I thought this was a family friendly affair.

I went to a MLB game with the majority of my family last night. And it was pretty fun.

We ate peanuts. It was dollar hotdog night (and my husband probably downed five of the things).

And I always get a kick out of the animated videos that play on the big screen. Especially when the pindrop music they use is the same music that HBO's Real Sex documentary series uses for their opening sequence.

Pair that with suggestively dancing CGI ball caps, the racing red dot/period, and those throat-plunging hot dogs, and I start to doubt the wholesomeness of major league baseball.

At least that splash I felt on my back was some drunk girl's beer instead of ... well, I don't even want to think about that.

I love this video.

A few years ago, my buddy (who always find cool things before I do) sent me this link:
http://www.duelity.net/

It's two separate videos. It's creationism presented scientifically. And also evolution presented in story fashion.

And then you can watch them side by side. It's awesome. If you have a few moments, I suggest you watch it.

Some things just stay with you forever. 2.

Eighteen years ago ...

... I was nine and in the fourth grade. Although this might have happened when I was ten. Because I turned ten halfway through fourth grade.

At my elementary school, kids who came early went to the gym. And we sat in long lines. Each grade had a different line.

That morning, many many kids were early. And the fourth grade line became two lines. And a boy ended up sitting next to me.

Also that morning, our P.E. teacher (who always watched us before school started) was absent. I think she had had a baby. Or maybe she was just sick. But I loved her. She was amazing and fun and full of energy. Her sub wasn't very nice.

And she was watching us that morning.

And she told us all to be quiet. And she shouted it to us.

You couldn't hear any noise in the gym except for the lights. They would buzz.

And I was bored and I wanted to draw. I unzipped my backpack to get some paper and a pencil. And I had to take out my garage door opener to get to my pencil.

"What's that?" the boy asked me.

I didn't know what to do. The mean lady told us not to talk. No matter what. And I never broke the rules and I never got in trouble. But I didn't want to be rude.

"What is that?" the boy asked me again.

I pointed to my big grey garage door opener and looked at him. I wanted to make sure that was what he was asking about. He asked me again.

I put my finger to my mouth. I wanted to tell him to be quiet. I wanted to warn him to be quiet.

And then I heard shouting. "What did I say!" the voice asked. And then there were dirty sneakers in front of me.

I looked up and saw the mean lady. I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell her I didn't say anything, but my mom and dad had always taught me to not talk back to grownups. Was this talking back?

"Go sit under ORANGE," she demanded. I looked around. Several kids were sitting under COLORS against THE WALL. When kids were bad before school in the gym, they had to leave their lines and go sit under a COLOR. They were the last to leave the gym and go to class. That day, more kids were under COLORS and against THE WALL than any other day.

Was I really being sent to a COLOR?

I looked up at her again. "GO!" she shouted at me.

I grabbed my bag. I grabbed my coat. I grabbed my garage door opener. And I looked at the boy. He looked sorry.

And I went and sat under ORANGE. And I cried. Because I was embarrassed and sad and I knew that I didn't talk. I stayed quiet. But I was sitting where bad kids sat and I wasn't bad. And I felt so small against that big cold WALL.

And I watched all of my friends get up and leave and go to class. And then one by one, us bad kids were sent off. And I was the last kid to show up in class. And by that time, my favorite teacher had heard that I sat against THE WALL that morning.

"Why were you sitting against the wall, Veronica?" she quietly asked me so no one else could hear.

"I don't know," I told her. And I didn't.

And I thought about that stupid garage door opener in my backpack. I only had that stupid thing because our front door lock sometimes didn't work. And my mom gave me the opener so I could let my sister and me into the house. And I only had to do that because my mom had to work and couldn't be at home because my parents had just gotten divorced.

And right then I hated that garage door opener. And I hated our stupid front door lock. And I hated divorce. Because it all made me sit under ORANGE against the WALL.

Some things just stay with you forever.

Twenty-one years ago...

...I was six years old and in first grade. I loved my teacher. She was the sweetest, prettiest, and kindest lady in the entire world and I wanted nothing more than to be her favorite student.

And I was. I was one of those genuinely good, kind-hearted little kids that just wanted to please please please everyone.

I kept my desk neat. I turned in my papers early. And I was quiet unless addressed. Because that's how mom taught me to be.

One day, my wonderful teacher was out. And the vice principal subbed in. She was notoriously mean, not very pretty, and not very kind.

We were working on a spelling worksheet. It was early in the morning--I think around ten-thirty or so. I can't be sure. We didn't know how to tell time yet.

But we had recently learned about drugs. And I found an odd object in my desk that I thought might be a drug. It was a small black pill. It looked like a little space ship. And it smelled bad.

I didn't want a drug in my desk. I couldn't have a drug in my desk! So I picked it up and took it to the trash can.

"What is your name?" the assistant principal screeched at me.

Shocked at her tone, I meekly responded. "Veronica."

She went fishing through THE ENVELOPE where THE WORMS were kept. Kids who did bad things got WORMS.

"Why don't you have A WORM in here," she hissed.

Completely confused and caught off guard--how could I be getting A WORM?--I said to her, "Because I have never got A WORM before."

So the evil assistant principal grabbed a BLANK WORM. And she wrote my name on it in permanent marker. And she taped THE WORM to THE BOARD.

And I quietly cried at my desk as the other kids stared and whispered in shock. "Veronica got A WORM."

And the next day, my favorite person, my first grade teacher was back. And I was so happy, I gave her the biggest hug ever. And after class started, she saw THE BOARD and I heard her say to herself, "Veronica got A WORM?"

And she quietly came to me, crouched down, and asked me, "Veronica, what did you do to get a worm?"

Confused and ashamed, I almost silently answered through my tears, "I threw away a piece of trash."

And my wonderful teacher removed THE WORM. And it was never seen again.

Enjoy two phobias for the price of one!

The office where I'm working today is an acrophobics nightmare.

In order to get to the restroom, I have to walk down a three-story high balcony/hallway hybrid from hell. Every time I need to go somewhere in this office, I have to psych myself up to even get out there, and then I stick to the wall where I'm least likely to plummet to my untimely death.

Right now, I have to pee. Ten minutes ago, I had to pee.

So ten minutes ago, I walked along the wall towards the restroom when I was a tiny speck descend from the ceiling.

Take into consideration that I don't have the world's best vision. But I'm fantastic at spotting spiders. Which is what I did.

That little eight-legged fucker was dangling in my way. And I couldn't get to the bathroom.

It was already bad enough that I had to pee very very very badly. And that I had been holding it in for an hour trying not to go down the hallway. And that my desk is within earshot of a fucking fountain!

But even the pressure on my overfull bladder couldn't get me to cross paths with a spider. Three stories in the air. Over concrete. That's a long way down, even without an arachnid attacked to your neck.

Had a clown walked by, I would have surely died.

Luckily that didn't happen. But now I'm just going to sit here in my desk and probably piss myself. Cause there's no way in hell I'm touching a spider.

I hate spiders.

I really hate spiders.

And I really hate heights. So much that I'm too embarrassed to type about the time I nearly fainted at a museum in Paris and Cooter had to carry me out as I was having a panic attack.

But I'd rather pee my pants then cross a spider in the air while I myself am in the air. I can always wash my pants.