Today, in furtherance of my journey to hell in a handbasket teacher edition, I forgot to send report cards home. I thought they were going home tomorrow. Now, this may not seem like a big deal to me or to you, but I am sure there is SOME parent out there who is going to rip me a new one. I LOVE (hands clenched to your chest, eyes all a goo goo, all together now! *swoon*)
these parents. I had one parent tell me in no uncertain terms that he was assured his kid was not in a special ed. class. Umm, I think he's been watching too much Malcolm in the Middle and has Dewey syndrome. He told me that his son was not learning ANYTHING new. Really? That's fascinating. I don't remember what I learned in 2nd grade, do you? I remember there was this kid named Servando who burped in the teacher's face and got in trouble for that. And that the teacher wouldn't let me go to the bathroom so I barfed all over the floor. M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I? Not likely. Goodness GRACIOUS I am tired of not being able to blog about my life. Well, the funny parts of it, anyway. That's why I bring you this installment of:

WHY I LOVE SAIPAN, reason # 2540
I was driving home from the hash one Saturday night, as I was wont to do (WARNING, WARNING! Wannabe English major putting on literary airs. At least I fucking announce it, and I think I should get a medal for that, alone.) , singing along to Chamorro classics in my boonie beater. I had a black '88 Toyota Corolla that was rusted all to hell. From a distance, the car looked brown. Now, in any normal atmosphere, cars seem to have endless lives - my geo? From college? Still running and rust free. But there I was, picking up my feet as I splashed through the puddles so my feet didn't get (any more) wet. I didn't have a rear view mirror so when I saw the red and blue lights reflecting off the ceiling of my car, I just assumed they would go by. Not so. "SHHHEEEEEIIIITTTT", I exhaled, pulling slowly over into a ditch.

Cop: Motions for me to roll down window
TCWH (making grey poupon commercial movement): Umm, can you move back a little bit? I have to get out to talk to you. The window's broken.
Cop: Okay, okay.
TCWH (gets out apprehensively, knowing full well that being covered in mud from head to toe and smelling of beer isn't going to win me any license points Notice to uptight readers: TCWH does not support drinking and driving in any way, shape, or form. No sirree, Bob. As a timeless piece of grafitti that I saw everyday on my way to highschool so eloquently questions, "Why drink and drive when you can smoke and fly?" Sarcasm. Attractive, hunh? ): Hello!
Cop: License and registration, please miss.
TCWH (grinning from ear to ear): I don't have it.
Cop: Nothing?
TCWH: Nothing.
Cop: Not even your license?
TCWH: No. Not even.
Cop: Where's it at?
TCWH: You see, umm, I was running with the Hash House Harriers, and ummm, I left it at my apartment, because I don't have any pockets and I didn't want to lose it.
Cop: I see. Do you know why I pulled you over?
TCWH: I don't think I was speeding...my odometer doesn't work...that well.
Cop: Actually, your rear headlight is out.
TCWH:....
Cop:...so let me call ahead to the other cops and radio them that you're on your way home so that you don't get troubled any more, okay?
TCWH (pinching self): Okay! Sure! Thanks! See you.
Cop (smiles and waves as I drive off into the humid night)

Know how many parking tickets I got while I was there? Not a one. Know how many I've gotten since then, on this damn base? 3. For parking. Because THAT is the biggest crime of all, bitches. You go straight to hell for that one, too. Wink, wink.