We've Got Work to Do

In the last week we've had a stabbing, a drug deal, and a kid complaining of someone's balls in his face. All unrelated, if you can believe it.
Anyway, I'm going to Guadalajara for a week. Dan, Matt, and I will be flying down to visit our friend Derek, who is teaching expatriated children. We're hoping our luggage will come with us.

Today...
A student reads my shirt: "Hollllllla!"
"It says Hola."
"Oh. I'm not real good at..."
"Get Señor Diaz on the phone."

Move to Canada (because there's a hit out on you)

Carly's 22nd Annual Celebration was rudely interrupted last night by this piece of sexist propaganda.
Seriously?
"Why is your logo the international symbol for 'male?'" was not addressed in the Volvocars.com FAQs. Am I the first person to ask? Somewhere somebody is talking about how people subconsciously feel safer with a male symbol. I want to yell at those people.
Volvo's newest model has a few special features. My feelings on those are as follows:

• If you need the blind spot sensor, maybe you should hand over your driver's license to the authorities. It's sort of your job to check there, anyway.
  
• It also has a heartbeat monitor; helpful in case someone is hiding out in your car, waiting to kill you. It will show up on your key fob in the form of a blinking light. If you see it, you should run away like the woman in the commercial and then figure out why the locks and car alarm couldn't keep an intruder out. It's just too bad that you'll barely have time to ask, since someone is hiding out in your car, waiting to kill you.

Carly, I got you something special--yes, you can keep the first edition Nancy Drew--it is your freedom from a sexist car that underestimates your abilities and intelligence. Ehhh? Ehh?
Happy birthday.

Churning Urn of Burning Funk

Since Last We Met

• I sat next to the Archbishop at dinner on St. Patrick's Day. He was good company, even if he did leave before my third beer.
• If my arms slip off my desk, I will not be able to type any more. Four shots yesterday: tetanus; Hep A, B; typhoid. I was due. There are bruises.
• Are there other people out there who delete every forward that comes their way? My sweet cousin Maya sent me a "flat" version of herself. I just re-read that sentence. Excuse me while I sound like an angry old woman. Flat Maya was much harder to delete. So I sent it to France. Let that be a lesson to any of you kids out there, with your paper dolls.
  

This Sh*t Will Blow Your Minds
And if it doesn't, why didn't you tell me before?
The more I learn about something, the harder it is... Or the more simple a concept, the more trouble it causes. (Subtraction has always been a problem for me.) Last night at improv--(Woops, that's right, I don't talk here about my nightlife as an improvisational comedy warlord. That's the other blog.)--we talked about story arc. And Holy Cats!
You mean that there's no reason to be coy; my character can just state my objectives? MMMWhaaa? Well, kick me in the face! And at the end, the story must make good on the promise it made in the first scene!
The culprit: reading non-linear books. Messes up the whole brain process. Only Jane Austen for me from now on.

Benevolent Authority Figurines

I never had Dooce's problem. I love my boss. She is caring and supportive and says things like "you're a rock star" and "you go, girl!" in complete earnestness.
And now she is retiring.
To be with her children and her husband and her mother.
They don't need her like we need her.
I will do the adolescent thing for a couple more days and feel as if no one understands me in all my loneliness and workplace strife and then I will move on, happy for her family because they get to be around her all the time.
In other retiring news, Matt is officially going full time at his photography. The world of youth ministry misses him already. Don't worry, honey. They've got Jesus.

Teach Them Well and Let Them Lead the Way

Overheard:
"Do you drive to school?"
"That's what she said."
"What? That doesn't even make sense. It doesn't even work in that situation."
"Of course it does. 'Drive?'"

Hey, you guys need to spend some more time watching television and less time talking. Ok? If you'll excuse me, I have to go deal with the kid who electrocuted himself by putting a paper clip into an outlet. Also, tell the kid with his girlfriend's ring stuck on his finger to calm down. The paramedics will be here in two shakes.

Ice Packs Not Included

Before today, I'd only seen it done on film. It is:

A) punching a wall/bathroom stall/locker
B) eating fried banana sandwiches
C) laparoscopic surgery

The answer is A. I tried it. I punched a bathroom stall. Like an angry person from Varsity Blues or Degrassi* . I (inexplicably) aimed high. As if I'd get the metal right on the chin. Turns out, ouch.
Hey, Sally Vaguepants, what caused this outburst? Communication failure with a taxi company.

*big ups to my Canadian posse of one

Absent Hearts Grow Fonder? You'd Actually Be Dead.

Maybe you're all "what's the deal with this girl?" Maybe you're not. Then, why are you reading? Then, why are you reading?
The deal is this: I got a new computer, a new internets connection, a new business, and now I'm in the process of congealing (concealing?) them all until they're ready to be unveiled.
I'm a lot like the magicians in The Prestige, which I met and loved this weekend. And I only napped through 3 minutes. World record. Hello, Prestige. You're intriguing. Call me.
Not since Tideland has a movie required such active participation as an audience member. True, a large part of my responsibility was being angry every time Scarlips Johansboobs appeared.
Hahaha. Scarlips.
Gross.

A Little Bit Frightening, Expert Timing

What if everybody really was kung-fu fighting?
Because I'll tell you that in my dreams last night, it didn't look as fun as I thought it would.