But You Don't Have To Take My Word For It

Please, please read Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.
It's in paperback.
This could be my pounding headache or three hours of sleep talking, but I am sure that you will like it. YOU MUST. Because God wants you to*. In the month since I finished it, I have not let the characters leave me. They haunt me like images of a Steve Perry-less Journey**.

*It is just not possible to know whether God does, indeed, want you to like it. But I suspect that God would be pleased to see you reading something at all.
**Not really. The characters are beautiful and flawed. A Steve Perry-less Journey is haunting in a different way. A bad and different way. Just read the book.

You Can't [Donate If You Tell] The Truth [Which, Of Course, You Must]

"Where have you traveled in the last three years?"
"Uh..." [I hesitate. I know, but if I tell her she's going to not let me donate. I tell her anyway.]
"Anywhere outside the resort in Cancun?"
"Tulum."
"Well..."
"What?"
"I'm sorry. Mexican ruins are high risk for malaria."
"But! We didn't even get to the iron! I've been taking vitamins!"
"We have to protect our patients."
"From me? I'm safe. Look! See how safe I am? And how much iron!"
"I'm sorry."
"[mumble]"
"You're not a failure."

Love Handles

In A Pickle
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Apparently grocery bags shouldn't be heavy enough for two arms, unless you have two arms free. Here is my Sharpie interpretation of tonight's massive Pickle Loss. That's right. Pickles died tonight. They sacrificed themselves on the driveway of life. Only their odor remains.

The Passive-Agressive Post

My ever-expanding definition of "douchebag...."
Where should I keep all the, "If I'm ever in this situation again[s]"? In a notebook? On Post-It notes? Tatoos?
I was stuck between two of my selves on Saturday: The Misanthrope and The Customer Server. We were setting up a group formal when a smug man handed me his [cue: disdain] point-and-shoot Sony. With the weight of my own camera and its three-pound lens, I thought about doing some damage to his lower regions. I stood, brows-knit, mouth-gaped, and stared at him for several seconds until I grunted, "yeah." He made sure to tell me not to charge him. I made sure to pass off his camera to someone else, lest I absent-mindedly toss it off the balcony or into the lovely fireplace.

No More Minors...er...Drama

Happy Birthday, Big Girl.
P.S. Thank you, State Legislature, for making sure that my sister does not die from Power Hour festivities.
P.P.S. Thank you, Hornsby Apple Cider, for being in our refrigerator for over a year. You were there for us when we needed you.
And that matters.


Legally
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Along The Same Lines

It will be very difficult for you to keep a straight face when someone comes in to tell you that he has detention for saying "butt plug" very loudly in class.

Adults Speakoutagainst Swearing (A.S.S.) is on to me.

If you tend to spew words like "crapface" when you're working with 11-14 year-olds, their collective silence might be an indicator that you just said something bad.
And then Tony thinks you're calling him "Crapface." Which you're not! You're just saying "crapface" to the air because you weren't thinking about the fact that he has to enter from stage left so that he'll be walking on from the livery and not the library.
And then maybe you're guiding a student through some class notes and you say: "So you have assignments and all this crap."
But it's not because you think biology is crap. Let the record show that you like biology. And Tony.

I Also Read Tea Leaves

I just ate two pieces of Dove chocolate. They are Promises; chocolate with little messages. Both wrappers said, "There is a time for compromise...it's called 'later.'" Significant only in that I interpret things as being "signs" from time to time.
But then the third one said, "Get your feet massaged."
And the fourth one said, "Hey, why not?"
So. I guess the time for compromise is now.
Dammit.

Rude Awakenings

1. Your alarm playing, what you have decided must obviously be, the Looney Tunes theme song. How can this be the first time you've identified it?
2. The water in your bottle tastes like soap.
3. Someone leaves you a voicemail saying, "I didn't know you existed."
4. You call the person back and she tells you again--this time, live--that she didn't know you existed.*
5. [This space reserved for forgetting your keys.]

*I'm sure this one is rude. I don't know if I can be personally insulted. She didn't know. It seems like no. And yet...

If A equals B, and B equals C, then...

He, my erstwhile protector, has come back to me for math help. Yesterday, as we were working on his assignment, he mumbled to himself....

Me: Sorry?
He: I am saying that books just gives you problems.
(pause)
He: When I have a wife, I will tell her, 'You are a math book.'
(pause)
He: 'Math. Book.'

Later...
Me: I can NOT figure this out. I'm sorry.
He: You're having math book.

Stick Shifts and Safety Belts

Matt calls when he's driving. A manual car. On a snowy day. Which is not safety first. Which is my motto.
He says, "What do you think about... A restaurant? We'll call it, "No, You're Not a Loser (Fine Dining for Non-Losers)."

Photo Park

Snow Day Montage
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Whoop that trick. Here, the result of my first vaguely successful and highly monitored Photoshop experiment.

"Snow slows commute, triggers power outages"

I misread that headline thinking that it said "outrages." I would have told the outraged to relax and enjoy a cup of tea.
Other potential headlines:
"Snow makes people whiny and my brakes ineffective"
"Snow slows brain function, response time"
"Snow falls regardless of what we do to stop it"
"Snow begat snow begat furied emails to our Superintendent"

How Can This Be?

My father knows the meaning of the word "crunk."

Opaque Tights and Bootcut Jeans: The Night of Bar-room Music from H-E-Double-Toothpicks

"She's Canadian and we play her song anyway."
[final chord, mild applause]
"Thank you....Thanks, y'all."
[overenthusiastic woman and friend dancing in front of seated patrons stumble toward the stage]
"Can I sing with you?"
(overlapping) "Can she please sing along? She's good."
"I sweartagod I'm good. Seriously. It's my birthday. I'm double curvy."

Our heroines weigh their options:
1. We let Boozy Marmalade sing her birthday tune or
2. We watch her gnat around our microphones until we get violent (resulting in a trip to the emergency room and lawyers office, suing to cover the hospital bills and her emotional damage).

Boozy chooses a Joplin jam. She sings and surfs an imaginary board with her eyes closed. Luckily, "Me and Bobby McGee" has built-in slurring. In fact, Boozy sings pretty ok. Until the second verse when all the words are just a step ahead of her brain. And the next chorus. And the "Nanndnanananananaa--"
Boozy demands applause. "MORE! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!"
Eyes roll out of heads and onto the floor.
The bar empties.
She, she, she oughta know.

Like You Like What You See

These make me want to dance around and clap my hands (and say yeah).

Tortura: Shakira's Unwritten Verse

Watch American Idol. (This is step one of The Torture, even if you know one of the contestants who is doing so well you could just spit because you accidentally forgot to call in your vote for her last week.) Watch it because you yourself must be put to the test (of extreme boredom and nonsensical spewings of our Idiot Nation) before you subject others.
Tell your sister you have dog jaw. While she's insisting it's called "lock jaw," put her finger near your face. Quickly turn and bark.
Brace yourself for the spray of violence about to hit.

I Yield My Time To The Chair

Nail clipping in public is NEVER ok. In fact, neither is tapping acrylic nails together. Sick.
Let me know if you're interested in co-authoring a bill.
These crimes are punishable by death stares.

Warm Inside

Last weekend I joined a group of high schoolers on a trip to Chalet Paradise [not its real name] up North. We snuggled up to the tv/fireplace with Grey's Anatomy Season One on DVD and we ate store bought cookie dough. (Like you do.) At night we met to reflect on the day's events (namely, the watching and the eating). Matt talked about the many ways in which we try to fill ourselves; we agreed that the [proverbial] table is a place we go to feel full. But as of yesterday we entered Lent, which is a time to be [proverbially and literally] emptied. Now we are emptying [you get the picture] ourselves to be filled [ ] at the other table, the God Table.
My point is two-fold:
1. I love the idea that all of my food-based issues can come back to this one idea--looking to be full, having one central place to be fed, and
2. I understand that there won't be baked goods at God's Table. And that's fine. But let's take a moment to discuss how satisfying it is to eat just the top of a muffin.