Numbers

Well, the first day of my new job involved a lot of numbers.

And a lot of math, unfortunately, but we’ll get to that in a minute. First, here’s a sum of my FIRST DAY!

45 minutes: my commute time.

19.9 miles: total mileage of trip.

10: the number of times my new GPS (thanks Dad!) shouting “Keep left!” and such made me jump.

1: the number of times (noticed) that I was flipped off on the freeway.

3: the number of times I circled the building looking for a parking spot.

1: the number of times I went the wrong way down a one-way.

4-digit number: my educational award amount.

3-digit number: my monthly stipend.

6: other AmeriCorps members.

2: other AmeriCorps at my site, besides my site leader.

1: the number of times I spilled my coffee.

3: the number of young girls who asked “why is your hair so poufy?” (And I straightened it! A very rare occurence! Although apparently that hot stick is useless in the face of my¬†hair.)

27: kids present at the Opportunity Center–where I will be spending most of my time from now on.

2: kids that may have actually liked me.

20: math homework problems that required my aid.

6: math problems I didn’t understand (mostly involving graphs).

3: math problems I couldn’t get right (mostly involving long multiplication).

1: math trick I was able to pass on.

0: years of math that I actually retained.

2: copies of The Idiot’s Guide to 5th Grade Math and Pre-Algebra I now need to purchase…if they exist.

9: hours on my first day.

1: hour stuck in traffic on my way home.

12: hours I slept in recovery.

Hopefully, you are not losing hope in me or the “I Have a Dream Foundation.” I may be way over my head…but it was only my first day. ūüôā

Now, off to enjoy my four day weekend! Happy and safe one to all of you!

Why You Gotta Be So Mean

(Continuing the ahem, trend, of naming my blogs after songs…)

Don’t hate me for channeling a little bit of Taylor Swift.

She is¬†America’s Sweetheart for a reason and…ok, I kind of like her. Now shush.

make fun if you must...

It’s one of those days.

The kind where I don’t do anything¬†right.

Probably because I haven’t been sleeping much, and worked several 12-hour shifts in a row, but my brain just wouldn’t engage. And, maybe kind of understandably (and slightly unneccessarily) I got yelled at, scolded, and talked down to like I was a four-year-old.

(Now I’m watching The Office¬†and trying to block everything out. Probably not the best coping mechanism, but pshaw).

Since one of the Assistants to the Activities Director at the nursing home (yes, one¬†of the Assistants…why, I’m not sure, considering the volume of activities doesn’t seem worth one Assistant and sometimes not even a Director, although the Salvation Army does come often to sing hymns in their military look-alike uniforms) is obsessed with Taylor Swift’s “Mean” and had it on repeat, I was thinking about it all day.

Plus I kept getting yelled at.

On the subject of mean, my sister is a nanny this summer to our neighbors, and her adorable little charges happen to have these ridiculously bratty friends.

I’m talking Spawns of the Devil here…a common occurrence in our neighborhood, now that I think about it.

(On a side note, I can’t wait to get out of the ‘burbs and never, ever return. Although I’m not sure Bozeman counts as a ‘burb…but all the houses are the same in our neighborhood, so close enough).

The older girl, Olivia, has muscular dystrophy, and when I saw her little friend imitating the way she walks I really almost hit her.

Kids are SO. MEAN.

Why are people so mean? What makes a sweet little girl want to make fun of her obviously weaker friend? I know that mean actually makes me sound¬†like I’m four with it’s sheer sophistication, but sometimes, basic is okay.

I could use my anthropological background to theorize about the necessity for this kind of thing…but sometimes people are just rude.

So the moral of this story is: ¬†let’s all just be a little nicer. Partly because it’s better for your health (mentally and physically) and also because I truly believe that karma can be a b*tch.

Not that I wish the Spawn a sad little life (I don’t want to sing “you’re a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life,” because even though I enjoy the song, I will feel four if I start that).

I just hope that the next time she imitates, she trips a little.

:).

Happy Monday!