Turning Tables

November's off to a great start! Last week I had the pleasure of subbing at a school in Compton where the class consisted of all African American males (need I even mention they were twice my size. Who isn't?) I held my own ok until one of them called me a bitch and then I lost it and now I'm in prison. Yes, there is email in prison. Actually, the vein in my forehead (remarkably) stayed in place and I had a Phil McGraw-like talk with the young man instead. I think he learned his lesson. Actually, I really don't but I have hope.
I was also recently called as the new activities co-chair in my ward. The "congratulations" are flooding in as if I won an election or something and believe me I would not run for this, but I will try my best.
Today, Marcella and I set out to find a table (we're tired of getting in touch with other cultures by sitting on the floor). So, because we live in the ghetto, we thought we'd stick with that theme and go to the Wal-Mart on Crenshaw, where incidentally the LA riots took place. We found some card tables and chairs that will do the job, atleast until our lease is up in February. Three customers asked us if we worked there and one asked if I was Marcella's mother. I checked and she didn't appear to have bloodshot eyes or smell like pot (I know the smell very well from my neighbors)and she didn't have a service dog so she could see. I don't know, are people just insane? We're not even of the same ethnicity, although Marcella mentioned that people on our street think we're sisters and, strangely enough, in this celebrity look-alike website my brother sent me I was matched with Eva Peron and various other South American and Spanish ladies. Maybe I don't know myself as well as I thought. Or maybe living in my neighborhood is rubbing off on me, which is good. The adventures never end. And can I just say that I'm really glad the holidays are upon us. This is the best time of year!