and I made my way inside, Mr. Counselor’s secretary snatched the walkie-talkie off of her desk and smugly reported to all those listening: “We’ve got her.”
Without a warning’s notice, my counselor came bounding out of his office yelling, YELLING at me. And at that point, I decided enough is enough. They wanted to get crazy? Well I can get crazy too.
I went on a verbal rampage. I informed him of how incredibly unprofessional I thought he was for yelling at me in front off all those in ear shot. It is absolutely ridiculous that I should be called out of class, OUT OF FINALS, all because I chose the wrong shoes that day. He, and pant-suit lady, and walkie-talkie secretary, were all the things that were wrong with the education system. You’re all more concerned with what’s on my feet than what I’m trying to accomplish with my mind. Toward the end all I remember saying over and over was, “WHY WON’T YOU LET ME LEARN?! WHY WON’T YOU LET ME GO TO SCHOOL?!”
There was a part of me that was laughing at myself and at how ridiculous it all was. But it felt so good to just let it all flow. Four years of pent up frustration. Four years of having to ask to go to the bathroom. Four years of needing a doctors note if I wanted to put asprin in my backpack. Four years of STAR testing and running in circles in a gymnasium dressed in mandatory and ridiculously over priced blue shorts and yellow t-shirts…Four years of the box. I needed to let it all out.
Mr. Counselor informed me that he had had enough and that I was to go to the RC (Responsibility Center—a room with no windows and one door. A room created specifically to remove students from a classroom, learning environment so they can sit and think about the sin that is wearing backless shoes). I told him I would first like to make a phone call to my parents. I was refused. I informed Mr. Counselor that even prisoners get one phone call before they are locked up, and that I was quite sure that Mr. Counselor could not deny me the right to call my parents if I said I wanted to call my parents. While I may be a subordinate of Clovis High School, I was still a citizen of the United States.
Nameless Escort Girl suddenly appeared again, and was instructed by Mr. Counselor to take me to the Responsibility Center right away.
I thought the first walk was bad. That was nothing. I began to plead with NEG on the way there.
“Listen, you gotta help me. This is crazy! I mean, you know this is crazy, right? You have to let me make a phone call!”
Silence.
At what I thought was my darkest hour, I saw it in the distance. Hope. In the form of a pay phone. I turned to my escort.
“Look, you can run back and tattle if you want, but I’m using this phone, and you can’t stop me!”
I ran to the phone and dialed my home number collect. By this time I was seriously praying that my mom was home. And by some miracle--honestly--she was there.
“MOOOOM!! THEY’RE TRYING TO STOP ME FROM GRADUATING! THEY WON’T LET ME LEARN! YOU’VE GOTTA GET DOWN HERE! THEY’RE SENDING ME TO THE RESPONSIBILITY CENTER!!”
Mom’s response was classic Janet ‘I’ll Make You Sorry If You Mess With My Kids’ Webster: “I’ll be right there.”
I then ran to the responsibility center, hoping I would beat my escort there. I signed in, sat down, and waited for freedom.
Ten minutes later my mom and Mr. Counselor appeared at the door. I was called out into the hallway for a chat.
Mr. Counselor informed mom that I was in complete defiance of this rule and that regulation. That I was disrespectful and disruptive to the learning process. And that he had every right to revoke any and all senior privileges, as well as the “honor” of walking with my senior class at graduation.
I began to protest, but was quickly silenced by my mother.
Cooly and camly, Mom told Counselor that she understood that I had done some things that day that had been out of line, and that she respected the rules and regulations that I needed to follow and that he needed to uphold. And that she would take me home, right that very moment, and have me change my shoes. But if he tied to take away any of my privileges, especially a graduation that I had worked very hard for, then he would have to deal with her.
Several times throughout my childhood I have witnessed grown men truly fear my 5’4” firecracker of a mom. This was one such occasion.
It was agreed that if I would change my shoes, and apologize for my “disruptive outburst” in his office, then all would be well and the world could keep on spinning.
I agreed.
As I watch Jennie up there on that stage in a couple of weeks, getting that diploma, leaving high school behind her, I am sure that I will shed a tear of gratitude for my little sister as I did for myself. Because while life is full of rules, regulations, and codes to live by, nothing compares to high school.

So I just went to The Cinnamon Roll Shop in Clovis to a.) get a cinnamon roll and b.) to get away from my obsessive compulsive, anal-retentive, micro-managing manager and who did I run into there? My daddy. It was a pleasant surprise. And it also made me very sad, because I thought to myself it will not be long before I will be living far away and the odds of running into my dad around town will be very, very slim.
Sometimes small towns are fun. Except when you run into people you went to high school with who you would have been more than fine with never running into again. But today it was dad. And I’m always happy to see him.

This is what late night television will do to you.

I don’t know what it is but I just can’t seem to get these damn Ronco knives out of my head. I want ‘em. Bad. And yet, I feel so foolish. I’ve never purchased anything demonstrated on an infomercial. But when I watch Mr. Ronco slice through that tomato like it’s nothing, I am completely mesmerized. If only I knew if they, indeed, are as good as they seem on TV.
After using crappy knives for going on 4 years now, I am more than ready to have some decent cutlery. It doesn’t seem like it would be that big of a deal. But truly, it is taking its toll. I can’t sleep at night. I feel like there is something missing in my life.
Okay, maybe not. But it would be nice to have good knives.
So here’s the question—can I justify three easy payments of $13.33 for what appear to be wonder knives? If I buy now I can get 8 additional steak knives!! While we rarely have company, and I don’t usually cook, let alone cook steak, perhaps 8 steak knives would be just the motivation I need to launch my budding steak cooking career!
So what do you think? Is Mr. Ronco a trustworthy fellow? If that is his real name...Maybe his first name is Ron??!
I just don’t know.

Thoughts for Today...

This past weekend I revisited the San Diego temple. The last time I was there was about 14 years ago when my family and I went for the open house. While I'm sure the special place I keep for this particular temple is partly due to the fact that it is one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen, it was more that this was the place I first asked myself some serious questions.
I can remember holding Mary's hand and walking through a mass of protestors as they carried signs and carried on about those crazy mormons... I didn't really understand what they were so mad about. I still don't. But I can recall asking myself what I was a part of, and if it was really important. And then I walked into the temple. I decided that day that temples were a good thing.
I would have loved to have been married in the San Diego temple. But alas, due to locale and family, it was not to be. The Fresno temple is a beautiful temple and holds many tender memories for me. I was happy to be married in any temple. But when I went back to San Diego this past week, I had a flood of feelings and memories and decided to just sit there with my camera and bask in it.
I've heard people criticize the church for the elaborateness of the San Diego temple, but I think it is everything that it ought to be. It is fine and unique and a thing to behold. It is a beautiful tribute.

Almost 1 Already!!

I was thinking about my cute nephew today and I can't believe how big he's gotten. He can stand now, is starting to take a few steps, and says "da" for dog. How time flies...
(Insert lyrics to "Sunrise, Sunset" here.)

I Miss You Guys...

It's not a trip to Disneyland unless someone puts on a hat and glasses and takes sexy pictures.

Leanne and Me at Ghiradelli--before her serenade of "Return to Sender"--complete with hand gestures describing the lyrics.

In true Webster fashion--The park closes at 12am. It's 11:54pm. We're in line for one last ride on Thunder Mountain Railroad. Nevermind that Leanne and Mary are already half asleep.

One of my Favorites. :)

Did anybody ever get copies of these??

Feels like it's been forever since I've seen you...I love you all!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Happy Birthday to my favorite boy. He’s 25 on the 25th today!! That is a once in a lifetime.

Awkward...

So yesterday I am sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when a business associate comes in. He is relatively new to the company, and I don't know him every well. Despite these two things, he always seems to talk to me as though we have grown up the best of friends. Usually when he comes in the door he stops at the front of my desk, gives me this huge grin and says, "Heeeeeeeey, Amandaaaaaa! How are yooooooou?"
He could have seen me the day before. Hours before. Minutes. It doesn't matter. He greets me as though it has been ages.
So yesterday, he comes in, we do the mandatory "It's so nice to see you" greeting, and he goes into a meeting. After the meeting he comes out and to the front of my desk again to say goodbye. Only this time---he changes it up. It's not just the creepy grin and the "have a fabulous day." This time he holds out his left hand. I was so flustered, and the fact that he held out his hand with the palm facing down, I was completely confused as to what I should do to reciprocate. Without thinking, I grabbed his left hand with my left hand.
So there we were. Me reaching over my computer. Basically holding this guy's hand. We looked at each other for a moment, no words, spoken, before I quickly let go and began typing furiously on my keyboard. He mumbled an "I guess I'll see ya later..." and I nodded my head so quickly I'm sure it looked as though I was convulsing and squeaked a pathetic "okay."
Why do things like this always happen to me?!
This is just one of the many reasons why I do not like touching strangers!!

It's That Time Again...

See how happy these two are to move? What's wrong with them?

I don't know that I will ever be happy to move. Moving in to a new house--yes. But the actual moving process--no. And I would probably never wear the huge glasses that woman is wearing, either. But that’s beside the point.
I am so excited to get to Portland, but SO not excited to pack. And really not all that excited about having to live out of a suitcase at my mother-in-law’s for the next 3 or 4 weeks either. But that is beside the point as well…
We have to be out of our house the first weekend in May, so Saturday I thought I was really going to buckle down and get serious about packing. I got as far as taping the bottom of two boxes before I decided it was a much better idea to go eat Easter candy and watch a movie. I haaaate packiiing!!
This really just confirms the genius behind my investment plan. I’ve always said it would be a much better idea to invest in a really decked out RV (maybe even a bus) and a nice boat. That way, we can travel, and we never have to worry about packing when we move! I am still having a hard time convincing McKay, but I think this idea has serious merit.
On a brighter note, we found a very cute apartment in Beaverton (just outside of Portland). It has a fireplace! And a full size washer and dryer! Yeehaw! I know I will be very happy when we get there and all the boxes are unpacked and the world is right again. I’ll just have to keep my eye on the prize over these next few weeks.
Whose idea was it to move 6 times in 3 years anyway? Sadly, I’m pretty sure it was always mine…

Fun Facts About Chuck Norris

This really made me laugh, and I wanted to share. Enjoy!


• When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night, he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
• There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Chuck Norris has allowed to live.
• Outer space exists because it's afraid to be on the same planet with Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
• Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
• Chuck Norris is the reason why Waldo is hiding.
• Chuck Norris counted to infinity - twice.
• There is no chin behind Chuck Norris’ beard. There is only another fist.
• When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn’t lifting himself up, he’s pushing the Earth down.
• Chuck Norris doesn’t wear a watch, HE decides what time it is.
• Chuck Norris does not get frostbite. Chuck Norris bites frost
• Contrary to popular belief, America is not a democracy, it is a Chucktatorship.
• Chuck Norris drives an ice cream truck covered in human skulls.
• When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack. Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes, ever.
• Chuck Norris invented Kentucky Fried Chicken's famous secret recipe, with eleven herbs and spices. But nobody ever mentions the twelfth ingredient: Fear.
• A Handicapped parking sign does not signify that this spot is for handicapped people. It is actually in fact a warning, that the spot belongs to Chuck Norris and that you will be handicapped if you park there.
• If you spell Chuck Norris in Scrabble, you win. Forever.
• Fool me once, shame on you. Fool Chuck Norris once and he will roundhouse you in the face.
• Chuck Norris has two speeds: Walk and Kill.
• Time waits for no man. Unless that man is Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris doesn't shower, he only takes blood baths.
• In an average living room there are 1,242 objects Chuck Norris could use to kill you, including the room itself.

Happy Easter!

Children's Books You'll Never See

• You Are Different and That's Bad
• Pop! Goes The Hamster....And Other Great Microwave Games
• The Boy Who Died from Eating All His Vegetables
• Start a Real-Estate Empire With the Change From Your Mom's Purse
• Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will
• How to Become The Dominant Military Power In Your Elementary School
• Controlling the Playground: Respect through Fear
• Strangers Have the Best Candy
• The Little Sissy Who Snitched
• Some Kittens Can Fly!
• The Attention Deficit Disorder Association's Book of Wild Animals of North Amer- Hey! Let's Go Ride Our Bikes!
• The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking
• The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator
• Whining, Kicking and Crying to Get Your Way
• Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things
• Eggs, Toilet Paper and Your School
• Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

What European City Do You Belong In?

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions. You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

What European City Do You Belong In?

Complex Complexities

Why is it that no matter where we go, McKay and I always find the noisiest apartment neighbors known to man. Perhaps there is some sort of noise level requirement for apartments that I am unaware of. Maybe a coded section of the lease agreement…I don’t know.
Whether it’s the chain smoker, the dysfunctional couple, the late night electric guitarist, the drama queen who brings her boyfriend/roommate/parent/sibling/friend out onto the front porch to let the drama flow for all to hear--whatever it is, we’ve met them all.
The other night I was working on a paper while McKay was in bed. Out of nowhere our neighbors started fighting and cursing SO loudly, I could hear them as if we were in the same room. Apparently McKay could as well, because we met up in the hallway, the same perplexed expression on both our faces. How do we always seem to find these people? Is it just us, or does everyone have this experience?
While I do appreciate the bonuses of living in an apartment (maintenance man on hand, less space to clean, yard maintenance etc.) there are definite moments where oh how I dream of a real house.
To nap without hearing the children at the jungle gym below. To have a backyard Sammy can run and play in. To open my windows without being assaulted by the fumes of cigarette smoke. To be a safe distance from neighbors when their dysfunction rears its ugly head…it's a lovely dream.

Favorites...

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Save the Dang Rainforest!

This morning I was listening to news radio where a man was being interviewed because he was fighting against having solar powered windmills put in down the road from his home in Montana or somewhere. He said that the windmills would block his view of the mountains. Well, heaven forbid. Never mind that the planet is dying and that there are a select few who reside on this planet who are trying to slow that painful death. I watched a TV show this weekend where this Australian guy traveled half way across the country on a motorcycle that was powered entirely by natural gas. It was actually quite genius. It was a concoction of all natural resources and it worked like a charm. He was even able to run a Hummer Limousine on all natural resources and I wondered—why have I never even heard of this before?? And why is this program running on a Saturday evening on a station that only people like me who don't have cable watch because they don't have any other stations?? Why is it not on prime time informing thousands, millions, of the possibility of the alternatives to fossil fuels??
Then there was the fruitless search for recycle bins I tried to acquire for the office I work in. We go through so much paper every single day, and most of it winds up in the dumpster, along with several other recyclable materials that are justified as trash due to the fact that there are no bins in our office. So I called the county, who told me to call the city, who told me to call an independent recycling company, who told me to call another independent recycling company, who told me I’d have to pay $40 a month to just have them pick the stuff up. After informing my supervisor of this, it was decided that $40 a month is too large of a price to pay. And so…nothing has changed.
And then there’s Michael the gorilla. I watched a PBS special last night about Michael the gorilla who was taken from his native home to a zoo when he was very young because his parents had been killed by poachers. Eventually Michael was adopted by the same people who cared for KoKo, and he learned how to communicate through painting and sign language as KoKo did. During this special last night, one of Michael’s caregivers asked him, in sign language, what happened to his mother. And he described, IN DETAIL, her gruesome death and his captivity. It was the most amazing and saddening thing I had ever seen. And it made me wonder---what is the matter with people?? Why do we hurt each other and animals and the environment? Why are we so dang selfish?
I always wonder why the stewardship that man has over the earth and its inhabitants is taken so lightly by some. By many! Such a sacred blessing that people take for granted. I’m not saying I am perfect, but how I wish we all would try harder.
I get a lot of crap for encouraging people to write to their senators about oil drilling in the Artic Refuge and signing petitions against high intensity sonar testing in the world’s oceans. Perhaps it sounds fanatical to some. But I’ll risk becoming a bit fanatical. At least I can go to my grave with a clearer conscience. And I will not feel any shame in inviting Michael the gorilla to my dinner in heaven.

Check out our Trip to Seattle!!

We had SUCH a good time bumming around, listening to crazy street musicians, checking out the scenery, dodging flying fish at the fish market, paying way to much $ to go to the top of the Space Needle... And I had the best crepe I've ever had in my life. Crepes make life worth living.
So come visit me when I move and we'll got to Seattle, okay everyone?

Valentine's Day Surprise

McKay is the best Valentine ever.

Today he sent me the Golden Note Quartet (4 adorable elderly gentlemen dressed in tuxedos and red vests) to sing "I Love You Truly" and deliver a flower.

First: I love sweet, old guys
Second: McKay really thought this one out and planned way in advance
Third: Who doesn't want to be sung to by sweet, old guys?

I know it's cheesey and sickening, but I just feel SO special today. And I really love my husband. Not just because he sent me cute old men--but because he makes me so happy every day.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE!!

I Heart Mark Ruffalo

I admire, from afar, in a very platonic way, Mark Ruffalo and all the cute little movies he's in. I love this movie. So cute! And SO funny! I really liked it, and yesterday I bought it at Target because it was on sale. This lady tried to run me down with her shopping cart so she could get one of the last 2 copies (hello? What is wrong with people?) but I got my copy.
I find it very refreshing to see a very real male character in movies...to admire, like I said, completely platonically. :)
I get so bored with the ego-maniac "save the day", muscles and brawny-type that are all over the movie screen these days. Perhaps Hollywood is somewhat beginning to understand that not all girls want a greased up gun-toting, muscle car driving womanizer. Some of us are more apt to look toward the slightly nerdy, somewhat flawed, eccentric and shy, witty and pensive type.
So here's to Mark Ruffalo, the lead singer of Weezer, the guy who played Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, and all those other guys who don't fit the "hunk" mold, but who I would deem totally hunky.

Leeeeaaavin' on a Jet Plaaaane

Actually, a U-Haul.

WE'RE MOVING!! I'm excited and happy and scared and sad and sleepy and stressed and curious and ready to start the next chapter of our little life.

McKay and I will be moving to Portland, Oregon hopefully by the end of March and we are SO excited. He was accepted to the Art Institute of Portland to study to become a visual effects and motion graphics artist. Translation: a special effects guy. I was driving to work today thinking about being married to a special effects guy. Totally cool? Yes, I think so!

I am thinking that Oregon will be a really good place for us. Whenever we tell people we're moving to Oregon they tell us we look like we'd live there. What does that mean? I dont know, but I am taking it as a compliment.
We told a guy in our ward we were moving to Portland and he said, "Ugh, they're weird over there. They're crazy about recycling and no guns, totally liberal..." then, looking at me said, "Actually, you'll love it there."
HA!
We're leaving at the end of the month to find a place to live and go to a few job interviews. I'm excited, you guys. Think of all of the interesting things I'll have to blog about!!