a) in an enclosed space, like a car or jail cell
b) via text message (after I triple check that I've sent it to the right person, of course)
c) secretly -- i.e. I refer to the person I am gossiping about in code, and refuse to make eye contact with him/her if he/she is nearby
What I really mean to say is: gossiping is bad. Don't do it, kiddies.
Now that that's out of the way, here's some things I have learned this (half) week:
1) Twisted Sister's Christmas Album is THE BEST Holiday Music
Remember Twisted Sister, the terrifying & wonderful 2-hit wonder of the 80s? I got hooked on their Christmas album, A Twisted Christmas, last year. I have now given it the title of "Best Christmas Album Ever Besides A Few Other Good Ones." This is why:
Doesn't this song sound uncannily like their smash hit, "We're Not Gonna Take It"? They also have an amazing version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," so aptly re-titled "Heavy Metal Christmas." Instead of "a partridge in a pear tree," it's "a tattoo of Ozzy." Instead of "five golden rings," it's "five skull earrings." And most importantly, instead of "nine ladies dancing," it's "nine tattered t-shirts." By eliminating the spectacle of ladies dancing, this song is clearly feminist. Revolutionary. Ground-breaking. Pure genius.
2) Bringing Jack Daniels-Filled Chocolates to Class Will Not Make You Cool
The grade nines think they can get drunk on these. It reminds me of the time I had some friends over and I made alcohol-free punch. We were 16, I think, and they begged me to put alcohol in it. I told them I did (I didn't!) The fake drunken shenanigans were great. Placebo effect, anyone? They emptied the punch bowl, and when I refilled it, I actually added booze. But nobody touched it because "it tastes gross." These things don't really have anything to do with one another besides the fact that young teenagers are dumb when it comes to drunkenness. But that's old news.
3) I Have Horrible/Cool Pants That Could Rival The Hammer Pants
That's right, I said. I found this baby tucked away at the back of my dresser. In Grade 12, I paid to have a seamstress sew all these ridiculous patches on my pants (in a careless, splattered way to look like I didn't care, of course). I wore them for a day -- and got so many confused glances -- that I shoved them away and never looked at them again. Until recently. Not only am I shocked at the things I once found cool (Blink 182, Care Bears, and patches for swimming achievement) but I am shocked at how tiny these jeans are. It would be a freakin' miracle if I could fit one leg into these pants now.
|They do go longer, but there's a patch that reveals where I live. And then, for sure for sure, potential colleagues could read this and KNOW where I live and then bust me for professional misconduct. So, sorry!|
|The Canadian Tenors -- the Canadian version of Il Divo. Go ahead, laugh. But I saw them in concert and they made my soul melt. In a good way.|
If I could travel back in time and Tim Curry could let me "see what's on the slab."
Never mind, I don't have a shot.