A Smile Would Have Been Sufficient

I wear a squirrel skirt made by Melissa. (That's me with my one peg leg sticking out of the bottom of that photo.) In fact, the first time I wore this for an evening at the theater, I received three complements in the first hour. One from a man with a boombox chained to the handlebars of his bike: "Great skirt!"
"You're goddamned right it is!"
"..."
"Thanks! Bye!"

Shapely

Roommate Nicki and I entered a contest and won (the first round), which started with this:

And then became this:

And eventually, this:

Cue landlord freakout.
Voiceover: "Worry not, Friend. These decals won't leave paint behind like the tenants of yesteryear. The girls who live here wouldn't do you wrong. And shouldn't they get a break on rent for being so respectful?"
Blik your walls. Do it. Make it happen.
P.S. I'm famous.

Skew This!

Rather than focus on the overwhelming nature of my work--children's futures strewn at my feet--I pick up the little Clinique compact in my desk drawer (free with purchase five years ago, bitches!) to check my teeth and notice I'm having a bad hair... season. If you have any ideas or wigs, please contact my publicist. She looks a lot like me. With equally bad hair. And she's about my size, so maybe just send two of everything.

Public Reunion

Last night our former (I would've said old, but I know you're out there reading this, Hardy, and I can't have you worrying whether I meant age. P.S. You're old. P.P.S. Just kidding. P.P.P.S. Not really) college professor came home all prodigal-like (you know, after spending our tuition on whores and feasts) and visited for some drinks late in the evening. (Too many asides?)
There was much jumping and hugging and delight. We were that table.
When you break the rules, but nobody gets hurt?
Awesome.
And when the rules are really just social convention?
Even better.
But then you realize that you were out until bar time on a work night and your eyelids are superheavy and you smell vaguely of fry-cooker?
Still pretty good.

These Shirts Are Dry-Clean Only

A former student stopped by my office yesterday. Juan graduated in May and went immediately out to San Diego to begin his new job; his new life as a Marine.
When I saw him (a smaller, stricter version of himself) I shook my head and blew through the list of questions I'd been saving since last we met, including, "Are they feeding you enough?" (Yes.)
He answered each question with all possible professionalism and dignity I've come to know in him. So sure, so calm. He re-enacted for me his graduation stance and rifle-handling bit and gave me a copy of his unsmiling picture.
I remembered our conversations for the last three years and how had I steered him toward university (because apparently I hate America).
As a first-generation immigrant, he has a special stake in this country and its freedoms. And it's not because he wanted to go to Iraq that he signed up. I will try to remind myself of that when he gets called into active duty.

Delusions of Gandalf

Take That!
I feel like she and I would really get along, mostly because this is the funniest thing I've read all day:

"Randy feels very strongly that cleaning utensils does nothing but weaken our immune systems. One day half the country will be knocked down from some giant, obscure food-borne illness and I will survive solely because Randy believes that cheese is its own cleanser."

And That!
Jill has solved the my anal-probe bike problem. The very same day of my sadangry post, she called to say: all that remains of her bike is the seat. Thank you, Jill, for making my athletic pursuits possible and time-save-y once again.
I have moved the entire contraption inside, injuring my elbows and the door frame, but hereafter let it be known: No more theft shall pass.
I need to wield a giant glowing staff with an eagle on top.
Can I find one at Goodwill?

Guided Meditation Or, The Blink

"And now I am walking through a field of strawberries and beyond that is a lemon grove. I will park this Tonka truck and walk among the trees. Because this is my sanctuary. It is good that I am here."

How Can I Keep From Sporting?

I didn't take a picture. I didn't want to jinx it. But it turns out, it's not me; it's the Universe.
About a month into my new bike ownership, I just need to take a moment out and say Thank You, whoever you are, looking out for me and my personal safety. I almost enjoyed a ride this weekend, but then I didn't take one. As a result, I did not get hit by a passing motorist or scrape my face on any pavement because I could not ride MY SEATLESS BIKE.
Seriously. It was really kind of you to steal my !@$%ing bike seat. You jerkface!@%^$.
!@#&%^#$**
[Maniacal arm-waving]
*#$%$@!!
[Accidentally hitting over a bottle of water]
DAMMIT!$%^&Stupid$%&@#!

Sporadic Alienation

I Hope The Bear Sketch Lives On.
Last night, Laura and I went on a minidate to the Brave New Workshop to watch their final dress rehearsal of their new show YouCube: This Company Loves Misery. Awesome. Awesome. Lauren Anderson Awesome. Go see it.
One thing I was sort of expecting to see was a bit about office lunchtime culture. I remember during my 90 terrifying days in the corporate world that (buses are an amazing invention, the Farmer's Market makes Thursday almost as good as Friday, and) everyone self-elects into one of two categories

1. lunch buyer
2. lunch bringer

And from there,

1. solo lunch
2. group lunch

I know how bad it is to be a solo lunch bringer. Because I was and am one. My department here in non-corporate is made up of administrators and counselors. I suspect that they do not eat; their love for students sustains them. I, on the other hand, am eating all the time. But only when I've been sitting still for longer than 10 minutes.
The Part Where I Get Serious
All of this brings me to my new 12th grade student. On the first day he stopped by to say that he hadn't "found [his] place" here yet. But three days later he's still finding ways to skip out of the cafeteria experience by coming to visit. My office is his hub.
Thank you, God, that I am not in high school anymore.
As one student of color among a sea of white faces, he scans the crowd looking for people who look like him. "Who would you sit with?" he asks me. And I am momentarily dumbfounded.
"The geeks."
"Really? I saw you drinking your water out of a gallon yesterday. That's more hood than geek."
"Ah. Then I would sit with the hood."
[shakes his head]
Tough Love
I just sent him down to the lunch room without me. Without me to protect him or guide him or walk him towards friendly faces. And I'm in my cozy office safely behind a desk, feeling like the hypocrite I am.

Productivity: Low

Bossman: Got enough water there?
Me: This is my goal for today. [Thinking: Idiot. That sounds really ambitious. My goal is to drink this whole gallon.] During the summer, I never drink enough water. I let myself slip. [WHAT?! Why am I still talking? Shut up.] Yep, that's what I'm working on: more water. [I did just pet the bottle, didn't I?]

Labor Day

Now with more home improvement!