The Utep game this past Saturday was awesome! Everyone who wore pink in support of Susan G. Koman and her breast cancer awareness foundation was permitted to go in for free to see the womens’ team in action. People received “pink” (strawberry) milk as they entered the Haskin’s stadium and the first 1,000 people were given pink scarves that had “Utep” embroidered in them in navy. It was nice to see people go support, not only the womens’ team, but breast cancer awareness too. It is a horrible illness that has taken the lives of many woman. I just wish more people would support the womens’ team. Someone made an excellent point in a comment to my last post, saying that the womens’ games’ tickets are only one price and the mens’ games’ tickets are different prices. And, that is because more people go the mens’ games so they can get more money from them. It is just sad that there is still no equality in some areas in the world. The womens’ team  is out-performing the mens’, yet the men get more attention, money from the school, and fans

The Utep womens’ basketball team is playing this Saturday and the Edgemere dance team, Evolution, is going to be dancing at the half time show. I think that is a great opportunity for our school to get noticed for the hard work students commit themselves to. Plus, it’s a great experience for the dance team to have to get used to performing in front of large audiences. Another benefit to the game on Saturday is that if you wear pink you can get in for free.

The Utep womens’ team hardly ever gets the same amount of support as the mens’ team does and that’s really disappointing, especially considering that the womens’ team had an outstanding season last year, making it to the NCAA playoffs, which the men did NOT accomplish last year. It would be great if as many people as possible could go out and support the Utep womens’ basketball team AND Edgemere dance team!

This past weekend I had the unexpected pleasure of having my first paintball experience. My roommates and some friends decided, randomly, to go play paintball this past Saturday. I had never done this before, but always wanted to. I had no idea what was to be in store for me…

For those of you who don’t know, paintball is a “sport” where you and your team go into a ” battle field” full of random objects to hide behind. You are basically at war against another team who starts on the opposite end of the field as you. The whole time you’re in the netted battle field, hard-shelled balls of paint are being shot, from large guns that looks similar to military weapons, at up to 280 miles per hour across the field, in all directions. If you’re hit with one of these balls, the shell breaks, exploding colorful paint on you. The object, of course, is for your team to have the most people still “alive” at the end of the game. Whichever team’s players are all hit first, loses.

When we arrived at Winky Doodles Paintball Park, we had no idea what to expect. Dre was terrified; she is extremely girly and has NEVER shot any kind of gun, so she was really nervous about this whole experience. It was actually quite comical. She was even whining. Our friend, Alba, had brought her “battle gear”, wearing her husband’s army pants and army boots. She was definitely ready for the battle that was to take place. After getting our equipment (guns, face shield & goggles, chest protector, and ammunition) we listened to a safety speech by the “referees”. They went over all the rules of the park and explained the danger behind paintballing. Our first game was very exciting. I felt so nervous, my palms sweaty and my heart racing. I had no idea what to expect and our friends had told us that it does hurt a little when you get hit with a “bullet”.

The refs shouted, “GO GO GO!” and the game was on. We ran quickly to different bunkers to find shelter from the flying paintballs. There were about eight of us on each team. As we hid behind the bunkers, we’d peek up and fire our paintballs at the enemy team. Within only a few minutes, members from both teams were being taken out, splattered with bright orange and white paint. I was thankful I was not the first to be out. Just as I rose from a bunker to shoot… BAM! I was hit on the hand. Man, it sure did sting! I walked out to the back of the course to safety. As I was talking to one of my friends, we looked and saw Dre walking towards us. She was out too now! It was hilarious though because as we watched her walking towards us, we noticed a bright orange spot, right smack in the middle of her forehead. She had been shot in the head!! We laughed for a while about it as she rubbed her head. Dre said, “I may have been shot in the forehead, but I shut Diana up when I shot her in the shoulder first! Ha ha ha!” Diana is our other roommate. She is an engineering major at UTEP and she often “talks smack” to us all the time about how engineers are so smart and good at everything. So, it was quite humorous that the “smart engineer” got taken out.

I think after the first game, those of us who had never played this game before were more relaxed. It was actually quite fun, even though being shot could be a little painful, sometimes more than others. Being shot in certain places hurt s lot more, like the inside of your legs and arms and in the neck. I had several bruises later in the day, but the fun definitely out weighed the soreness from being shot. It really was like being in battle, in the middle of a war zone. I remember during one of the games, as I was hiding for cover, I looked up into the sky and saw a sea of paintballs soring through the air, flying every direction you could imagine. It was so crazy. And, even when you thought you were protected, only peeking out at tiny bit from the protection of your bunker, you could STILL get hit by a bullet that was looking for you.

All in all, it was a great time: adrenaline pumping excitement. My roommates and I are already planning another trip to Winky Doodles.

Don’t you HATE that feeling that surges through your body when the alarm sounds and you slowly crack your eye lids open to realize it is STILL DARK outside? That is exactly what I felt this morning. When my alarm buzzed off this morning, I could have sworn that I had only just gone to sleep a few moments earlier. It was like I was dreaming, only it was NOT a desirable dream. This was more like a nightmare. No more sleeping in with the dogs, no more lazy, relaxation on the sofa watching movies, no more hanging out with my roommates (since we were all on vacation), no more Guitar Hero, no more fun stuff. Man, I all I wanted to do this morning was smack off the alarm snuggle back deep into my pillow and let the comforter swallow me in it’s warmth. Kaiser, Aiden, and Linkin didn’t even want to get up. As a matter of fact, I had to drag them out of bed and force them to go outside to relieve themselves. As I slowly crawled out of bed, the house seemed so dark, so quiet… still sleeping, like most of you probably were at that time of the morning. I did not even do my hair this morning, finding it much easier and giving me ten more minutes to lounge in bed, I decided to throw a beanie on to cover up the bird’s nest that my hair had become over night. After doing my makeup and getting dressed I slugged off to work.

Once I arrived at work, it was quite amusing to find that many of my colleagues were curious as to “what” I was hiding under my hat. I guess they are so used to me doing crazy things with my hair style and color, they assumed that I had modified my hair even more in some crazy way. I even had to take my beanie off to prove it to some of them. I must admit, the humor of the whole thing almost encourages me to think of another wild and outrageous design for my hair. It IS, after all, time to get a hair cut and retouch the color, he he he.

It was good to see my colleagues once again and catch up with them, their lives, and their holiday experiences. The day had a slow start, trying to get my body and mind to move at the same speed, but now that it’s almost over, I think I’ll be okay for tomorrow when all of you return to drain my energy from me. Ha! Though I do not consider myself to be old (age is only a number; you are truly as young as you choose to be), I DO most definitely miss the energy that your body has when you’re the age that you all are. Anyways, ready or not, the second semester is here. Let’s make it a successful AND fun filled one

Nemesis, as you know, is the newest addition to the class pet family in my room. You may not have known her name, but that is what it is… Nemesis. Nemesis is a corn snake and she’s just a baby right now, but she will eventually grow to be about 5ft. long, much larger than she is right now at only a little over one foot long. I’ve learned some quite interesting things about her and her breed since I got her. Nemesis is quite energetic, and though she is small, she has this intimidating look about her, sort of warning strangers to stay away, or she might strike at any moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Nemesis was a mean and vicious creature. But, she’s quite the opposite. She is playful, sweet, and affectionate. She often likes to slither all around my arm and weave in and out of my fingers, all the time fluttering her tongue in and out of her mouth, tickling me as it whips swiftly across my skin. That is how she smells her surrounds, through her tongue. Her skin feels so smooth and soft and her colors are so vibrant and bold, especially now that she has shed her skin. The red and yellowish brown colors on her body are brighter than ever, illuminating and eye catching. I think the most interesting thing to watch her do is eat. It is amazing to me how snakes can eat things that are much larger than the size of their mouths. Nemesis eats two “pinkies”, or baby mice, every Monday. She’s so lazy when you feed her though. She sleeps a lot so when it’s feeding time, you have to show her the mice to get her attention. But, once she sees them… ohhh! It’s like watching an animal in the wild hunt their prey. The pinkies are already dead, but Nemesis doesn’t act like it. Her wild instincts tell her to slither up slowly, sneakily to surprise her prey. Her tongue works quickly to smell her delicious meal that is waiting for her. And just when you least expect it, when you’re not paying attention, BAM! She darts forward with great speed and snatches up her prey, slowly devouring it whole… no chewing, just swallowing, until there is no more. Once she has eaten, she lays under the heat lamp that is on the top of her cage. The heat from the lamp helps her to digest her meal. Snakes have a pretty crazy digestive system, especially since they do not chew their food to break it down. Hopefully the weather warms up soon so she can come back to the classroom.

Earlier this evening I had a little fright. I was leaving Cielo Vista Mall and had to stop by a friend’s apartment. It was a relatively nice evening, so I had been driving with my window rolled down slightly. As I pulled into the parking lot of my friend’s apartment complex, I saw the usual gathering of stray cats that seem to lurk around constantly, probably because the dumpsters are treasure chests of food and treats for the furry felines. I parked ans ran up to my friend’s, dropped something off and chatted for maybe five minutes, and then ran back down to my car to leave. I got in my car, turned the key to start the ignition, and as I tapped gently on the gas and started inching back in reverse, I glanced up into the reader view mirror (as a good driver would) and I saw this shadowy outline of what looked almost like a white lion. It was more than a little freaky. I jerked around suddenly to see what was really behind me. I figured it was a pure coincidence. Just the shadow and moonlight dancing in the mirror to play tricks on my mind. But, when I turned I found sitting there on the top of the back seat in the rear windshield area, a huge white cat that closely resembled a white tiger, only it had the fluffy mane of a lion. I couldn’t help but let out a scream, “Oh God!”My hearted jumped a little then seemed to skip a beat or two, leaping high up into my throat. In a matter of a few seconds, my pulse weakened back to normal and my heart slid down my throat, back comfortably to where it belonged in my chest. I stopped the car, and opened my door, to let the scared kitty cat out. She just stared at the door though, not budging from the comfortable spot she had found when she climbed through the small space that was left by my window being open. So, not quite sure of what to do next and since I did not know if this cat was going to be friendly, I got out of the car and folded the front seat back. I slowly approached her, reaching my hand out in peace to try to gain her trust. Once I did that, she hopped down to the seat and meowed faintly, not mean or angry, but more timid and a little frightened. I’m sure she was scared when she realized she was suddenly in a moving vehicle with a total stranger at the wheel. She had clearly jumped into the car to find a warm shelter form the crisp wind that was biting outside. Once she hopped down to the seat she saw her path to freedom and bounced over the console to the front seat and leaped to her familiar surroundings of the apartment parking lot and sat on the cold asphalt. She bid me farewell, waiting until I had backed out and driven off before returning to her night prowling escapade for food.

Goliath is the new “class pet”. He’s quite unique and stands out in his very own way. Goliath is not a lizard like people think he is even though he does come from the lizard family of reptiles. Rather, he is a bearded dragon. They look kind of like horned toads that are common here in the desert area of El Paso, but bearded dragons grow to be much bigger than horned toads. They also originally came from Australia, which we ll know is very far away from the Chihuahua Desert, where we live. I have learned a lot from Goliath since I got him.

For one, if he is scared or mad, he makes his normally skinny body puff out really big and be becomes a flat pancake. Besides that, he will also blow up the skin underneath his mouth, like a blowfish. The first time her did it, I wondered why he was doing it. He looked so mean and intimidating with his face puffed out. Since his skin is covered in spikes, when his face was puffed out, he looked like he was ready to strike, like an angry cobra. After reading about the characteristics of bearded dragons, I found that they will do those things when they are upset or feel threatened. They do it to make themselves look bigger and more intimidating.

Goliath is quite funny in that way. He definitely has no problem letting me know how he feels. When I was gone for two days last week because I was sick, he let me know how upset he was when I returned on Wednesday. When I reached into the tank to pet his head like I always do, he immediately flared up and stared right at me as if saying, “Don’t even think about touching me! I am mad at you!” Goliath would not even let me pick him up at all that day. By Thursday, my punishment was over and he was back to his friendly self, letting me stroke his head until he fell asleep and holding him in my hand. That didn’t last long though. He got a little moody this weekend too. I didn’t feed him on Saturday and on Sunday when I brought his food, he flared up at me and charged the glass of the tank. He didn’t want to let me take out the old newspaper and put fresh newspaper either; at least not until I fed him. About an hour after feeding him, he was fine, letting me hold him again.

I know some of you think I am weird, and even said it to me, because I talk to Goliath, but you know just because they are animals or a different kind of animal doesn’t mean they don’t like being talked to. Goliath loves to be talked to. When I, or other people, talk to Goliath he actually listens. He’ll even turn his head at you to get a better view. If he is on the other side of the tank, many times he’ll waddle swiftly over to you. He’s just like any other pet, friendly, affectionate, and desires your love and attention.

Remember the saying parents lecture, ” You wouldn’t jump off a bridge just because your friends asked you to would you?” Parents usually say this in an attempt to show that it’s not always a good idea to do what your friends tell you to, or encourage you to. Well, I have a story to share where this statement is completely true. And, it was not too long ago when it happened. Though it is a humorous story, it also teaches a meaningful lesson about not always listening to your friends.

The year I started teaching, I was 22. I had just been hired at Edgemere Elementary and also just finished my first two weeks of teaching on my own. We were out for Christmas break and I had not yet moved in with my soon to be roommates, but as always, I was spending time with my friends. It was about a week before Christmas and I was helping my friend (who is also my roommate now) Dre put together a fooseball table. We didn’t have an electric screw driver/drill so we had to do everything manually, the old fashioned way. After a while, several hours, and a whole lot of frustration, neither one of us ever wanted to see another screw driver again. We were delirious and couldn’t think clearly from the hours of annoyance that came from trying to put together this dumb game.

Well, we needed a laugh. Dre dared me to do something that I later realized I probably… no, DEFINITELY, should not have done. “I dare you to take the cardboard box the fooseball table was in and slide down the stairs.” “Okay!!” I didn’t even hesitate. It sounded fun! So, I took the large cardboard box and dragged it behind me, up the staircase to the top. I set it down and sat on top if it, inching myself forward towards the edge of the top stair. I probably should have put the box down on the opposite side. I had put it down on the slick side where the label was (this made me go way faster than I would have on the other side). As I leaned over the edge, my hair suddenly swooshed back and I literally flew through the air, down towards the bottom, to the entrance of the apartment. Unfortunatley, waiting for me at the bottom of the stairway was a small tiled area, with extremely hard ceramic tile. I had raced so rapidly down the stairs that when I reached the bottom, I actually shot up before I slammed down, right on my tail bone, which immediately cracked as it crashed to the floor. I screamed in excruciating pain. I had never felt a pain so sharp as the one shooting up and down my back and tail bone at that moment. I could not move. If I even tightened a single muscle in my body, the reminder of my foolishness stabbed me in my tail bone. My friends in the living room were of course laughing so hard, they could not even talk to ask if I was okay. Finally, after several minutes of gasping for air as I rolled in pain on the floor, Dre asked, “Are-are-are you okay? Ha ha ha ha,” she laughed as she tried to talk. I replied, “No! This hurts so bad!!” She then asked if I needed to go to the hospital and I told her no. I didn’t even have insurance yet. I was no longer covered by my parents and my insurance for the school district would not be active for another month.

I was in major pain for the entire Christmas break. When I went back to school, my grade level, these people I had really only known for about a week and a half, had questions about why I could not walk properly. I told them the story and of course, they laughed hyterically. Who wouldn’t have? It was funny that someone would be so foolish as to do what I had done. Ask me if I’d do it again and I’d say probably not. Ever since that sill incident, I have had problems with my tail bone. I can not sit for too long and I can not sit in the same position for too long. In fact, I need to get up now because it is starting to hurt, so until next time…. THINK BEFORE YOU ACT!!

Has anyone, like your parents, ever told you not to let others influence you and to be your own person? It IS true that we should be our own people. And, we shouldn’t ALWAYS listen to other people. For example, if someone wants us to do something we know is wrong, like do drugs, cheat on a test or assignment, or break the law, we definitely should NOT let them influence us. We should stand up and do what we know is right.

But, some influences can actually be good, and even help us. Those influences can be a bad OR good thing as well. For instance, when I decided to become a teacher, it was both the bad experiences AND the good ones that I had in school that made me want to be a teacher; but, not just a teacher… a GOOD teacher.

I remember when I was in 6th grade. My teacher was a short, blond haired Scottish lady who was extremely grouchy. Her face was always scrunched up. I swear I thought her forehead would stay wrinkled forever because of how mad she looked all the time. Her eyebrows always made this “V” shape in the center of her face. All she had to do was glance a little in your direction and you knew you were doomed to fall into the wrath of her foul mood. She actually reminds me of that horrible teacher/”substitute” in the book, Miss Nelson Is Missing. I used to think that if the perm in her hair were a little more relaxed, her mood might improve, but nonetheless, she was a true witch! Sometimes when she would talk, we couldn’t understand her accent, but we didn’t even dare to ask what she had said because she would simply snarl at us, “Well, pay attention and listen up! Clean the wax out of your ears!” She never really taught us much either. She just gave us “busy work”. My guess is that she gave us that to shut us up and keep us quiet so we wouldn’t disturb her in whatever she felt was more important. And, if we DID manage to take her away from what she was doing, she made our questions, no matter how legitimate they were, seem stupid and pointless. She always seemed to make us feel like we were a waste of her time. She was the ONLY teacher I ever had that told my parents at parent conference night that I was a bad kid. She called me “rude” and said I never paid attention. Luckily, when my parents came home from the conference, they asked me about it before yelling at me and punishing me. That at least gave me a chance to tell my side.

On April Fool’s Day, she played a nasty joke on our class. She said that the school was becoming too crowded and so some kids were going to be moved to another school, away from our friends. I actually didn’t mind much; I even wanted to go, so when she called my name, I was so relieved. “Yes!” I said to myself. I hated her so much that I didn’t even care if I couldn’t be with my friends. Others were not so happy though. Some kids even started crying in class. She waited until late in the afternoon to tell us it was a joke. Some kids spent the entire day devastated. You could tell she was not one for children.

Why did she even become a teacher if she didn’t like being around kids? Well, I should thank my 6th grade teacher because this horrible, cruel, unkind lady was a huge influence on my decision to enter the teaching profession. Of course, I also had many great teachers along the way who inspired me to become an educator. But sadly, I think that the way my 6th grade teacher made me and my classmates feel had the most influence on the realization that I wanted to go into that profession. I never would have thought then, when I was in elementary school, that I would want to be a teacher. But, when I was asked by my college professor to write an essay on why I want to be an educator, the first thing that popped into my head was… you guessed it, my 6th grade teacher. She taught me a valuable lesson. She taught me that I NEVER want to be the kind of teacher that she was.

Last Thursday, I went home in a good mood. I was looking forward to going to dinner with my roommate and a friend of ours who is in the army, currently stationed in the middle east. My friend Stephanie was leaving Saturday so my roommate, Dre, and I had made dinner plans with her. Stephanie, another friend Destiny, and I had been talking in the living room, waiting on Dre to get ready. She was taking forever, as always. Despite the joyous mood, the night took a horrible turn in the wrong direction as soon as I opened the front door for us to leave.

As we were talking, still in the doorway, I had noticed Damon sitting on the porch. It was nothing new… he always lounges there. “What’s up Damonator?” I said to him. Dre also added, “Damonator, what are you doing buddy.” We always talk to him like he’s a human and he always seemed to like it. He’d look up at if paying attention to what  we were saying. But, as we stepped out, Damon dragged himself to the side. His hind legs were not moving. I stopped, noticing this, and I also realized that he was full of dirt. I immediately panicked, thinking he had been hit by a car, and probably had internal bleeding. “Dre, he’s not moving his legs!” I shouted. We all moved quickly. My other roommate, Diana, grabbed a towel so we could pick him up. I could already feel the tears of panic well up in my eyes. Dre remained positive, I think more to keep me calm than anything. We got him into the car and left for the Animal Emergency on Airway.

The drive seemed to take an eternity and so did the wait to get Damon into an exam room. Dre and I both became irritated at how long it took to get him in. When we finally did get him in a room, and the doctor came in, she examined him. It seemed as though his lower body were paralyzed. The doctor pinched Damon’s toes to see of he’d react. He did react on one foot, flinching, but on the other he seemed to not feel anything. She then took him to the back to get radiographs (x-rays).  After waiting for another very long period of time, wondering what was going to happen, the doctor called us back to look at the x-rays. “As you can see here, it appears as if someone shot Damon,” the doctor said. My heart sank to the floor upon hearing that. At first I was infuriated. I was so angry. How could someone shoot him!! He was the most affectionate, friendly cat (even though he tried to take Mr. Jingles that one time). Looking at the x-rays, you could see a BB pellet right against his vertebrae (spine). That wasn’t the worst part. The BB had fractured his spine, causing him to be paralyzed and also damaged a nerve next to his bladder. The job of that nerve was to tell Damon’s brain when he needs to go to the bathroom. Since the nerve was damaged, he would not be able to go to the restroom without medical help. Damon’s injuries caused him a large amount of pain and there was no way of telling if he’d be able to get through this. In order to make the right decision, the most humane and selfless decision, I had the x-rays sent to a specialist to see what Damon’s chances were of getting through this.

I had to wait for over an hour to hear back and the news was not good. Even the specialist was unsure. I was now faced with the hardest decision I have had to make. I didn’t know what to do and, in a way, I just wanted someone to confirm that the thoughts running through my head were correct. I knew in my heart what the right decision was. Damon was in pain, suffering from the cruel actions of some unknown stranger. So, I made the only decision that was fair to him. The doctor brought him in so my roommate and I could say our goodbyes. Though he was my cat, we have both always treated all the animals like they are our own. It hurt so bad knowing that was the last time we’d see him, comfort him. Dre and I stayed with him while the doctor put him to sleep. I held his head and looked into his eyes, telling him over and over that I loved him and that he was a good boy. He was. He was the greatest animal I’ve had. Needless to say, my roommate and I cried a lot that night. Losing a pet, if you’re an animal lover, is just like losing a child. These pets become your children. You care for them, feed them, comfort them, and most importantly, you love them. I loved him very much and he will never be replaced. I will hold him in my heart with memories of him forever.

There was a blessing in all this. Though he was in an unimaginable amount of pain from the BB lodged in his fractured spine, he was still just as affectionate as always, bobbing our hands with his head to pet him, telling us he knew we loved him. He was even purring. He knew we loved him. He knew we’d always do the right thing for him. After all, he had dragged himself home from wherever he was when he was unfairly shot.  I say it was a blessing because, despite everything, he was still himself. He wasn’t crying or motionless or unconscious. He was the same loving Damonator that he has always been. And THAT is exactly how I will always remember him.