Its late. I'm going to bed.

I've stopped putting butter on my toast, because my butter is always frozen, and my toast is always cold.

Did you know that if you put honey on top of your peanut butter, it doesn't taste horrible.

I announced that to one of my classes today. For some reason little kids don't like honey. There was one boy though, when all the kids were hacking and groaning that shouted out, "Its actually pretty good."

He is my favorite.

Except for the Tongan with a name that rhymes with Miranda. She is my favorite more. Because she told me so. So I've believed her.

At least she apologized after class for talking the entire time I was trying to speak.

Sixth graders...they're a different breed. I can say that because I was one.

Everyone in my sixth grade class was supposed to have a boyfriend/girlfriend. I was assigned Matt Pollock. Tom Happy told me so.

"Who's Matt?" I asked.

That one kid who I hadn't remembered seeing before, stepped forward.

"No."

I didn't mean to reject him. I was terrified really. I wasn't sixteen. I couldn't "go out". I'd go to SH double hockey sticks. If you know what I'm saying.

I wish it were that easy now. You know, random kids stopping you on the playground to inform you who your mate will be. Although, I plan on having a secret admirer this Valentines day, and a boyfriend this summer, I don't frequent the playground as often as I'd like...at least not with people my age (That is a metaphor for something...I'll let you decide for what exactly. I'm not sure myself).

I wish boys like KC, would ask boys like Tom, to ask girls like me, out for them, during Ms. Hall's Geography lesson in the seventh grade, and boys like Lee Norton would look at you across the room with a silly grin, and you'd groan inside, wishing that the boy with the silly grin, who was second chair flute (you were first) and your stand partner and resident genius on your Academic Triathlon team, would play the part of KC from time to time.

I rejected KC too. I had never seen him either. I should have cut the kid some slack. Really, the swearing outside my locker, and incessant teasing after I'd dumped the kid wasn't all that bad. Give me a man to tease me. That'd be the life. (I could do without the swearing).

I can do without teasing boys myself. That only gets you smothered in snow and sent to the playground peer mediators. Its happened on a number of occasions.

Then again, getting smothered in snow, is a momentary, "I think my life may be ending" type of experience. The kind you get when you're older and more attached to people is a little more lasting.

I do, however, have an announcement:

(1)I got over the last kid in a minute flat (I rounded down...its an inherited trait)
(2)I may or may not have changed the names of my childhood crushes.
(3)Its late. I'm going to bed.