Aaaaallllmost There!!

So close to vacay I can hear the ocean and smell the beer. . . .of course that might be because there are lizards croaking in my room and I spilled a beer all over the rug on Friday. But I prefer to imagine I'm already on Koh Chang, gamely working my way toward skin AND liver cancer. Aaaahhhh.

Lemme Tell Ya, The Lizards Have Some Choice Words About Thai Names

The term is wrapping up, which means that I have locked myself in my room to fill out evaluations. I thought they were joking when they said I had to test and grade every student. Because, I mean, I have nearly 600 students. Surely they didn't mean every student. That would be insane.

But. . . they did. And they are. I have a deformed and slightly moldy claw attached to the end of my arm to prove it. The spiderwebs in my hair are another clue. The spiders themselves tell me I'm nearly finished, which is what comes of locking yourself in your room for three days.

However, there is a light at the end of this tunnel of insanity, and that light is called Koh Chang. That's where I'm going the nanosecond the term ends. Actually I might go a few nanoseconds before the term ends. Just to get a head start, you know. And I do solemnly swear I will not stir from that beach except to get another very large beer for. . . .well, maybe forever. If that's what it takes to make the insects stop yelling at me.

Unfortunately I Can't Give You a Temperature, Because They Do It Centigrade or Celsius or Whatver the "C" Stands For

It rained yesterday for only the second time since I've been in Rayong (that would almost 4 months). And it rained like it meant it, complete with thunder and angry-looking clouds and really oddly loud frog-croaking. I went running out this morning, expecting it to be all clean and freshly-washed smelling, like it is at home. You know, puddles and wet grass and clean clear air, the best part of a rainstorm if you ask me. And you have asked me, just by being on this website.

But, alas and alack, I think the rain merely re-activated all the pollution and dog poop lying around, and today is painfully hot and even stinkier than normal. Walking the 1/4 of a mile to this internet place caused me to sweat so heavily some actually dripped off my nose. That is so gross. That is gross on a level I haven't encountered in years, since I was young and my dad used to come home from his marathon training runs or whatever it was he ran seventy-eleven miles for, and he'd chase me and my sister around the house pretending to be the "Sweat Monster," and we'd squeal and run because kids love that sort of thing, but actually it was really totally gross how sweaty he was. That is how sweaty I was just from walking a quarter of a mile today.

That is TOO BLOODY HOT.

KELLY

Yes, I do exist, which you'd know if you checked your damn MySpace messages. I sent you an email but it came back to me address not found, so go on to MySpace and CHECK YER DAMN MESSAGES!

Nasty Big Toes, With Corns and Shit

Oh, I think I forgot to mention that I posted some new photos. Students, etc. Nothing life-altering, but if you've got nothing better to do, worth a cursory look. More coming next week of Phuket, etc, but not very many because my camera sucks big toes.

Poo-kett

I don't have time for a long post here. . .wait that's a lie. I have plenty of time but I'm paying for this internet access, and I'm a cheap little bitch. Upshot is, short post.

But I absolutely couldn't resist the urge to tell you that, in case you weren't aware, I'M IN PHUKET AND YOU'RE NOT.

Having a fantabulous wondiferous time, and wondering if someone wants to die and leave me a couple million dollars so I can do this full time? Because this is so preferable to working in Rayong they're going to need a crowbar and a Civil War-era cannon to get me on the plane back to Bangkok.

I Mean, Talk About An Anger Management Problem

One side effect of having three English tv channels is that I am quite depressingly well-informed. So I think if I had a real blog- by which I mean one that was read by people other than my mother and best friend- I think it would feature sarcastic commentary on important world events.

Like this one;

By Colin Nickerson, Globe Staff February 3, 2006
BERLIN -- An extraordinary row over newspaper cartoons depicting the Prophet Mohammed intensified yesterday, with street demonstrations from North Africa to Pakistan to Indonesia, threats of violence against Europeans in the Middle East, and diplomatic protests by Muslim nations.

This whole flap just bugs the heck outta me. Firstly, they're cartoons. I mean, come on. They're meant to be funny. If you don't think they're funny , don't laugh. There are lots of cartoons I think aren't funny. I don't get the big deal over Peanuts, although the animated version is kind of cute, and that one with the Republican penguin is just baffling. So I skip those during my morning perusal of The Bangkok Post (in favor of "Annie's Post" advice column, natch.) People are allowed to draw stupid things, and I'm allowed to not read them.

Alright, it's very very offensive. I'm not religious so I can't identify there, but I imagine you feel something along the lines of what I would feel if there were extremely misogynistic cartoons. Not happy, right? Offended, disappointed, concerned. . . am I getting warmer?

Yeah, well I am really offended when you BURN DOWN AN EMBASSY. Sheesh.

Not To Get All Earnest On You. . . .

I know I complain a lot on here. I know it is less than riveting to read about my weight gain and sweatiness, but shit. A girl's gotta vent!

It's my bloggy and I'll bitch if I want to.

But today I read a bunch of old posts (because lunch was this cold-fish-with-spicy-french-fries concoction that I Was. Not. Eating.), and realized I haven't told you something very, very, mucho importante. Also vital, central, and of top priority. And adorable.

I have a fan club. Several, actually. There's one in every class, and I have 17 different classes covering 6 different grades. And they think I am the bee's knees. The cat's pajamas. The greatest thing since sliced bread. In other words, I am THE SHIT.

Which we all knew, natch. But it's always nice to have it confirmed by an outside source.

Prathoms 2 and 3 are my favorite. The girls imitate everything I do, from constantly tucking a loose piece of hair behind one ear to carrying around a water bottle. They all want to get three piercings in one ear and one in the other. Last week I stretched to get something and a few girls caught sight of my pink dangly skull-and-crossbones navel ring, and the place went wild. (I have worried I'll be a bad influence on them- you know, navel ring, mascara overuse, stuff like that- but if it motivates them to learn, I don't care. Hell, I'll pierce their little navels myself if it will help them retain some English.) The boys beg for hugs and kisses, want to hold my hand when we go to lunch, and are so eager to get the right answers it's almost embarrassing.

In prathom 2 and 3 they're young enough, and close enough to babyhood, to be sweet, trusting, and eager to please. They don't care about their peers much yet. But they're old enough and developed enough that I feel like they might actually be learning something. The littler ones- Prathom 1- are cute as uniformed buttons, but they've never had English before. We're talking the Great Language Barrier Reef here. And once they get to Prathom 4 they're much too cool.

Any teacher knows- and anyone else can imagine- that indescribable heart-busting wonderful feeling that you get when you enter a classroom and the kids cheer. When they're excited to see you, excited for your class, having fun while they learn. It makes all the hours I spend banging my forehead against hard surfaces worth it. And honestly, I've never felt like that before. . . .

Okay, sorry about the post-less, all-title post there. I typed the title and got so depressed I threw myself off the nearest balcony. But notice this post doesn't have a title, so we can call it even, yes?

So. . . .am enormous cow-type creature. Have gained 376 lbs since October. No, I don't know why. Yes, I drink a lot of Sprite and apple juice instead of water. Yes, I'm a girl who likes her lemon popsicles. No, I don't really "exercise" per se. . .unless you count the frequently harrowing trips to the blackboard. Yes, I ate that pound of sour gummi worms in 2 days, give or take a day. No, I can't give you a number because I don't have a scale.

Okay, don't actually KNOW if I've gained any weight. It's possible I haven't- but it sure as goddamn feels like it! Because everything in Thailand is tiny! I have to wear an XL. Yes, XL. As in, eXtra Large. As in, you-are-the-size-of-a-hippo, you-oinker. As in, yo mama so fat when she sat on a rainbow, out popped a bunch of Skittles.

(Speaking of which, I could really do some Skittle damage right now. . .mmm, taste that rainbow.)

I cannot find clothes here. There are some cute ones. . .but they just refuse to fit me. Pants cry uncle around mid-thigh. Skirts threaten permanent damage to my internal organs. I have particular trouble with button-up tops. Even in extra large they rarely close properly over my- let's see, how best to say this- my lovely lady lumps.

It's quite bad for my self-esteem. For my mental health in general. Makes me sad. . . so please send candy immediately.