Step 44: My Life, The Ben Folds Musical

It's no secret that I am a huge Ben Folds/Ben Folds Five fan, have been since I was a kid. My sisters are pretty big fans as well, and we always marvel at his vast array of discography. A while back, it was mentioned amongst us that a musical of anyone's life could be made with only Ben Folds or Ben Folds Five music. On my flight from Salt Lake to Pittsburgh this Christmas, I decided to use my spare time to write my very own Ben Folds musical of my life. I decided which songs would go for which year of my life. Here it is:

1 -5 years old: Gracie and Philosophy and For All the Pretty People
6 - 10 years old: Kate and She Don't Use Jelly and Bastard
11 years old: Jane
12 years old: Alice Childress
13 years old: Air
14 years old: Underground
15 years old: Best Imitation of Myself and Rockin' the Suburbs
16 years old: Not the Same
17 years old: Julianne and Song for the Dumped

Intermission: Mitchell Lane and Steven's Last Night in Town and Fred Jones Pt 2 and Magic

18 years old: Your Redneck Past and Army
19 years old: Wandering and Jackson Cannery
20 years old: Zak and Sara and Still Fighting It
21 years old: Landed and Regrets
22 years old: Annie Waits and Don't Change Your Plans and Evaporated
23 years old: Late and Video

....choreography to follow.

Step 43: Accomplish Great Things

I have been trying to apply to graduate school over the past few weeks. It has been a totally irritating process, and I really have got nothing done so far which is so typical of me. While filling out applications, I keep running across the same question: What is one of your greatest accomplishments (or something to that tune). It's pretty standard, I know, but always a difficult question for me. You see, I am excellent at being a face in the crowd and making snide comments under my breath, not for being captain of the whatever or leader of the X. And besides, shouldn't it be obvious what my greatest accomplishment is? I'm applying for graduate school which means I GRADUATED...but I feel like I can't write that. Every time I read this question, I start to zone out because it makes me feel like nothing is enough for these people.

While quietly zoning out the other day, one of my favorite childhood accomplishments came flooding back to me...

I was at my neighbor's house, Stephanie. She had this fancy basement with a laser-disk player that we would watch Tom and Jerry on all the time (and later in life we would switch out Tom and Jerry for Spice World...but that's another story). Her basement also had an awesome sound system hooked up with the laser-disk. I guess this was sort of lost on us since we only used it to watch cartoons, but her brother was very aware of the basement's capabilities.

Some how, a game got started with Steph and I and her brother who was five or six years older than us. The game was that we would each pick a song from his CD collection and make a dance routine to it. Her brother would then watch the dances and judge them.

Naturally, we would mostly pick No Doubt and Ace of Base songs, but there was one song we always wanted to pick but were too afraid: Janet Jackson - If. We had both tried dancing to the song before. For whatever reason, the beats of Janet Jackson proved to be far too superior for our elementary dance moves. Dancing to that song always meant a losing score. It was dance competition death to choose that song.

Well, after drinking a lot of Juicy-Juice and eating a bowl of Spaghettios, I felt like I was on-top of the world, and then we decided to play dance competition. I chose "If." Her brother kept warning me, begging me not to throw away the competition, not to seal my own fate. Stephanie hungrily licked her lips at what was turning out to be an easy win. "No," I told them both, "I want to do it."

I stuck to my instincts and danced to "If." When it was my turn to dance, I moved like I was on fire. Flailing about and doing cartwheel after cartwheel. I was going to win this dance to "If" no matter what. I wanted it so bad. All I really remember is thinking that I had to go faster.

My speed and effort paid off. When Steph and I both stood before our judge, I received a 9.5 (or something like that...I don't remember exactly). He said it was the highest score ever awarded for an "If" routine. I swelled with pride. I had decided what I wanted, went after it, and got it. A true Neeley- hard worker by day, dancer by night.

I know that most of you will read this and chuckle or, even better, roll your eyes, but I think it was my first sign of greatness. And I just can't stop thinking about a graduate board reading this story and thinking that I am insane which for some reason gives me a little bit of a smile. Plus, they already know my most recent greatest accomplishment- graduating - so why not give them my first as well?

Step 42: Curse Everyone on the Planet

I don't have cable because I tend to waste my life away watching horrible reality TV shows. (They just suck you in! You can't blame me! If something is flashy and shiny and has lots of screaming involved, I can't look away.) However, there are still some fabulous shows that I love on cable, so I just watch the shows that I like on Hulu every week to keep up and buy the shows later.

This has been a full proof method until 30 Rock: Season 4. I missed the beginning of the fourth season because I forgot that it started or something...I don't remember why, but the point is, by the time I realized my mistake, Hulu had already taken off the first few episodes. I decided that rather than watch the rest of the season without the beginning episodes, I would wait all year until it came out on DVD. It was a long. hard. 30 Rock-less. year.

Two weeks ago, I finally ordered and received the much anitcipated fourth season. I open the package and pull out the disc on the far left of the tri-fold case. I started watching it kind of late one night, and I ended up falling asleep after three episodes or so. The next day I watched the rest of the disc. I felt confused as to what exactly was going on, but I just attributed it to the fact that I watched the beginning few episodes sort of sleepy (being sleepy in my family is approximately the same as being on heroine, so who knows what I saw). I continued with the season, but I kept feeling confused.

Yesterday, I sit down to watch the rest of the last disc. I press "select episode" rather than "play all" and realize, to my horror, that I was watching disc 1. Some fool of a person put the discs into the case wrong! They were ordered 2, 3, 1. At that point, I basically went into a rage black out and cursed everyone on the planet (sorry, everyone on the planet).

But, after some deep breaths, extensive swearing, and kicking my feet on my floor until the guy under me hit the ceiling with his broom handle, I calmed down and started the season over. The right way.

Step 41: New Things I Have Been Doing On Repeat So You Should Probably Do Them Too

1. yelling "Neva heard of him/her/it" in a bizarre accent that sounds vaguely British

2. saying "bobsled" instead of "cool" for no reason...no reason at all

3. calling seventh graders with braces "metal-mouth" because they always act shocked and hurt no matter how many times you say it

4. wearing leggings as real pants even when people tell you things like, "you are always wearing your pajamas everywhere"

5. listening to the Robert Francis song "Mescaline" on repeat at home, in the car, in the work place, on walks and anything else I may do

6. googling the word mescaline on your school computer where the district watches everything you do over and over as you look for the Robert Francis song "Mescaline"....they probably didn't even notice, right?

7. telling your students that you are going to stab your eyes out if they click that pen one more time, and then when they inevitably click their pen one more time, fall to your knees and drive your thumbs into your eyes while some of the girls yelp and gasp in shock even though this is a daily occurrence in class

Step 40: Get Mean. Get Real Mean.

I teach seventh grade English right now at Payson Junior High. I am exactly one week in, and it's been a bit harder than I expected sometimes. One boy would not stop yelling "double tird" at people on the first day of school. Another boy talks about boobs non-stop and thinks that I will believe him when he says, "I'm just supporting breast cancer." But, overall, I am enjoying my new job and my students.

However, I was recently informed that all of my students are not enjoying me. Today at my staff meeting, the foods teacher informed me of a conversation she had with a student we share...

Foods Teacher: How are your classes going?

Student: They're okay...I don't have a lot of classes with my friends...which sucks.

Foods Teacher: What about your teachers?

Student: I have the MEANEST English teacher.

Foods Teacher: Oh yea? Who is your English teacher?

Student: Ms. Neeley...she yells at us all the time and wants us to read a lot.

When I heard this story, I couldn't believe it! This student was from my one class that I don't ever have problems with. I have not yelled at them once! AND we have been doing fun group assignments and easy tasks. AND they've gotten candy almost everyday for being so well behaved and working hard on their assignments.

Well, if that boy thought I was mean before, wait until tomorrow. Ms. Neeley just got mean. For real this time.

Step 39: Only Be Attractive Outside of Your Home Country

What. In. The. Hell.

Every single time a guy hits on me, he is foreign. Which is not a bad thing...I like other countries just as much as the next guy; in fact, I probably like them more. But, I just don't get why the only men who EVER think I am attractive have a thick accent and have only been living in the US for a short time.

I have three theories:

1. Men from other countries appreciate a nice healthy butt (a nice way of saying an enormous rear end...which I have).

2. Men who are checking me out are new to America and are thus attracted to ANYTHING American including Hilary Clinton, obesity, diet pop, littering, western movies, the "NOW" CD's, and Nickelodeon.

3. Men who are fresh off the boat think I am a catch because they have lived in America for such a short time that they have not yet seen the full spectrum of what the female American has to offer.

Whatever the actual reason may be, I would like to know why native English speakers can't ask a girl out once in a while!

PS - To all of my foreign admirers out there- broken English + poorly executed pick up lines + plus taking my picture when I'm not looking (yes, that really did happen. Today. Twice by the same man.) does not really win me over.

Step 38: Get It From Your Momma

As many of you know, I am a half-assed vegetarian, a characteristic that gives me trouble on both sides. Real vegetarians and vegans find me even more insulting than meat-eaters, and meat-eaters find me dim-witted due to the fact that I avoid eating meat if possible.

My family falls into the "meat-eater" category. Now and then my family will give me a hard time about not loving meat. Once my mom even told me that not eating meat was just "abuncha liberal hocus pocus" (whatever that may mean). However, on my trip back to the east half of the US this summer, I realized that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

We noticed that the basement had a few mice roaming around in the ceiling, so we got mice traps to eradicate them. My mom bought a trap that consisted of a stick piece of paper to catch the mice and then the solution on the paper would make the mice fall asleep and eventually die. She set the paper in various places in the basement, and not long after, she noticed a mouse caught in the sticky paper, but not yet asleep by the magical sticky solution.

She was torn. She stared at the mouse for a bit, watching it writhe and whine on the paper. In the end, she decided to save the mouse. My mother gently removed the mouse from the paper, but the mouse was still covered in stickiness. Cradling the hurt mouse she was now calling Stewart Little, she attempted to rinse his sticky legs off in the sink. Try as she did, Stewart's legs remained sore and sticky. So, she put the mouse into a shoe box with a bit of peanut butter, cheese, and a wet paper towel so he would have water.

The next day, the mouse was perky and alert in his shoe box, almost fully recovered. My mom decided to spray him with Goo-Be-Gone to eliminate the stickiness. I was sure that this would finally be the end of Stewart. But, Stewart was a fighter. The Goo-Be-Gone freed his legs up and did not kill him. Once again, my mom left him with food and water for the night.

By the third day, Stewart was in perfect health. My mom was going to take him out of the shoe box and release him into the woods out back of our house. As my mom lifted Stewart out of the box in the kitchen to say good-bye, he sensed the danger he was in and lept out of her hands and behind our dishwasher, never to be seen again.

My mom now sets the metal traps that kill the mice and then leaves the dead mouse in the trap because she does not want to see the damage she has caused. Basically, she is a half-assed killer, like me. It's in my blood. Just like the wise Juvenile said, I get it from my momma.