Confession.

My insurance is to blame for my hypochondriac ways. I can go to the doctor's for $6.93. I told my doctor that I see him so much that I'm going to start bringing in wine since I feel as though we're dating. He told me that would be fine. And that I am a hypochondriac. We have an honest, open relationship. And they have the little, individually wrapped tictacs at the receptionist desk. Screw an apple a day. I can go anytime I want for under $7. Cheap date.

Summer school training conversation.

Parapro who had been talking WAY-HAY-HAY too much today: "We let my son have this pet chicken. It's so cute! It lives in a tub in his bedroom and in the morning it jumps up on the edge and just sits there. It's the cutest thing. Except he's handicapped- his little feet just curl under and he has to walk funny. But he waddles over to my son in the morning and pecks his cheek just like this (demonstrates the so-called cheek pecking)."

Me: "Oh yeah... hmm... yeah. I had a pet chicken once that had feet like that. We had to put it down. It's a common chicken disease."

Parapro: "Oh."

I did have a chicken that had to be put down with chicken-curl-up-feet disease. And that para was just talking too damn much.

Hate mail.

Dear professional development presenters, old and new,
I can do the following things:
1. Read. On my own. Without you reading it out loud to me.
2. Work in groups without you telling me how although I would prefer to...
3. ... work by myself without you needing to walk around and ask me what I'm thinking about whatever asinine thing you asked me to think about.
4. Pick up on when you've run out of crap to talk about and are just bs'ing your way along for the last 30-45 minutes. Let me out early. I won't tell your supervisor.
5. Although I already mentioned that I can read, I would like to add that I am a fast reader.
So if you give me a crap-ton of time to read something to myself, I'm going to finish it early and pretend like I'm doing something really important on my palm pilot when really I'm just playing this addicting flower petal matching game. And secretly punching you.

You are wasting my life away. And, while I'm at it, don't ask any absurdly open ended questions to a group. You KNOW there are going to be some mindless suck-ups who are going to keep the conversation going for so long that it takes all of my BEING not to smack them and yell, "Do you not REALIZE that every WORD you SAY keeps us in this place LONGER?!! Are you an IDIOT?! Have you NOTHING better to do with your LIFE?!"

So. Get on that. I've got stuff to do.

Sincerely,
Sara A. Hinshaw

Because clearly everything is of equal importance.

Here are the top two headlines on my Google desktop news runner:

-Judge orders hearing on Hilton's release

-US Deaths in Afghanistan

Awesome. American journalism is awesome.

Yes, you're right. It is cute.

Ryan got me a new helmet so I can ride his bike. It is disgustingly cute and he picked it out all by himself. (See below.)


I have been trying to sell him on the idea of a jacket too, which are unfortunately really expensive. He holds that I really don't need one because I don't ride it that much. I find this to be an unstable argument because I certainly have never heard of any bike-riding quota, before which you are safe from danger, after which you are in a bad, bad way. Then he ignores me. Hmmm. I'll keep on that one. At least I have a pink flower helmet. Yes. That is a good alternative.