four things that made me laugh this week.

#1. Have you heard about the petition to deport Justin Bieber? 

Apparently, it has over 100,000 signatures!  

I wouldn't mind signing that petition myself.  

Since it hit 100,000 signatures, the White House will have to issue a response.

I'm looking forward to that more than I should.

Obviously, the actual chances of him being deported are slim to nothing--but I wonder how that makes little JB feel? 

 Maybe it's time someone grounded him and sent him to his room. Ha.  

And it's really too bad Miley Cyrus isn't from another country too...

#2. this picture: 

remember the "model shoot" episode a few weeks ago from the bachelor?

I giggle every time I see this picture of Taylor mocking that episode. haha

#3. this picture, too.

I laughed so hard when I saw this social studies department picture the other day.

apparently, I didn't get the "straight-face-let's-look-as-scary-and-mad-as-we-can" memo.

and also. I'm short.

and female.

so I just don't belong all around.

and yes, this picture is hanging proudly in my classroom for all of my students to see.

I've never been more proud of my department.

way to go, boys.

#4. I was recently reminded of a memory from when I was in 5th grade.

Let me give you some background:

all through elementary school I had a crush on a boy named Ian, who was a year older than me.

me and my friends did all of the annoying school-girl-aged things you do when you like a boy:

stole his basketball during recess, asked his friends every day who he liked, sat behind him and poked him during assemblies, rang his doorbell and ran away---you remember those "tricks?"

(and just in case you're thinking of trying them on your current crush, I'll tell you now: it didn't work.)

You can imagine my 5th-grade-elation, when I found out that both of our families were moving to a new housing development--and his family would be living right across the street from mine!

ohhhhh, that's when I knew.

it was meant to be.

WE were meant to be.

I wrote all about it in my journal: "I'm going to look really cute every day, and he'll see me all the time, and I know he's going to like me back! We are going to fall in love!"

During the first summer in our new house, my siblings, Ian, and Ian's little sister played together all the time. 

And I was in heaven!

I journaled every night about the times we met "eye-contact" or when we "touched hands playing tag" and "ohhhmygoshhh he loves me!"

and then.

tragedy.

On a particularly warm summer evening, I went inside to get glasses of lemonade for Ian and my sister.

(but mostly for Ian--couldn't let my lover-boy be parched, could I?)

I came back outside, struggling to balance the three glasses of lemonade in my tiny hands, and looked up at Ian with the biggest smile on my face--because, I was giving him lemonade! and duh, he loved me for it!

but then.

I saw it.

My sister and my one-true-love holding hands.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

 I dropped one of the glasses of lemonade, and watched it shatter to the driveway--along with my wounded heart.

I quickly handed them their lemonade cups, whilst giving my sister the meanest glare I could muster, and then ran up to my room and cried.

How could she!?

How could my own sister do that to me?

She knew that I loved him!

And then I had a marvelous idea.

I ran to the office and grabbed printer paper.

And (on what seemed like a million pieces of paper), I wrote one phrase: "Him or Me. Pick ONE!"

And I taped those million pieces of paper all over her room.

Hmph! That will show her!

I don't really remember what she said when she saw her room.

But I do know that she kept holding hands with him.

(...and maybe even kissed him? marci--clarify for me: was there a kiss?)

...so I guess she picked him. 

and my 11 year old self still holds a tiny grudge against her for that. ha!

And I went as long as I could without speaking a word to her.

But that didn't last very long.

so there you have it:

the story of my first love and my first wounded heart.

oh, and if you're wondering: we hardly ever talked to Ian or his sister after that summer. 

Even though we both lived there for the next 8 years...don't really know what happened there. haha

guess my 11-year-old self had it wrong: we weren't meant to be after all. dang it.

Happy Thursday!