RTT: Classrooms, Crushers, & Crowds

• I started a new weekly tradition today: going to Kalen’s classroom and reading with each of the students.  (Major flashbacks, as I’d nearly forgotten that I did the same with Nicky’s first grade classmates a few years ago.)  I introduced myself to the class and confessed up front that I am horrible with names and that I would likely be forgetting most of them from week to week.  They thought that was pretty funny.  Or maybe they thought it was strange.  I’m going with the former.
• I was reading with each kid individually, and I introduced myself to the ones I didn’t know.  We shook hands.  I wanted to stop right then and there and have a handshaking lesson.  Most of the boys (save one) had nice, firm grips.  Every. Single. Girl. (save one) had a fishy handshake, barely touching my hand and letting it hang there limply.  I know, I know, they’re six or seven years old.  But why is it that the boys know darned well how to shake hands confidently, and only ONE girl does??  I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault, because I’m guessing handshaking isn’t something most parents teach their kids before first grade.  (We happened to, but different people have different teaching priorities.  I get that.  And we have boys.  I hope I would’ve taught it to daughters as well, but I can’t assume I wouldn’t have fallen into the same pattern as most other people…strangers don’t tend to offer their hands to little girls as much.  I wonder why that is…)  It does make me wonder, however, how many of these bright, otherwise confident girls will grow up not knowing this very important (in American business, at least) social skill?  I’ve met my fair share of grown women with limp-fish handshakes.
• The only handshake worse than a fishy one?  A crushing one.  There was a certain high-ranking military officer I was introduced to as a teenager who crushed the hell out of my hand.   I must’ve been barely seventeen.  A seventeen-year-old GIRL.  (With, I might add, a confident, firm-enough handshake.  I’d grown up meeting high-ranking military officers, after all.)  What middle-aged man feels the need to exert that kind of physical power over a teenage girl??  Now that I think about it, it’s actually pretty creepy.  Great, now he’s not only an a$$h0le in my memory, he’s a creepy a$$h0le.
• Loved last night’s Big Bang Theory.  The Wesley Crushers.  Heh.  I did have to ask Jason why he’s never so impressed when I quote Yoda, though.  His response: “You’ve been doing it for so long.”  Oh yeah.  I’m geekier than Penny.  I forget sometimes.
• I have a dentist appointment tomorrow.  I want to switch dentists.  There’s nothing wrong with this one, and the people there are perfectly friendly, it’s just not the homey, “you’re family” atmosphere we had at our dentist in Georgia.  The hygienist never remembers my aversion to mouthwash.  Plus, Jason has a different dentist he used – and loved – when he was here last summer.  How do I “break” from the dentist?  Just not make my next appointment?  Tell them I’m switching?  They won’t really care, will they?  Why do I care?  Two words: people pleaser.  Gah.
• Are there any reformed ex-people pleasers out there?  Please share.  Methods.  Results.  The whole shebang.
• The one-and-only Pioneer Woman is going to be here Saturday for a book signing.  I’d love to go, but I can only imagine how crowded it’s going to be.  It’s at the same venue as the Cake Wrecks signing we went to last fall, and that was crowded.  I’d be surprised if the crowd isn’t doubled for Ree’s visit.  I don’t particularly care for crowds.
• And so ends a post in which you were introduced to not one, not two, but three more Aimee Idiosyncrasies.  (Or maybe four.  I’ve kind of lost count.)  Lucky readers!

This Is Not a Wreck

A couple of weeks ago*, Jen and John from Cake Wrecks came to town on their book signing tour.  I just had to go.

The coolest part was not the book (although it’s nifty, sturdier and higher-quality than I expected, and has lots of content not on the website), nor was it the cakes present at the event (although they were awesome), nor was it how incredibly geeky-cool and funny (duh) both Jen and John are and how I would love to be friends with Jen (can’t write about that too much, ‘cuz I don’t want to look too internet-stalkery).  No.  The coolest part?  Jen and I were wearing the same shoes.

Now, I suppose one could interpret this in a [limited] number of ways.  Coincidence springs to mind.  I, however, chose this completely unscientific interpretation: that by nature of association, I now have some small level of cool.  Argument: Jen is cool.  Jen wears low-top raspberry Chucks.  I wear low-top raspberry Chucks.  I am, therefore, cool.**  That I am cool to a much lesser extent is a reasonable assumption (especially since I’m sitting here blogging about whether or not I’m cool) and is perfectly okay with me.

No, really, the event was a blast.  Quite crowded, but fun.  Jen and John are naturals in front of a crowd and are troopers.  Not only did they sign all of those autographs, I heard them having actual conversations with people as they came up to the table.  I’m sure it’s tempting to just smile and sign, but they seemed to be having a good (albeit tiring) time.

Even the folks at the adjacent coffee shop got into the spirit:

*This was before John’s hospitalization mid-tour with horrible, ICU-level pneumonia and infection, poor guy!  I bet Jen was a wreck.  Ouch…that pun wasn’t intended & probably isn’t original in the slightest, but I think they’d like it, so I’m leaving it.  Anyway, it looks like John is home and doing better now, although he still needs some healing time.  Happy, healthy thoughts to John, everyone!

**Hush, math nerds.