It's not a funny one.

I hate politics.

It's true. I said it. I said it because it's true.

They can be messy and cruel and they make my stomach turn.

I understand the importance of knowing what's going on and being an informed and involved citizen, but honestly, when it comes to talking about it, I'd rather not.

Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe that means something worse and more than what I think it means, but it's just how I feel.

Last night I sat with a nervous shake in my leg, coloring the states on the map in red and blue as numbers and figures flashed across a screen.

I wasn't going to be thrilled either way, but I knew that the fate of our country for the next four years was about to be decided. I won't lie, I had a bigger push one way, but I knew that I would feel the consequences no matter what the outcome.

At the end of the night I turned off the television, closed my facebook and twitter accounts and resolved to finish reading my book. I put on some music and later talked to my sister and her boyfriend. I did anything but really think about the election. I tired myself out so sleep would come easy.

And I still woke up this morning to social media that hadn't quite let go of the events of the night before. I don't blame them, and I didn't expect them to. It's kind of a big deal. And words were everywhere. Messages of support and excitement. Statuses and tweets showing disappointment and resolve. Relief that this mess was now over and soon people would turn their attention to anything else but those things which gave them cause for tirades demonstrating newfound superiority, delusions of omniscience, and self-righteous indignation. And the quiet dignities of those who choose simply to pray. To say that life will still go on.

I expected most of these things. There were some things that I did not expect.

Last night, nearly 400 students at the University of Mississippi rioted over the re-election of Barack Obama. They yelled racial slurs and burned his campaign posters. There was profanity and hate.

I know this isn't a proper representation of the university as a whole, but it hurts me to think about it.

One of my kids, one of my kids who is black, yesterday posted a status about her sister calling her after the election to make sure she was alright. I didn't understand. Then she went on to say that Texas A&M was better than that. That she wouldn't be in danger there. And she was right! No one there would ever hurt her! That kind of bigotry and hatred doesn't live at my school. It doesn't live at any institution of higher learning. Because there may be ignorance in the world but people are better than that!

But now I've been forced to rethink a little bit. I don't think anyone at Ol'Miss would ever hurt anyone. Would ever endanger the lives of the people they cheer alongside at football games and learn next to in class. I really don't. And as far as the riot, I'm sure that emotions were just high. And maybe people had been drinking. And I want so desperately to believe that was all it really was. 

I do believe that people are good. And I want to believe that evil is inherently ignorance and fear.

I'm just kind of disappointed in people right now. I'm hurt that my faith in humanity is being tested.

And as much as I hate politics, and as much as I hate talking about them I will say this:

I don't want a black president. I don't want a female president. I don't want a president who's white, gray, purple or green. I don't want a president that's Hispanic or tall, or Catholic or attractive, or who happens to like the same sports team as me. I just want - I just need a president that is good. That is capable. That is honest. That is well-intentioned and well-informed and truly looking out for the good of the American people. And if you're going to get angry about anything it should be about proof that the person we have put in office does not live up to those standards. And if you have those emotions,turn them around in a positive and constructive way! If you feel we stumbled this time around, then do something to make sure that the next person we put in a place of importance can be the right person for the job. And know that no one person on this earth has the end-all say, and that you have a voice that can be heard. And pray. Always pray. But don't blindly act out and shout hurtful things because you disagree with something that has nothing to do with anything. And remember that our actions are not without consequence.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

BoOOOk! (Say it Like a Sanderson Sister)

On the suggestion of a friend, I started reading a new book. It's called Divergent, and it's the first in a trilogy by Veronica Roth. It has kind of a Hunger Games feel to it, and I like it so far. The only problem is that I've been sucked into an incomplete book series. I'm a pretty patient person, but I hate waiting for the next book. This is somewhat reminiscent of the Harry Potter waits and I just don't know if I can go through that again.

The thing is that it really is a risk getting into a book series. It's an emotional investment! You fall in love with characters! You laugh, you cry, you scream, you throw the book against the wall in a fit of rage! (Don't laugh, a friend of mine actually did this while reading The Help.)

I once read every single book in "The Cat Who..." series by Lillian Jackson Braun. That was over a TEN-YEAR LONG commitment for me. I discovered her books when I was 11 and then somehow got away from them. Then I picked them up again sometime last year and continued my journey with James Qwilleran, Koko, and Yum-Yum through many a murder mystery adventure. I was completely re-invested. Then I got to the last book and Braun started ruining my life.

She was killing off favorite characters and ruining relationships and sending people to Paris! I was angry. But there was a glimmer of hope. There was one more book from 2008 that wasn't published for some reason. Ah, sweet redemption! Here was Lillian's chance to make things up to me, to set things right, to let me know that Qwill and the cats and all the residents of Moose County were going to be okay. Maybe there was a chance that it would still be released.

But it wasn't. She died in 2011, and I was annoyed. I ranted and raged! I complained to anyone who would listen! Then I decided to do something about it. I started researching, looking for any information about the plot that would give me peace of mind. Instead I found out that Braun had died in hospice of a lung infection at the age of 97 filled with regret over not finishing the last book.

Great. So know I have an unhappy ending AND I feel like a jerk for being mad at this woman.

I don't think I deserve that kind of guilt.

But as risky as books sometimes are, you can't stop reading. Because books are wonderful things. I learned a long time ago that they're "word windows" and  that "every time you open one, a new adventure has begun." Now isn't that nice? I think so.

So with that in mind I keep on going. And what do you know, this latest book actually taught me something about myself. I wish I could say it was a lesson about courage or strength or my ability to persevere and stand by my convictions in the face of adversity, or any one of those big ticket items that you want to tell your grandkids about someday, but it wasn't.

No, my lesson is this: I act out book imagery.  

Yep. I act out book imagery as if it were stage directions. 

I realized it in the middle of reading this book. 

“I drag the heel of my hand over my cheeks.” So I drag the heel of my hand over my cheeks. 

“She taps her chin.” I tap my chin.

“She has a light laugh, half air and half sound.” I try a bunch of different laughs until I know what the author is talking about.

It’s a tool for understanding. Or I’m crazy. But really it’s a tool for understanding.

It’s also a testament to my particular learning style. I’m more of a tactile, touchy-feely, hands-on learner.

Do you see how I'm rationalizing the oddity? Is it working? Thought so. Nailed it.

See, books are wonderful things. They can teach us about ourselves without even trying. Maybe this time it wasn't one of the big things, but I'm pretty okay with that. It was one more thing I didn't know before, so I'll take it.

P.S. I guess technically, I could still tell my grandkids about this. If they're anything like me, it'll be at least somewhat entertaining.

P.P.S. I also totally decided once that someday when I’m old, I’m going to pretend to be senile and tell stories about my life that are really plot lines from 90’s shows. Like that time I was afraid to leave my stoop until my friend with the weird shaped head helped me overcome my fears. Then I’ll recall my stint as a newscaster providing vital information for everyday life. And I’ll talk about learning how to R-E-C-Y-C-L-E recycle and how garbage day is a very dangerous day.

I am going to be an awesome old person. Count on it.

I Can Ride My Bike With No Handlebars

I have over 30 children. With three different people. Two of those people are women.

Are you judging me? You shouldn't be. That's not nice. And assuming?? Well, break down that word and it doesn't work out so well for either of us! Well, you have to break down the word "assume." The quip doesn't really work in the gerund form.

Now if you're done looking up "gerund" and thinking terrible things about me before I can even explain, I guess it's only right that I share a little bit. I told you last time that I had a Mentor Training File room in my brain. That's because I used to be a Freshmen mentor. (It almost makes too much sense, huh?)

That job was collectively one of the single greatest experiences of my life. For three years of my college experience, small groups of freshmen were given to me and a mentor partner to share and water and feed and help grow into good little Aggies.

After initially applying for the job, the other mentor candidates and I went through a rather involved training course. They gave us personality tests, had us act out real-life problem scenarios, and taught us lessons that covered everything from recognizing signs of stress, dealing with homesickness, and suicide prevention to study tips and understanding campus resources, to facilitating discussions, diversity training and appropriate mentor-freshman relationships. We did everything short of searching for cheese through a giant maze. (We did have to get through a corn labyrinth, though. That scenario is much more applicable to the job and the real world.)

Then it was a fight to the death. With pens.

Okay, it wasn't so much a fight to a death with pens as it was a series of essays that we were required to write. At the end of it, we had a pretty darn amazing group of mentors ready to go out and make a difference. We were assigned our children and got to it.

But the learning process is never over. No person is fully formed, and there is always room for improvement. This was part of the reasoning behind the many training sessions that would take place for mentors at the beginning of each semester, the end of every semester, and at least once a month.

We were constantly retrained.

A big part of that training was tied into our facilitation skills. On top of normal guidance and mentoring, we conducted weekly learning labs. In both scenarios, our kids needed to know that they were being heard. They needed to know that we understood their concerns and could respond in an appropriate matter.

[Enter: "Rephrase, rephrase, tie-in."]

That mantra was stressed to us at almost every single training session and always by the same person. It was the person who did it best. Her name was Allison, and she was highly entertaining. She was nice and a little princess-y, but not in an annoying way. She was pretty and smart and had one of those death stares that could quiet a room. You know what I mean, the kind where almost a second after she stops talking and locks her vision on someone you can just feel that it's about to go down?

Yeah, she's gonna make an awesome mom someday.

Anyway, her "Rephrase, Rephrase, Tie-in" was one of the highlights of training. She taught it well and it was familiar and safe. The year after she left our program for bigger and better things, someone else had to take over. We applauded the substitute's valiant effort, but it really wasn't the same.

But the gist of the phrase was that when listening to a discussion response, we needed to show that we understood by repeating what was said in our own words and then helping to bring it into what we were talking about. Not too difficult. Never really had a problem with it. Except for once. I think I was really only ever kind of stumped once.

To get there, let me explain that one of the things that mentor teams could do with their freshmen is have two-on-ones. We'd gang up on the kids in totally unfair sports challenges! Okay, not really. Actually, even with two people, mentors would never have the advantage. Not with me anyway. I lack the coordination for sports.

In reality, a two-on-one is where the two mentors set aside a 30-minute window to meet with a freshman and catch up on their life. It was a way to check-in and make sure that our kids were doing okay, offer advice and just kind of shoot the breeze. We always let the kids decide the direction of conversation.

That almost always worked out.

Almost.

Over the course of three years, I had a whole bunch of AMAZING kids! They are huge parts of my life. The fact that I even still call them my kids when they're all adults should probably say something. I honestly can't take credit for the amazing people they are, but I'm a proud momma every day and I'm constantly experiencing "my heart is full" moments. Every single one is so wonderfully unique. That's a nice way of saying that a lot of them are really weird, but I love them for it.

One of my last kids is an absolute trip. She's in-your face and unashamedly herself. She's strong and independent and unafraid and doesn't care what you think about her. She's wonderfully talented and creative and gave me probably the most interesting "re-phrase, re-phrase, tie-in" opportunity of my mentor career.

When my partner, Jesus, and I met with her, the biggest thing on her mind seemed to be finding a job. She was looking for steady work, but still something that could accommodate her class, study, and extra-curricular schedule. She had been scouring want ads and applying like crazy, but to no avail. She did tell us, though, that she had found a temporary solution in The Battalion, our campus paper.

She was helping an entertainer of sorts. I guess you could think of him as something along the lines of a circus entertainer or the type of person that does sideshows wherein they lie down on boards of nails, because her job was to step on him while wearing high heels.

Yeah.

True story. 

Can't even make this stuff up.

She, along with a bunch of other girls, would meet up with this guy and and step on various parts of his body with high heels. The higher the heels and more dangerous the placement of said heels, the more money.

[And that, dear children, is why you should probably never find jobs in the college newspaper.]

Now imagine that moment where we had to respond. My years of training were going back to wanting to "rephrase, rephrase, tie-in." Not so easy this time. Because the response should really be something like:

"So, you've been needing a job, and were able to find something that doesn't take up too much time and lets you write off shoes as a business expense."

Which sound ridiculous and like an absolute stretch and all you really want to say is:

"So, you really need money and managed to find temp work assisting someone who is most likely a really big pervert."

I was never so grateful for casual conversation as opposed to real mentor talk. In a moment away from bosses and supervisory ears, we were able to kind drop the "nod and smile" routine and ask the kinds of questions that probably aren't allowed in a normal classroom setting. His story was that it was some kind of strength training. I don't buy it.

I know she eventually stopped going to that guy, and I was grateful. There are just too many sketchy things about that situation. And even though I still feel like she participated in something that I probably couldn't do without feeling the need to shower in scalding hot water immediately afterwards, I was thankful for her experience. The thing is, freshmen come up with some crazy things, but after that particular conversation, nothing really phases me. 

And I don't know if I ever signed a non-disclosure and really shouldn't be talking about some of this stuff, but honestly, imaginary blog reader, I think I can trust you to keep a secret.

Besides, I have way to many awesome stories not to tell them, because after all, kids will be kids. That means they're going to do and say some very odd things. And one of the perks of working with first-year students is that you get to experience those things first-hand. Everything from temp jobs assisting "strength-trainers" to near-arrests for trying to capture squirrels.

Oh, yeah, it happened. But that's another story, dear imaginary reader. You'll just have to wait.

And when I first started writing this post, the song "Handlebars" by Flobots popped into my head. I decided its lyrics were going to be my title. And if you really want me to make it fit, I can try and stretch that one for ya. Sometimes working with freshmen is like riding your bike with no handlebars. You just have to have confidence, believe in yourself and trust in your skills to maintain even when there's no guidelines. Like when your freshman is running around stepping on creepy men in high heels.

Yeah, just toss that one around in your head until you've convinced yourself that it makes sense and I am wise beyond my years.

I Never Promised You Continuity!

I was going to type out something that made sense. It was going to be a pretty, flowy post that had a clear beginning and segued easily into the story of how when I was four I saw my mother kill a spider with a tea cozy and years later realized that it was not a spider, but my Uncle Harold.

Okay, so that's not true. It never happened. To make matters worse, it's not even an original thought type something that never happened. (Actually, it may be a form of plagiarism and I could maybe go to jail. If I do, please write me, mail is fun!) That spider story thought is just something stored in the movie quotes file room in my brain and that thing has been an over-flowing mess for years! And I just keep adding and adding to it because I kind of can't help myself and I can't find anybody who's willing to go in there and clean it out because, well, I guess I'm techinically the only one who can do that and I'm actually kind of a really big pack rat and hate throwing things away. It's not like Hoarder status - there's no need to bring in a counselor and a camera crew, but it's...well, noticaeble.

Revelation: Oh my goodness. All these years I thought I just had a really good memory, but it turns out my brain is a memory hoarder! Hmm. Well, acceptance is the first step. It also happens to be a very comfortable step. On the stoop of problem solving, it's "the" place to be. I think I'll settle in. No need to move up any time soon.

That matter aside, Oceans's Twelve is a darn good movie! (This is not some random crazy. It makes sense if you're cool and like awesome movies.)

Anyway. That whole well-formed-pretty-post? Not gonna happen. I decided I didn't want to do it. Or I got lazy. Maybe both. But I had to write something, because there was that small, nagging voice in my head that was like, "Tabitha, you started this blog, darn it, and you need to post consistently for all of those imaginary readers. If you try to overthink every little thing you're never going to write anything. And then who suffers? The children. Those imaginary children who are somehow helped by you sending words out into the depths and corners of the internets. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

And I don't.

So here I am.

Time to share some crazy. Here it is in the form of an argument with facebook via a birthday post for a good friend of mine:

[Actual Birthday Post to My Friend]

I thought it was interesting that facebook was all like, "Hey, It's Emily's birthday, here's a little reminder." And then I was like, "Yeah, I know, facebook, I got this. And I call her 'Geese' by the way."

So then facebook got all huffy because it has some sort of complex and likes to feel superior because it ALWAYS remembers everyone's birthday and by comparison, I probably don't really remember a whole bunch. But what do you know about me, facebook?? I don't tell you everything! You think that nothing even happened in my life between birth and meeting you!

Sorry.

Anyway, I guess facebook was all annoyed and was like, "Oh, yeah? Fine. You remembered her birthday, but what do you REALLY think??" like it was some sort of crazy test. And thus this survey was born. 

Last name edited for the privacy of Geese. My friend, not the birds. They have nothing to do with this.

I almost didn't respond because I didn't want facebook to think it had any power over me, but then I changed my mind. I was like, "Fine! File this!" And trust me, the response was more than favorable. :)

Happy Birthday, Geese!! I hope it comes without any arguments with a bull-headed and slightly self-righteous facebook!

P.S. Facebook was totally all "Thanks for your feedback." Because it had nothing else to say.

I swear, at the beginning of that it was just going to say, "Happy Birthday!" But something came over me. I wonder if this stems from something. Like, maybe I was once bitten by a werewolf as a child but my parents never told me but something weird happened after it bit me so I never actually transform or anything and a full moon is just a full moon and the only reason a silver bullet would kill me is because it's a bullet and "hello, that hurts!" and instead that bite just manifested in an over-active imagination. 

Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't a werewolf. Note to self: Ask parents about childhood bites.

But hey! Lookie there! I mentioned my memory twice. Not exactly flow, but maaaaybe a bit of a tie in. Work with me here. Stretch that sucker out!!

"Rephrase, Rephrase, Tie-in." <---- Makes no sense right now, but it has been burned into my brain. If it showed up as I was writing, then it is my civic duty to blog about it. Surely there is a reason.

Honestly, it could just be that the Mentor Training file room, like the Movie Quotes file room, has been a little neglected. I never said I was good at keeping house. That includes brain house. Or brain office. Brain storage. Yeah, none of that is in the skill set.

But I did give you some crazy. And I made it past the first post! This is a big deal. You should be impressed, imaginary blog reader. And know that I can give you so much more crazy. I have a million bits of random exploding around my brain at almost all times.

What? One for the road? Okay. I'm kind of a pushover like that. But it's the last one, and then you have to go to sleep! Unless you're at work. Or driving. That would be bad. Actually, don't read blogs while driving. That's dangerous. If you're driving you leave this blog or pull over this instant! I mean it!

Did you stop?  

Promise? 

Okay.

Fine. Here's a thought I had which you can now ponder:

"Maybe slutty girls used to be really into Halloween and trick-or-treating and never quite got away from the idea that if you dress a certain way people will give you things. Of course, while you may get a lot of treats, you’re bound to walk away with some tricks, as well. The slutty grown up version of tricks are STD's."

Am I right? Think about it.