Ding dong!

I’m amazed that my blog gets as many hits as it does everyday.

What surprises me even more, is how people find my site.

People are googling:

singing telegram for teacher

spongebob squarepants singing telegram

where to order a singing telegram

singing telegram seattle

door to door singing telegram

(among other oddball queries…)

So, here’s the thing:

Are there really that many people out there who want to order a singing telegram?

Before we got married, Kevin delivered flowers for an upscale flower shop in Highland Park, Texas.  Some days, he was there while people celebrated new babies, other days he delivered to grieving widows and funeral homes.  Most days, though, he delivered to large estates with security gates and dogs, and passed the flowers off to the staff– who didn’t see this encounter as being anything remarkable– but rather a small inconvenience as they attempted to relocate the parrot tulips and lotus flowers from the week prior.

Kevin loved this job.  One day, he delivered a small bouquet to a large family in an Hispanic neighborhood.  The woman was incredulous– and kept saying, “Are you sure you have the right house?  Who would send us flowers?” And was reluctant to take them only because she really could not believe someone had sent them flowers.

Those were the days he enjoyed the most.

When I was in college, I had a part-time job as a hostess/singer for Macaroni Grill.  One evening, there was a wedding party in the back room, and they requested a singer.  I happily obliged, and sang my heart out for the newly-weds.  I received a nice tip and wandered off to fix my hair in the bathroom.  The bride followed me in, hugged me, and cried.  She expressed such gratitude– I didn’t know how to handle someone gushing at me this way.  I was humbled that she was so touched.  She had no idea that the Italian aria I sang was a woman mourning for her dying love.

I wonder, all these strangers coming to visit my site– why are you looking for singing telegrams?  Who are you people?  Are you wanting to cheer up a shut-in?  Are you hoping for a stripper? Are you looking for someone to surprise your Darling-Dear on a special occasion?

I guess I just get tickled when I think about all the random connections I’ve made with strangers here.

If you’re here by accident, and looking for a singing telegram, I’d be happy to help you out if you live in the KC Metro area.  I can bring my bagpipes as well, and wear my son’s super cool fly glasses and– for a small extra fee– I will tap dance badly.

Would it make you smile?  Or would you be the one to slam the door?

Small rewards

There is a large population of special needs students at my school.  There is a blind sophomore that spends much of his day in a renovated cubicle in the library, there are enough deaf students to have two interpreters permanently on staff, and dozens of other kids with various forms of autism, Down Syndrome, and I-have-no-idea-what-else.

Some of the best conversations I’ve had at my new job have been with these kids.  They walk into the library and are so happy to see me.  They wave, smile, and sometimes ask me questions.  They are beautiful, remarkable people that make my life even fuller.

Today, we had a para-educator come in with a strange request that still has me smiling.

Her student finished his third math textbook, and as a reward, she said she would ask and see if he could push the button that lowered the overhead projector screen in the library.  He came in, cut a direct path to the button on the wall, and pushed it.

The screen came down and stopped.

He walked over to it, and walked around it a couple of times.  There was a look of deep satisfaction on his face.

He went back over to the button.  He pushed it again, and the screen went back up into the ceiling; all the while, he’s carefully studying it.

He pushed the button one more time (since we needed the screen down for the next class that came in) and asked the librarian what her name was.  He then gave her a high five.

On his way out, he asked me what my name was. I told him, and he greeted me with as much joy as though he were seeing a long lost friend.

They told us that he normally works for food rewards, but they’ve decided to opt for something else.

The magic overhead screen button seemed to do the trick.  He literally skipped out of the library.

He’s not my child, but I love him anyway.

Enlisted vs. Officer

I’ve been at my new job now for about three weeks.  I’m starting to get the hang of things– and everyday, I learn a bit more about my team mates.  They are both incredible people and I enjoy our conversations a lot.

There is one thing I have noticed, however, that strikes me as odd.

My position is classified (meaning not full time/no benefit packages). The others that I work with are certified (meaning full time, degreed professionals.)

I have a bachelor’s degree, and am half-way through my master’s degree.  I am grossly over-qualified for the position I am in, and I think my colleagues are delighted to have a person of intellect to work with.

Here is what I have noticed:

Most teachers won’t talk with me, or even look at me.  Because I am a library assistant, I must not be educated, enlightened, or wear the right shoes.  One teacher in particular, wanders through my work space probably six times a day, everyday, and has YET to acknowledge I am here.  In fact, one day when her students were working in the library, she came into my office, sat down at my desk and started using my computer.  I had my email open, Pandora.com streaming, and a hot cup of tea there…

I was dumbfounded to say the least.

I had to leave the work room because I couldn’t believe that she was in my space, and using my computer– while I was standing right there, and she STILL didn’t acknowledge my presence.

I later found out that she is “special” and has some kind of educational grant– so she looks down her nose at pretty much everyone else in the building.  Good to know.

The next day, I planted some personal items on my desk that made it even more obvious that I WORK HERE NOW: such as tampons, a hair brush, a bowl of fruit, a water bottle, and a jar of chocolates.  She hasn’t bothered me again.

I think it’s strange that classified and certified people don’t mix.  It’s almost like military life, sans the calisthenics and name calling.  Classified folks are like the enlisted– the people who do the grunt work, receive terrible pay, and get the job done.  Certified people are more like officers in a sense– they’ve been to college, they have a highly specialized subject area, and while they don’t get paid very well, they are offered health benefits, KPERS, mutual fund/stock options, and bring in enough money to make a decent living. There is no way I could live off of the wage I make without Kevin’s paycheck.

I used to be a teacher.

I know how hard it is to be a teacher.

I know what it’s like to put your heart into your job everyday and take it home with you at the end of the day, and feel unappreciated by administration and parents.

But when I was a teacher, some of my closest friends were the classified staff.  Everyday after school, I used to chat with Maria about her day.  I spent lots of time chatting with the school nurse, and the ISS teacher was one of my favorite people in the building.  I was nice to everyone, regardless of their pay status.

I see that it’s very different here.

I don’t plan to be BFF’s with everyone that wanders through my work area, but I make a point to be cordial to everyone that will at least make eye contact with me.

And regardless of my educational background, I am here.

I am here.

I AM HERE!

Pica sucks.

Normally I like to blog with the laptop in my bed.  We have a Mac– which I highly prefer to our slow, 9 year old PC.

Last week, I had the flu, so the laptop and I were bedmates… in fact, the laptop slept right next to me in bed and Kevin slept on the futon.

We’ve had the Mac for a little over a year, and of all the computers I’ve had, this is the only one I feel like I have a relationship with.  I love my Mac.

I don’t know if having the computer in bed with the cord was the temptation, or if it was just out of curiosity, but…

We have this idiot cat who decided to chew through the power adapter.  I told Kevin about it, and we both agreed that we hoped Sully got a big shock.  He’s eaten plenty of earbud wires, and most recently, the Wii wire– but this is by far the largest cord he’s chewed through.  (Our cat has a condition called Pica, and given the choice, he’d rather eat non-food items than his Meow Mix.  Mostly it’s plastic bags or wool socks, but every once in a while, he’ll eat through a wire.  I know this is dangerous, but we really try to be diligent about not leaving temptation laying around.)

Because of the location of the break in the wire, Kevin can’t splice it back together.  So he started looking online for a replacement.

Anyone want to wager a guess– how much you think a new Apple 85W portable power adapter costs?

Anyone?

IT IS MORE THAN WE PAID FOR THE CAT.

If you would like to contribute to the Roper Apple Fund, you can send tax deductable charitable donations to us via the USPS, FedEx, or UPS– or for your convenience, I have a Paypal account.  We’re not picky.

Fracking cat.

Jingle, jingle!

Someone recently asked me where I came up with the title of my blog, “I am your singing telegram”.

It came from a favorite movie… if you can guess what it is, you will officially be added to my list of superior human beings.

Being a musician, I find myself singing jingles in my sleep.

Know this one?

Call three two one two two seven seven… Anyyy time, night or daaaaaaay!

How about this one? (Think The Lone Ranger theme)

Six four eight eight eight eight eight

Six four eight eight eight eight eight

Six four eight eight eight eight eeeeeeight… for Pizza Hut delivery!

If you are a child of the seventies, I bet you can finish this jingle:

Oh I wish I were an _ _ _ _ _   _ _ _ _ _ wiener, that is what I’d really love to be!

Or this:

Oh I am stuck on _ _ _ _ – _ _ _ _, cause _ _ _ _ – _ _ _ _ stuck on me!

One that stays with me that I find creeps into my subconscious when I’m stressed out is a horrible little rap thing from a Ford dealership (from the 80’s):

Buy your new car

from Ernie Frey Ford

Buy your new car

from Ernie Frey Ford

Buy your new car

from Ernie Frey Ford

Buy your new car

from Ernie Frey Ford

Buy your new car

from Ernie Frey Ford
Original, right?  I’m not exactly their ideal customer because I think American cars are crap… but the jingle stuck.  Advertising bastards.

My favorite jingle of all so far:

Shoooooow Biz Pizza…

Where a kid can be a kid!

When I was still in high school, I’d walk around at home whistling random excerpts of Broadway musicals, commercials, and Carrots Grow From Carrot Trees.

I remember many times my brother would wind up whistling the same thing and bark, “Dammit!”

Heh heh.

Nothing annoys a little brother more than a looping rendition of  It’s a smaaall world after alll!

Just try it– it’s like a virus.  Once you start humming/whistling/singing around another like-minded person, it’s catching.

Day one: hallway love

I’m recuperating from the flu.

Ack.

I’ve spent three days wearing a rut into the carpet between my bed and the toilet, and well… I have a really sore ass.

I started my new job on Wednesday as a library media assistant at a high school. It will be a very low key, no pressure job. In fact, I will probably be looking for things to keep myself busy when we’re between classes.

I feel terrible, because the second day on the job, I opened the place up in the morning, did the newspapers just like I was instructed, turned on the computer and opened up the circulation desk– and two hours into it, I’d been to the bathroom FIVE TIMES. My new teammate looked at me and said, “You look pretty bad!” So I went home and have pretty much been malfunctioning since then. I am starting to feel a little better, although after a short nap today, I seem to have also gotten Jake’s croupy cough. I’m not shaking my fists at the heavens yet… but there is much cursing around here. (Poor Kevin.)

So the original idea for this post is not necessarily to share with you the goings on of my lower and upper intestines, but to share a little bit about my first day.

I got to work exactly on time when they told me to be there, and the gal who was supposed to help with my orientation was no where to be found. A very nice, but frantic woman says, “Oh, hey! Are you busy right now??” I said I was available to help where ever they needed me (and I was praying it wasn’t something like breakfast or bus duty.) She hustled me through the commons area and told me that today is the first day the kids are back after Christmas break, and they needed schedules. So she pointed to the “S” line (already long and winding) and said, “Here ya go!”

I met so many sleepy, bleary-eyed teenagers that morning, and I was pleasantly surprised how nice they were. I thought about my dad while I was passing out their schedules, and wondered what wit he would have bombarded them with so early in the day… Some of them were texting, or chatting on cell phones, some of them were flailing themselves at friends they’d missed over the break, and a few were peeking through greasy bangs with hands stuffed deep into pockets looking like they were bracing themselves for another day of hell on earth.

I wondered which of these kids personified me as a 16 year old. My freshman year was pretty awful– I didn’t know anyone (except my dad who taught industrial tech in the basement) and I made the mistake of trying to be fashion forward (because this went over so well when I was a seventh grader.) I remember being ridiculed the entire first semester by someone that turned out to be a pretty good friend by the time we were seniors– but he was a real dick to me and another classmate of mine. I understood the pecking order from day one– and I was different, so it was easy to single me out.

So anyway, back to present day reality…

After getting a brief tutorial on the circulation desk, a bubbly, blond young woman came in to check something out. She was very chatty with the librarian, and it was neat to see that he had a real rapport with the students that gave a darn about the library. He put a couple of books on reserve for her, and she decided to check out a book that was the first in a series I’m unfamiliar with. Looked good to me. But anyway, the librarian says, “You wanna check this out to her?”

I am so excited. I skip (not really) behind the counter, and start going through the motions. I am making friendly conversation with her while I am scanning the book and stamping it– and I’m blathering on and on about how excited I am that she’s my first patron….

When I look up at her…

And she’s looking at me like I just dropped off the poop truck.

It was then that I realized, I can’t use my fourth grade teacher voice here– or I’m going to get eaten alive.

So I reset my attitude.

I reigned in my bravado a bit, and settled in. I got the feel for it after a while, and quickly learned which kids will enjoy conversation and which kids will throw a book at me. I got better as the day went on.

The library is situated between two hallways that converge by the restrooms, and appears to be a social hub. I was alphabetizing books on the cart to be put away, when I looked up and out the window were two kids, standing precariously close to one other (boy and girl) and they both had that goofy look… I couldn’t tear my eyes away (it was like watching a train wreck) and they went in for a clumsy, passionate suck-face.

It was AWESOME.

I remembered how my dad used to bug his students about this– he’s tap them on the shoulder and say, “Do you two know each other?”

I hope I get to know the students well enough to use this line on them. Because in one day, I saw several amorous displays of affection (again, like I said… trainwreck… but entertaining.)

Then, later in the day, I had to run a package to the office. Right after I left the library, the passing bell rang, and I was engulfed with big, bouncing teenagers. And apparently, I was swimming upstream. I’m a short person, so I tried walking with my hands on my hips to make myself bigger, but I still got clobbered with a couple of backpacks. (I made a mental note: run errands when they are IN class.) When I got to the commons area, I observed a rare social phenomenon. I had to remind myself– yes, it was passing period, but no one was passing. In fact, they were all standing around in tight clumps, so making my way to the office on the other side was next to impossible. (I remembered the passing periods at Northwest– seems like when the halls were the most crowded, someone would throw a stinkbomb.) I made my way to the wall and skirted around most of the big, loudness of teenagers. The noise in that place is incredible– I couldn’t remember– was I this loud? And big? They all seemed so self confident when surrounded by “their own”. There was much hair flippage, bag shifting, more awkward hugging, and shrieking. This is evidently their happy place. I was kind of exciting to be in the thick of it. I’m sure behaviorists have studied this, but it’s fascinating to me. I’m taking notes.

So I made it to the office and back without incident, and I started wondering when I was going to be eating lunch. I asked the librarian, and he told me I was welcome to take the first lunch. He also told me that teachers sat with teachers, and classified people sat with classified people. (I’m a certified teacher, but working in a classified position. Where would you sit if you were me?) The lounge was strangely like the commons area at passing time– segregated into clumps of like-ness. I sat with the classified people– unfortunately, though, I had my back to the rest of the room so I couldn’t even make eye contact with the other teachers. I had 30 minutes to eat, and I was done in about 8. I went back to the library and decided that I might be happier sitting at my little desk with a good book to read. So next week, when I’m finally well and back at work, I shall enjoy my lunch in blissful solitude.

I am really looking forward to spending time getting to know my fellow librarians (both of whom are outstandingly sharp, and have been very helpful) and working with the students. I love browsing the book stacks and finding a stowaway on the wrong shelf. I love repairing and recovering overly used and loved books, and I can’t wait to start building a library website.

It feels good to be among the living again. And honestly, I don’t think ANYONE is more alive than a 16 year old kid.

Stay tuned for more anecdotes from school. I can tell it’s going to be a wild ride.

Making amends

I recently had a conversation with someone I love very much about the source of my depression.

My advice to anyone having trouble getting through the day:

If someone let you down, stewing about it and sulking around in silence won’t fix the problem, and it won’t change what happened. Confrontation can be a very healthy thing– as I learned this week. Why is it that we are able to give a total stranger flak for cutting in line when we can’t form the speech to salve a deep wound with a loved one?

I can stop blogging in silence. Finally.

The things we carry around in the dark only make us sicker. Turning over the rock and exposing the worms might get ugly– but you have to start somewhere.

To quote my wise friend:

People don’t wake up in the morning and say, “How can I fuck up Becky’s day today?” Rather, they make decisions based on what they feel is in their own best interest. People do the best they can. It doesn’t excuse bad behavior, but it helps me to lower the bar of expectation. If you expect nothing, you’re less liable to be disappointed.

People do the best they can.

So you can say goodbye to the spectacular bitch that blogs here, and look forward to upcoming posts filled with hope and humor.

It feels great to have shrugged off the anger and disappointment I’ve been suffocating under for the last six months.

Life goes on. The music is still there, I just don’t have backstage passes anymore.

Well said, Shamansun

http://shamansun.com/2008/12/30/atheism-can-be-spiritual-too/

I’m not an atheist; I’m a quiet Christian. I try to avoid reading internet flame bait posted by angry atheists that attack my faith– so I was pleasantly surprised to read this blog. My hope for bridging the demarcation amongst theists and non-theists is renewed.

Thank you for your insight. I hope other atheists can be mature enough to follow your lead.