just so you know

Netanyahu is pretty much my favorite name ever.

Just say it to yourself over and over: Net - an - ya -hu.

See? It's fun!

And today is the last day of school.

Fun for kids. Sad for me. 'Specially since it means my daughter is no longer in Junior High.

I am really REALLY sad about that.

I have to admit I have driven by the High School more than once and felt overwhelmingly depressed by it.

If you see me wandering the streets muttering "Netanyahu" over and over you'll know why. I'm just trying to find my happy place.

what's the count, blue?

For those of you who had to endure the rigors of teen-age-hood-ness-dom/dumb without the aid of a cell phone and unlimited texting, let me just tell you: you missed out. Texting makes the teen experience a team sport.

For a teen, texting is an ADHD kids dream come true. you can have multiple meaningless conversations all at once. And you can get instant feedback on the dramas of your life from your 10 BFFs simultaneously.

Take for example the following "game" that occurred just this evening.

Let me set up the play for you.

In the texting line-up, Oldest Carrotstick is texting one friend from cheer, one BFF (thankfully a girl), one boy she flirted with last summer but in whom she currently has NO interest, and two boys she has met in the last two weeks with whom she is doing the preliminary do-i-want-to-like-you? get-to-know-you's.

Suddenly, out of the blue, boy #4 "Jack" texts her. Up until Saturday, Jack was the top contender in the possible love interest competition, but then Jack dropped the ball -- by letting approximately 45 minutes to 2 hours pass in between several texting exchanges Saturday night. Which is unforgiveable since he is a really good baseball player -- in real life. Error. He then had the audacity to not initiate any texting conversations at all on Sunday. Strike 1. Or Monday. Strike 2.

Finally, at 8:30 Tuesday night, Jack checks in, knowing full well that the Oldest Carrotstick's evil and over-protective mother turns off her texting at precisely 9:00 on weekdays and 10:00 on weekends. A move OCS found to be cowardly. It's like jumping out of the box cuz your afraid the pitcher is going to hit you. Strike 3.

The bases were loaded, but he struck out. Hence the following conversation occurred between the hitter -- Jack, the pitcher -- OCS, and the ump -- OCS's BFF:


8:30 Jack: Hey! :)

8:32 OCS to Jack: oh hi. whats up (note the absence of exclamation points & emoticons. very telling.)

8:32 OCS to BFF: JACK JUST TEXTED ME!

8:32 BFF: what did that kid say?

8:32 OCS to BFF: FW: Hey! :)

8:32 BFF: wow. seriously? who does he think he is?

8:32 OCS to BFF: I know right?

8:33 Jack: (blissfully unware that the ump -- BFF -- has just called Game Over) just sittin here

8:36 OCS to Jack: O cool

I guess the same advice applies to teens as it does to kids up to bat -- keep your eye on the ball, wait for the good ones, and make it be there.




(Yes this post is very confused. I'm not sure where I am going with it. Obviously. Maybe I'll rewrite it later this afternoon. Sorry. But, in other matters of important business, I will soon be posting on my recent trips to DC and Chicago. I know you are dying to see all my vacation pictures, so check back soon!)