Ode to my fairy godmother, by proxy

Have you ever contemplated jail time?

I mean just how bad does the offense have to be before they send you to the Big House?

I’m not planning anything a jewelry heist or embezzlement. I’m not even sure my dirty deed is criminal. But my motto has always been if the opportunity presents itself, then, by George, don’t sit there, man. Do something about it!

I want to meet Steven Tyler, and my opportunities are limited. I think my only option is to rush the concert stage when Aerosmith plays Atlanta.

Surely, I would get off with a plea of temporary insanity. Sane middle-aged school teachers don’t normally risk a record for a photo op with a singing sensation. But then again I’m not normal, and this is no ordinary singing sensation. We’re talking Steven Tyler.

Now let’s get this straight. I am not obsessed with Steven Tyler. I don’t hide the fact that I really, really like his hair and its charms, braids, and feathers. But I do not in any way, shape, or form endorse his beliefs or code of morality, whatever it may be. I do like his bluesy voice. I like his voice a lot. Almost as much as I like his hair.

Steven Tyler is an icon to me, not an idol. I do not worship him. I do admire his talent. I do not want to stalk him. I simply want to mark off one more “to do” on my bucket list. And that, my friend, is meeting him and getting a photo to document the occasion.

I know that it’s standard procedure for authorities to take said mug shot at the station when they haul in the perpetrator, but I was hoping, should I be arrested for rushing the stage, that said authorities might be kind enough to snap my mug shot WITH Steven Tyler before I’m taken to the precinct. Mission accomplished. That’s the plan. Bail can’t be that much. Can it?

I embarrass my children talking like this. Yet, they are just as quirky as I am. Both of them. They’ll understand someday when their opportunities for adventure grow limited, when they have to either deal with their own quirkiticity or lose any creativity they ever had.

I guess it’s a good thing I’m a teacher. I never really have to grow up. Except for a short departure to the Boro, I’ve never really graduated from Central High.

I’ve accepted the fact that my destiny is to be one of “them,” the crazy teachers the students all whisper about between classes. I hear them talking.

 “Did you hear about Mrs. L? Yeah, she’s on that Tyler kick again.”

“Aw, man. I was just getting into our discussion of the futility of the American dream in Death of a Salesman. Now all we’re going to talk about is American Idol. Again.”

But the good thing about being a teacher is that I work with adolescents who have not yet embraced the mature adult state of mind that prohibits quirkiticity and embraces stoic etiquette.

I just found out Steven Tyler is hosting a Rock and Roll Fantasy Camp in LA. The thought of spending any time in a Playboy mansion disgusts me. But here we have one more very real opportunity to get a shot with the man.

And that is ALL I want. I do not lust after Steven Tyler. I do not desire his fame, his fortune. Well, maybe I DO covet his hair…and his clothing. My son Michael says we can go shopping together. He’s right.

My family members have been calling the radio station trying to help me win the contest that will send me to said fantasy camp. I’m sure they relish the idea of me just getting this notion out of my system so that I can go on to the next item on my list. Or they just want to get rid of me.

Fantasy camp is probably a no go. Oh, I clicked on the web site and filled out the online application—except the part where I had to enter my credit card number. The digits came close to $9000. I did not click enter.

So maybe the camp’s out of reach, but the concert is in the bag. Literally. I have my ticket in my school satchel. Notice I said ticket. My family won’t even go with me for fear I’ll embarrass them all, ruin their reputations. Get caught on camera by CNN.

I just don’t get it. I would never do anything lewd or immoral. I just want a picture. Is that too much to ask?

Well, and maybe one of his scarves. A scarf would be nice.

This is MY bucket list. And again, I do not endorse Steven Tyler’s beliefs, his morals, his lyrics.. My pursuit is just a manifestation of my quirkiticity. And I think he does a great job of helping the American Idol kids pursue their dreams.

I don’t want to go to jail. But a girl has to do what a girl has to do. My major concern is that this blog is evidence of premeditation.

But doesn’t premeditation just apply to murder and really bad crimes? I’m really not committing any crime. Not really.

I’m not even stalking the man. I just want a picture. (And maybe a scarf.) Is that too much to ask? I’m an aged, soft-spoken little woman. Do I look like a criminal? Surely, someone will take pity upon me.

I believe in the six degrees of separation.

Perhaps one of you bloggers out there knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows Steven Tyler. How hard would it be for one of Steven’s people to send a simple meet and greet pass to a simple school teacher who has given the majority of her life to help build America’s future?

I know how the music industry works. It’s all about who you know. And right now I don’t know Jack Squat.

If only I had a fairy godmother to grant me a wish. But, hey, I believe in serendipity. Perhaps the right person has stumbled onto this blog by accident. Maybe you could make a few calls, and bring a short little woman in a Tennessee hick town great happiness by sending her a meet and greet pass for a little concert in Atlanta,

I’ll let you know how it works out. Otherwise, look for me on CNN.

Plinky 11–What drives me crazy

I’m preparing for some intense writing—I should say re-writing—in the next couple of days. Before I get back to work, I thought I’d exercise my impromptu writing, and visit the Plinky prompts. 2011 has almost come to an end, and this may be the last time I’ll get to do a top 11 list. So here’s to Plinky and one of my last, if not the last, top eleven .

What drives me crazy?

Eleven
Driving into work and hearing nothing on the radio but talk or commercials

I can usually get a couple of good classic rock tunes in the morn before I punch in my favorite country station. I have a couple more on standby. WAY-FM won’t come in, so that’s not an option. If all else fails, I’ll try a contemporary station, but I turn it back to the commercials if Lady Gaga is on. Rah rah rah. Blech.

Ten
Reading instructions

I have no patience when putting stuff together. I bought a new desk light for my classroom the other day. I had to assemble it. First step? Toss the instructions. They made no sense anyway. I did fine until I got to the last step of screwing in the light bulb. I could not for the life of me figure it out. I had a doctor’s appointment the next day, so I left a note for my sub and requested help. The next day the light bulb was in. It never hurts to ask for help.

Nine
People assuming I’m stupid because I am instructionally challenged.

Yes, I am blond. Yes, I have trouble with my lefts and rights. Yes, I have trouble following directions. Yes, I have trouble with all of those things, but I am not dumb.

Eight
Not wearing earrings

I have a favorite pair of earrings that I wear almost every day unless I choose another pair that goes with a certain outfit. I can’t stand not wearing earrings. If I start my day without earrings, my day goes downhill.

Seven
Stress eating

I want to lose weight; I need to lose weight, but cortisol consumes me due to all the stress in my life. I really don’t eat much. I even skip meals. (I know—eating breakfast helps with weight loss.) But I turn to chocolate when I’m in survival mode. I’ve been known to beg, borrow, or steal when I’m really desperate.

Six
Skinny women on cop shows

I’ll bet all those uber thin actresses playing cops are like a size 2 or 0. You flaunt the fact that you can tuck in your shirts and wear belts around your flat bellies. Yeah, I know if I gave up the chocolate and returned to regular exercise I could get back to a size four. Those were the good old days and not so long ago. But you cop show chicks make me crazy. Okay, I’m jealous. I’m just not jealous enough to give up the chocolate—yet.

Five
Wearing socks that don’t match my outfit

I like color coordination. My closet is color coordinated. The files in my filing cabinet are color coordinated. When I’m wearing boots or clogs, I like for my socks to match the color of my shirt. It doesn’t matter if anyone else sees them. I know.  Being unmatched drives me crazy.

Four
Mysterious people

This could be good or bad. Everyone who crosses my path is like a character in my book, the life I’m living. I like to understand my characters, the ones I can trust, the ones I can’t. Mysterious people drive me insane. You keep me guessing and boost my imagination, but enough is enough already!  Illusionists drive me crazy too. I want to see what makes the magic.

And now for the top three things that REALLY drive me crazy

Three
Manipulative people

I don’t like being used, and I don’t like being a puppet. And most of the time, I can read manipulative people like a book. Just because I’m directionally challenged, kind, and patient doesn’t mean I don’t know I’m being played. I would rather bear the humilation of brute honesty than a lie that breaks my heart. Okay, I’ll admit I’m naive, super sensitive, and gullible at times, but eventually I catch on. On the flip side, if a manipulative person goes after one of my babies, the Mama in me comes out and whoa be unto the soul that tries to hurt one of my babies–biological babies or my students. 🙂

Two
Arrogant people

It’s simple. Arrogant people make me crazy. No matter how good, how smart, how rich, how talented, etc. Get the picture?

One
Mean people

Taylor Swift, you got this one right. I’ve always stood up for the underdog. Mean people are the antipathy of love. Loving people are patient, kind, and humble. Mean people are envious, lying, arrogant, hateful, hurtful, violent, and vengeful. “Why you got to be so mean?”

And now it’s your turn. What makes you crazy?