Frig.

Preparing to be fired tonight for exercising freedom of speech. We couldn't find an edited version of "Got Money" (aka "Bitch, I'm the Bomb") for the hip hop dance performance mix.  So.  
It's a lot of bitches, even for me.  AND YOU KNOW I LOVE THE BITCHES.  (Hi, Gramma.  Photos of Maria are the previous post.  Scroll down.)

I need to throw a shoe at somebody (or howsoever we're insulting people this week), so it might be kind of a perfect excuse.

[Are you grumpy like me?  Maybe some jingles sung by David Sedaris as Billie Holiday will cheer you.]

Tha Mutha@$%^ing Dawg

I've spent the last two days crying and laughing at the absurdity of it all. I am bingeing on emotion, Folks.

Last weekend, Matt and I went to our favorite yearly live-auction benefit and came out with a puppy. She spins and prances. She gets all snugglypants up on laps. She's real small. Like smaller than a loaf of bread.

Interwebs, meet Maria Chucha Rodrigo-Gutierrez III. [Specs for interested parties: Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix, age 3 mos., weight 3 lbs., disposition sunny.]
[See the rest of the images here.]

Cute and Unnecessary like Toile-Patterned Napkins

Looking to increase my per diem biscuit intake

Stopped at McDonald's today.  (I know, I know.  You're all jerks and I'm fat. (Are you calling me fat?))  When the man in the window (I know!  DRIVE THRU.  The only thing worse than eating McDonald's food is rolling up slowly to receive it) took my money, he called me gorgeous.  Now if that doesn't make your morning, what skeevy compliment will?

Speaking of vomit... Unfortunately for Katy and Tim, Katy got a very nasty case of the throw-ups.  Fortunately for Matt and me, Matt got a very awesome case of the Forfeited Wicked Tickets!!!  So we raced around town and landed in our seats at the Orpheum just in time for the curtain to rise on Oz.  I had to keep my phone off, lest I be tempted to update the status of how close to the ground my jaw had dropped.  Those voices, I tell you.  Powerhouses of goosebump making.  Which is also to say: this blog just got more twee, since its author is now a Twitterer.  

Served with Imaginary Cinnamon Sticks

Hello, Lovelies.  

To put myself in the holiday spirit, I've started making a Christmas season to do list. 

1. See: this show (checkMATE! I frigging did it last night!)
   
2. Listen: to Low's Christmas Album while drinking imaginary hot cider.
   
3. Want: T-Rex on an adventure.  It makes my eyebrows pop up with excitement.
   
4. Write: some passive holiday notes to people in meeting minutes format: "It was suggested that the recipient should have some Egg Nog over winter break." "Discussion occurred regarding Christmas. It was decided that Christmas will continue."
   
5. Gift: The ladies and dudes in your life with warmth, entertainment: this or this.

Breaker, Breaker, We've got a Code 10-31

They gave me a walkie-talkie at work.  It takes all my strength to avoid pressing the button when I pee.  

Speaking of excessive accessibility, my schedule is wide open tomorrow if anybody wants to start a pre-Thanksgiving tradition of feeding ducks or spray painting cornucopias on neighborhood groceries or whatever.

Fun!

Unusually Jovial, Uncomfortably Positive.

My face hurts from all the smiling going on around here.  This school is in the most self-congratulatory mood I have ever seen.  Thanks to all those parents who came out for conferences.  We appreciate your kind words and your presence.  And if, in the future, your child does poorly on the standardized tests we talked about, we'll blame the government.  Yay!  Everybody wins when you vilify a system outside your own!

On my desk, two items:

1. A ceramic steak burrito made by a student.  

2. A bowl of dead batteries in a potpourri of brands.  If you're interested in using them for some type of experimental art, please contact me before I throw them into the proper receptacle five years from now.

Makes Shopping a Bit More Complicated

It is Saturday and I forgot I have a blog since I haven't seen it in a while. New firewalls at work. V. Alarming.
In other (equally upsetting) news, I think I'm allergic to caffeine. I gave it up after much headaching weirdness two weeks ago, and today needed a little boost before my read-aloud to a class of misfits (enter Diet Pepsi). Now I'm feeling like maybe somebody punched me in the heart when I wasn't looking. Thumpthumpthumpthump (breath) thump tha thump thump, etc, etc.
(Probably in no way connected to the 25 donut holes I ate, so I won't even mention them.)
(But if I were to mention them, I would give an slightly unrealistic number so you would know I was joking.)
(But it would be closer to the real total than I'd ever admit in person.)
Johnny told me this week that I should start working on a stand-up routine. It's not like the three jobs I'm working take up that much time, so I'm looking into it. Joke ideas so far:

• Whoever invented paperclips obviously didn't intend for them to be used as barrettes. But I think things with similar names should be put near each other in the supermarket. Paperclips are by hairclips, which are by noseclippers and giant clipper boats. All in the same aisle.
• Something about planetariums.

Julie Should Have Used a Ballot Cover

As Nicki and I left our polling place yesterday, we stopped outside a first grade class hearing their own votes read aloud:

Teacher: "....Obama"
The class: "Yay!"
Teacher: "Obama"
The class: "Yay!"
Teacher: "Obama"
The class: "Yay!"
Teacher: "Ok, students, let's tally up our votes. How many for McCain?"
The class: "One!"
Little boy: "That's Julie!"
Teacher: "How many for Obama?"
The class: "Five, Ten, Fifteen, Twenty...."

GObama! DON'TGOFrankenOrColeman!

Gargle.
Gasp.
Choking on my bubbly water.
I need to get to NYC stat. Chris just voted next to Serena van der Woodsen.
Vote, Jerks. I know you don't need the reminder, but I would be sad if you forgot that today was THE day, and you just went about your business, dusting the corner table, murmuring to yourself like that guy in Calhoun Square.
Also, Halloween.
Just to come full Gossip Girl Circle, here: if I thought more people would know who I was, I would have gone as Blair Waldorf, running for president. My platform: headbands for everyone!

They Do a Play, a Musical, but It's About Themselves and They're in It.

I gave blood! I have a total needle wound!
My little friend, Anna, waited until I was captive on the blood sucking machine, to reenact the entirety of HSM3.
I felt a lot nervous and a little chilly, but I had waited too long to back out. [A history of my attempts to poison America.]
Later I took my woozy stomach and some theater geek friends to the Guthrie eve to see Arthur Miller's A View from the Bridge, starring this guy. There was also blood in this! It is the human experience, is it not?! Tension! Tragedy!
If you're free this weekend, and you want to see something impressive, you have choices:

1. HSM3
2. Anna's rendition of HSM3
3. A View from the Bridge
4. My rendition of A View from the Bridge. Note: performance can occur while you donate blood, or not.

An Excellent Expressor of Reason and Logic

My book budget has tipped the scales. But just you try to say no to a hardbound anthology edited by Jeffrey Eugenides.
I thought so.
Bookclub made an out-of-state trek last weekend to Amery, WI. Lovely everything, except for the townies who gave us the stink eye for crashing their Saturday night bar party. Well, how-dee-doo, Alpha Females. Aren't we a little threatened by five women with unwashed hair and bits of yarn and paper stuck to their sweaters?
On the job front: had a meeting with the Big Bossman today and all went well, in that I did not cry. It could have gone better, in that I basically got the "Prove your worth to this organization in ways we can measure with test scores" message. I think my message: "Get me a full time masseuse and I'll change the life of your school forever or just actually hand me the damn tests and I'll take them myself" really came across.

Really?

Another long weekend gone. I love Castaway. It is one-stop shopping for sleep deprivation and Jesus. This year we heard from speaker, Bill Paige, about keeping it real. Don't front. God already knows.
I'm still waiting for his list of Christian hip hop artists cause Neighbor, you know I love me some hip hop.
Since I come bearing no photographic evidence of waxing Eddie's back on stage, here's Pelican Lake as interpreted with Microsoft Paint and a certain level of exhaustion.

Backing Slowly Away from the Cage

Two gems from the last week, since it was otherwise filled with rocks:

• Rin: "It's the dude with the billy goat beard. Can we all agree that 9 times out of 10 it's the guy with the billy goat beard?" In this case, the billy goat beard was the one smoking up in public, outdoors, at 1 pm.
• Chris: "I'd hire you to write my life, and to provide me with huge, fictional sandwiches." Because in my first screenplay rom-com ever, "Margot and Chris," about Margot, a Canadian, and the lovely Chris, who meet in NYC, they spend the third scene at a deli eating huge sandwiches. Perhaps that quote began with adequate context.
  

So it was another week full of drama and exhaustion. This job is killing me -- loudly, with punches, and scenes in the lunchroom. Get me out of here. In fact, get everybody out of here. Let's start over: a charter school for non-person-to-person violence. If you get into a fight at this new school, we will throw you into the lion's cage and walk away. Because we didn't say anything about animal-to-person violence. And everybody signed the waiver.

Accountability

I'm getting angry. In the five years I have worked here, I have seen too many students come back to visit me with giant proud grins: I'm gonna have a baby!
Um... great.
I ask about their plans. I ask about the other half of the DNA. "Are you together?"
Most often I get something like, "Oh, no. That piece of trash? All he's good for now is sending child support."
And what I really want to say is this: That piece of trash? Really? You let somebody put part of their garbage self inside of you? So that you could feel loved for a moment? You selfish brat. For the record, almost anybody can make a baby. And this one deserves two parents who are fully present to care for it. You are not special, nor are you original. You are a pretty unimpressive statistic, on the whole. At least you graduated first.

Late September, Early Onset Diabetes

As I Was Saying
Do you ever get the feeling that your work is cutting in to your happy houring? Yes!
Thank you. Me, too. Mondays are hard because the weekend helps me unlearn all the--Shit. It's Tuesday.
Listen, I'd really like to finish pulling this report, it's just that Jill wants me to see her wedding photos, so....? Maybe? Next week? Thanks for being so understanding. Ooh, actually? I need to go to coffee with Lori to talk about some stuff. Heh. I'll be back next Thursday afternoon.

The Latest in a Dull Series
Rather than actually do the things I'm supposed to be doing, I'm breaking them up into manageable chunks. I'm going through a new organizational phase of small notes affixed to three-hole punched sheet protectors. It's hard for me to believe the amount of joy I derive from organizing to-do lists. Let's all air the vaguely OCD habits that shame us!

BabyStalkers, Inc.
Brunch-style bookclub on Sunday morning, 'cause we're unpredictable like that. And we didn't read the book, 'cause we're lazy like that. (Or we've been drinking at church Oktoberfest the night before and getting picked up by the cops for passing out under pine trees.) Anne brought the Jimster and I watched him sleep, as a safety precaution in case one of the other women tried to steal or bite him.

That Oktoberfest Passing Out Story is Matt's
Matt wins because he yodeled and schuhplattled. And he can keep that story because Wells Fargo is being an asshole to him. I said it. I SAID IT.
My Oktoberfest story is two parts strudel, one part text message: "Too dry k. Can't code my eyes. Spinny. So spinny."

AMERICA! Home of the Free and the Well-Educated!

This commentary makes me giggle a little. I know it shouldn't, because sexism is bad. But that's not why I'm laughing. What's funny is when somebody with a glamour shot on the byline is writing about sexism with such fervor and simultaneously, such vapid content.
In particular:

By treating Sarah Palin differently from other candidates in this race, you are not showing her the respect she deserves.

Free Sarah Palin.

Free her from the chauvinistic chains you are binding her with.

While you're at it, free Campbell Brown from her dangling prepositions.

Meet Pearl

She's here! I am the new owner of a used Subaru named Pearl (runner up name: Morty Fitzbaum III). I have one image, which does not provide a tremendous amount of context, but it does show you the junk in her trunk:

One lovely thing about having a trunk is that people cannot so much see that you are, in effect, living out of your vehicle*. Subes was a hatchback and thusly the trunk was more of a... three-season porch. I had a pair of crocs in there. One croc found a hiding spot among the laundry piles, greeting cards and the singleton mittens of yesteryear. The other croc stayed in the light, perched above all the other crap with the sun beating down day after day through the window.
I present to you The Raisin Croc (Expertly modeled by Carly. More cell phone pictures! More average quality visual media! Love this blog anyway. Please.):


(Raisin not because it's nature's candy, but because it has shrunken and warped.)

Moral of the story: Cut off some toes if you're keeping rubber shoes in your hatchback.

*The bad thing is that sometimes you forget even after you take a picture that you've visited the grocery store and your milk product goes into the questionable temperature zone.

Notorious

Gooodbyeee to Suuuuubes. Goodbye to everything that I knewwwwwooohooh.
You guys, I am sad to let this car go. (Escargot, my car go....)
Yesterday was our last day together and we were kind of in a rush, which is why I took these shitty cell phone pictures to preserve her in our collective memory. [Not shown: the villainous torque bind.]
Awwwwwrustspots and missing hubcap:

Up next: more rust in weird bubble form

Her sweet dented front bumper.

Keyed entry:

Let me never forget the months I spent opening the driver's side door with a separate key than the ignition because we had to replace that one lock after somebody broke in to steal the change from the cupholder. Sigh.

13 beautiful years, Subes. What is Aegean Blue? The color of my heart's tears.
This post sponsored by Subaru, Michelle Branch and Biggie Smalls.

Brought to you by...

My desktop is sponsored by Crayola and Post-it. My desk drawer is sponsored by cough drops and hall passes. And tiny bottles of alcohol.

Where was I? Ah, yes. Loosely tying things together....

My dad and his siblings are sponsored by my Gramma and Grampa whose 54th wedding anniversary is today. They were out to dinner when I called. Apparently their server called them "Lovebirds." I stopped listening after that, because she giggled and my brain mushed from all the sweetness.

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Banker

I don't claim to be shrewd or business-savvy or "profitable." But sometimes people frigging pay you money for the stuff you do, like take pretty pictures of their families or whatever. And sometimes even when you're brave enough to charge American dollars, people's mother effing checks bounce. Who pays...you know, eventually?

1. The babies? Nope. They're fine. Don't worry about the babies.
2. The government? Nope...well, maybe. I'm not clear on the way it all breaks down. Probably not, though.
3. ME? Hell yes. I am going to be charged for your mistake. $7. So I go from making money, to owing money. This math is bad and wrong.
   

Feeling a bit on the grumpy side of ok, due to the end of another glorious weekend. There was karaoke, bike rides, overbeering, sleeping late, meeting puppies, buying a big-girl bike bag (Not the orange one. That shit is ugly).

Esoteric Moment: Did a lovely set as "Sibling Rivalry" with a pair of friends last eve at Improv-A-Go-Go (too many hyphens?). If you don't go to this weekly $1 event, you are missing out. So much laughing for $1. I could have bought entry for 7 persons, but now I have to give that to the bank, who isn't even going to use it for recreational comedy viewing! Ass!

Consider the Following:

Thoughts packed like small fish in a tin can:

• It's layering weather. Sweaters and scarves and nomnomnom. I feast on you, Autumn Temperatures. And you, Falafel.
• Holding in my bizarre behaviors for the common good and the common spaces at work. Ready to explode when the day is done. EGGO!
• Why does laryngitis always sound fake? You're telling me that you can only make little squeaky sounds? Hehm, no. I do not accept that excuse.
• J. Crew's final sale--you can't return it, but don't eff up your order, and you won't need to.
  
• Hiding light under a bushel: 30 pack of Sharpies in my desk drawer.
• Mind-exploding conversations around the influence of gender versus personality. How much of anything can we attribute to gender or personality: likes, dislikes, tendencies? Right? Did your mind explode?
• The Mom and The Poppa are in New York for the US Open, which means two things: House party! Laundry! In that order, but without the house party one. Yesssssssssssssss.

As If The Box Set of Buffy DVDs Isn't Plenty Incriminating

Unexpectedly excited for school to start. The smell of pencils; the anger of the instructional staff; the rush hour.
I'm trying to get all my bad words out before the students start on Tuesday, so I spent my commute shouting at other drivers. Possibly aided by NPR's constant discussion of
1. the down-turned economy
2. politics: the Presidential race.
Snoozefest, you guys. I want more book reviews*
I'm about to start reading Twilight. For bookclub! And Banner of Heaven, because it makes us feel better about reading Twilight as grown ups.

*Something simple. Book review of Water for Elephants: This book is frigging great. Barely even about animals at all. Get it.

The Boat Captain

Hello. How did I almost forget to show you this?

(Edited to add: On the Whitefish Chain of Lakes -- a weekend with the Blum Family Robinson in a rather "rustic" cabin. Here, in a fancy rented boat, floating, lost.)

Walgreen's, Aisle 4C

I stumbled upon a "first feminine products" discussion last night.
The Girlwoman is hair-in-the-face mortified while the Momwoman attempts to discuss how to prevent night leakage. She hisses all of her words:
"Please! People can hear you."
"Well there are some who need a little extra protection while they sleep."
"Ohgodmom. Just shhh! I don't care. Let's go."
"She's not even listening."
But I was, of course. I always am. Especially if it's somebody else's embarrassment.
Which brings me to: water skiing, whose ass I totally kicked this weekend for about 30 seconds! Nobody with a video camera to document! It was awesome! And then there was the aftermath. A terreeble pain in my focking ash.

Nine years. No whammies.

Today was our nine year dateaversary!
What have you done with your life? Am I right?
Eventually I'm going to find a photo of Matt that makes him look like a hobo, just to be fair.
I stalled dinner as long as I could to watch one Michael Phelps swim like a butterfly for 200 m, then we celebrated all of our victories at the delicious 112 eatery.
Victories: (moral) not succumbing to gladiator sandals, (mental) big multiplication without pencils or calculators, (financial) possibly buying a photography studio, (naval) I have a naval
Later, Matt asked the oven to clean itself.
Outcomes: one fire alarm, zero clean ovens.

Straight Thuggin'

I need to see Step Up 2: The Streets. My students expect something of me, along the lines of urban cultural competency, and I am not one to disappoint. In that realm.
Somebody better stick up a chubby white arm and volunteer to view it with me.
Also, can we talk about irrational anger? Because aren't these things somehow related without needing transition? Meh?
I find myself swearing at people in traffic more than is becoming to a lady of my station. Today, por ejemplo, some assface motioned for me to walk across the street. Stops in the middle of the street to motion me across. No, no, I waved. It's your turn. He motioned me AGAIN, at which point I threw up my hands and started walking. Give me a break, Passive Aggressive Minnesota. Don't do me any favors so you can drive away calling me the b word in your brain.
That same volunteer mightshould reach over and turn up the Christian radio station for me to drown out my foul mouth.

Just this:

>

In Which There is Much to Exclaim

Heeeeey boyyyyyzzz. I'm also posting over at Matt's blog lately, as he is my summertime employer. It is all photoshoots and lattes and high blood pressure. Come hang out!
Plus! An ill-advised purchase which resulted in an ill-advised termination of previous cellular phone contract! Totally worth it!

iPhone and I had a little photo booth session today while the boss was out of the office. Which is kind of still work, right?

Look at all those nudes in the background getting jealous. No, Nudes. She's mine.

Gratuitous Photos of My Handsome Friends and their Grandmas

Matt and I arrived in New York on Monday for a spot of photo taking. Pinkies up, Everyone! Not realizing that today would be the first and last All-Star Game at Yankee Stadium. So it's not just us. It's every sap this side of the Atlantic.
We spent most of those few days in traffic.
Awesome!

A few images from Meg and Aaron's wedding, since you've waited so patiently. What is this, a photoblog? No. But this is. Oh, snap.
Here is me, taken by SaraJ, who likes to catch me in humbling moments. There were a few where I didn't make hobo eyes at Abe Lincoln, but I included this one for my mother. Hey Mom, I got that forward with all the Anne Geddes babies. Neat.

Brenna:

Grandma Marie:

Adam:

Adam and SaraJ:

Mike:

Ash and Mike:

The Couple of Marriage Duo Twosome:

Another:

Cute. But not as cute as jumping females:

New Man in Town

He's here!

Meet James Eric.

You can also see him here. And at Anne's house, although it's getting kind of crowded.
This is when I got to hold him and my throat got all froggy with excitement.
That'll happen.

This is Jimmy with his foxy mom.

She makes me look bad, so I put her last. Because I can.

Followed up by "Kickin' It Lakeside" and "The Long Road to Beaver Bay"

I returned from a bike ride last Monday to find a note on my windshield: somebody hit my parked car! Woohooo! It's collection time. Like most things I can't be bothered to do, this still requires effort on my part.
What's the statute of limitations on good citizenship? I'm afraid she might rescind her offer to pay for the damages. But not the kind of fear that changes behavior. That I reserve for animal attacks.
Speaking of which, I was all Northwoodsy this weekend for Meg + Aaron's wedding. (Photos forthcoming. I've reached a new intersection of inaction and productivity. When I wasn't hiking in flip flops and treading the shores of Lake Superior, I was imbibing libations with others of age. A band of beer bottle percussion was formed. We will call ourselves "Stomp. Nah. Sit Down. Drink This. We Could Go Into Town, but We Already Missed the Fireworks." Our first single: "You Should Have Been There" will be released later this fall.

Want to Buy: Pellet Guns, Pellets.

Another marginal sleep night thanks to our thoughtless neighbors. The Minneapolis PD and I have grown closer since the weather turned nice. I feel better about this, if they're willing to stop by to break up a party.*
It's a Wednesday night! Even in college, Wednesdays don't count as the weekend unless you're a hockey player. Every night is a weekend if you play hockey. Plus your hair is long and you're an asshole. And your hands smell from those sweaty gloves.
We're calling the landlord today.

*Non-SequiturBrainchild: a comic called Civil Cervantes! in which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza play police partners in a modern day metropolis, but their cases all go awry. Blanket tossings! NBC, give me a call.

Flashing Lights, Lights, Lights

My big summer jamboree of traveliness was cancelled due to a very serious accident of Cousin Emily's Kitten, who is now on a feeding tube. I know that I have an inaccurate mental picture, but it was probably a small child who administered the medical procedures.
Hello, Kitty. Step into my playskool office. Say 'Ahhh' and I will shove this heart-shaped stethoscope into your windpipe.
------
In the meantime, I am kicking up my heels tonight with Kanye West and his crew of merry musicmakers. Look for me. I'll be the one in the t-shirt and scarf.

Jail Is Very Likely Worse

I was annoyed to get a speeding ticket for $142.
However, I am beyond angry to discover that my ticket was increased to $284. Can somebody explain why that happened? Do I file an appeal?
When will I perfect self-teleporting so I can save on fuel and bad-choice costs?
[As a context-building sidenote: I wish I could get for you a sound clip of the phenomenally shitty music being pumped into this building. You guys, I am thisclose to the edge of the deep homicidal end. This is not helping like it promised to.]

The 90 to the 190 to the...THAT ONE. RIGHT THERE.

Muffin and I went on a last minute jaunt to Chicago this weekend to give a little kick in the pants to a friend who needed it. I ended up with an ass kicking of my own, in the form of a cold. Who gets a welcome-to-nice-weather sickness? Stupid people. Stupid people who are old enough to rent cars! BOOYA.
We didn't even die. And there weren't tolls. Everybody wins except the toll collector.
This tea tastes like a sandwich.
When we weren't resting, we were eating. And when we weren't eating, we were going to coffee shops. I ordered a red tea with pomegranate. I recommend not doing that. Something to try instead: Mojitea. Rumless, so there is no need to check IDs at the door of your Mojitea party. Mint tea, sparkling water, lime juice. Experiment with the ratio and let me know which is the most delicious. Could be 1:1:1. But that sounds like math, so I will be over here with the coloring books.

Ten Percent of Everything from Tokyo is Magic

I learned that at last night's show. Improv is educational!
I also found out, while sporting my Abraham Lincoln brooch, that I am not the only one who thinks he's a hottie. Yesssssss. This reminds me peripherally of the game we played at Old Chicago: Name As Many Past US Presidents As You Can Before Somebody [Probably Halsey] Says 'Ben Franklin'. We got pretty far.
Chocolate Chocolate Chip [On Your Shoulder]
Good for eating: an abandoned cookie. It's been in the refrigerator for at least two months. Which makes it viable for me and less offensive if somebody were to come looking for it. They'd have to say to, "Where's my @#$%ing cookie?!" and a minute later, "Hm. That was in there a long time. It probably wasn't even safe for me to eat."
I am a community servant.

Onwards and Upwards

I could throw up from relief. Now I don't have to wait for this card to grace my inbox.
I'm renewed for next year.
Ok.
Game on.

The Waiting Lame Or, When It's Sunny

Thanks for your support, Friends.
No new news about the school district's possible "reallocation of funds" that may result in my eventual breakdown and insurmountable credit card debt.
Obviously, I remain totally hopeful.

Cancel My Cards

There is a complex inverse relationship of shopping to impending doom.
Click on my sophisticated visual aid, brought to you by Microsoft Paint.

Radio Silence Over

Hi. I'm an in-law.
Carly got married last weekend, to the sounds of a string triptet (?) and Matt's relentless shutter.
So while Carly and Andrew sun themselves on the shores of Puerto Vallarta, I sit here on my exercise ball, reliving the "We Are Family" dance circle.
And the toast I made with only one tear.
And the arabesque my father took when he tripped over Carly's dress.
And the beautiful, elegant bride's calm smile.

Update: not triptet; trio.

Alternative Methodology

Thanks to Houch, Nicki had an ice cream birthday cake to celebrate her 25th. Thanks to Houch, we can't keep the freezer closed.

I Might Not Make a Ribbon Bouquet, but I Will Still Throw Down

My little sister Carly's getting hitched next weekend. Holy shit, you guys.
We took her out this weekend to get totally wasted on her own body's toxins. As in, topless.
After the massages, we each got all 20 of our nails done. Joyce, my technician gave me tips for my Maid of Honor speech. Her personal favorite: give keys to men all over the room and have them return the keys to Carly during dinner.
Get it? Get it, like my sister's a slut?
Listen up, Joyce: only I get to make that joke.

Not Cut Out for Administration

Today we had to confront a student who was overheard on the bus saying that he was going to "bang" another student.
Not with a gun.
Phbbbbbt.
I need to work on my game face.
"Because you see, this is a problem for us. This is sexual harassment which is punishable by some pretty severe means."
"Wait. I didn't say I had sex with her!"
"No. That's not what that means. But you said you were going to bang her. 'Bang' is a kind of violent, aggressive word that means sexual intercourse."
"I was talking about the bus driver and [friend's] mom."
"..."
"We were joking."
"You understand why we have to take this seriously, right?"
"Everybody does it."
"Huh?"
"Everybody says stuff like that all the time."
"..."
"He talked about my mom first."
"The bus driver did?"
"Huh?"
"What?"

Stop. Yes, You. Do Not Click Send.

Below is something Matt can't blog for fear of retribution. But I'm not technically related to him, so...
If you make it through this block of text, you get a popsicle or some Junior Mints. Wait. I finished the Junior Mints. Popsicles it is.

From his aunt: [don't actually read this because your brain will gush out of your retinas]

Do you know what the times are for that brunch...how long does it go? I am wondering if we have time to go to church + the choir is singing, and I am in the choir. (We have no Sat. option.) We usually sing on the 1st & 3rd Sundays of each month except for the 3 summer months. We could leave Mora about 10:30. Please let me know. I am invited to a baby shower at our church at 3:00 on Sun. afternoon but will probably skip that. I will talk to Mark about this when he gets home. We have a City Council Appreciation Dinner to attend at 5:30 today. I didn't go with Mark last year because I have choir practice every Wed. at 6:00 but decided I would go with him this year. Tomorrow a.m. I have a 6:30 Vasaloppet Board meeting, and then it's girls' weekend up at Rita & Bob's lake home on Gull. Several of the husbands leave for golfing on Thurs. to Hilton Head. We're leaving town at 1:00 on Thurs. and coming back on Sat. afternoon. Charlie's & Cousin Iris' birthday party is at 4:00 on Sat., and then Mark & I have 500 Card Club on Sat. evening for which I need to make an hors d'oeuvre. I am one of the hostesses for a bridal shower Mon. evening at Patt's house. Yikes! Hope all goes well with you on Friday! We'll be waiting to hear from Jack. See you & take care! Verona

Give me some bullet points, at least. Before email, did people use their schedules as a way to fill up space in cards? "Thank you so much for the thoughtful gift of _________. Our flight home from Christmas was on the 29th and we waited in line at the airport for 5 hours before continuing on to arrive home at 10 pm on the 30th. We will be so busy this week with Julian's baseball game on Friday, Violet's orchestra concert on Saturday night, and our trip to buy socks at the mall on Sunday. Thanks again! Love, Judy"

I Did Not Make This Up

For reals.

1. Human bites are actually super dangerous.
2. Jill and her Drum Machine are performing their one woman/one drum machine improv show at the Brave New Workshop this Friday. Please go see her. $10 at 11 pm. You could bring $11 and show up at 10, in which case you'd be a dollar up and an hour early. You guys, she's famous.
3. This person had a dream that A.C. Slater was named "Steak." That alone is enough to make me a devotee. But! Terrible! The most recent entry is October of 2007. So she's obviously dead.
   
4. How much more terrible would #3 be if she were actually dead?! So much more terrible!
   

Brent + Maggie

They got married this weekend and yours truly did the photography. Hells yes. How professional am I? So professional.
Check this shit out:
From now on, I demand to interact only with people who drink from a Grain Belt cooler while wearing Eddie Bauer boots. Wedding sponsorship!

Next, yummy grainy deliciousness:

Photos should be for eating.
Finally, this, which obviously speaks for itself and says "Heels! In Sunlight and Shadow! 'Cause It Fricking Rules":

Hey, Imaginary Numbers! Why Don't You Step Over Here and Kiss My Ass?

A memory:
One summer I found a copy of my Iowa Math Test scores in a drawer in the basement. When I approached my mom she told me that they had hidden it so my feelings wouldn't be hurt.
A realization:
I suck at math.
A generalization based on how my life is currently going:
It is ok to suck at math.

Ever-Further from the Equator

My mood continues to go with the weather. It was a glorious sunshiney madrigal of 60 degrees for 1.5 days. Yesterday it rained. And this morning it snowed while Nicki and I rushed around the house--both our alarms having failed us. Spring Break 2008!
I slept in, dentisted, eyedoctored, turbotaxed, comedied extensively. I also got a new cell phone. Hi, I'm a cute cell phone. Rewarding!
Matt comes home today. Let's take a look at his trip and pretend it was me.

When I See You Walk Across The Campus

Matt's out of town again.
I'm taking suggestions for how *I* should start my getting paid to travel exclusively to awesome destinations during the workweek, flying first class. Public education, I like you, but you will never send me anywhere first class.
----------------------
"Beer!"
"Sweets!"
"Using the Lord's name in vain!"
Happy birthday Carly, you can have all the ice cream cake you care to eat.
I probably should have chosen something I could go back to guilt-free after Lent.
----------------------
Had a great Easter celebration Sunday with the nuclear family churching and dining and watching of Batman Begins. [Awesome except for the trademark Katie Holmes smirk.] We like to mix it up. Sometimes we take a "Christmas card" picture.
I used to wish for spontaneous traditions to emerge among my friends. Perhaps it was a result of being in what felt like constant flux: Go to school. Go home for summers and breaks. Go back to school. Study abroad. Come home. Graduate. Move home with parents. Move out.
Recently I said something like, "Yeah, it must've been about a year ago or sometime during college..." and Matt had to interrupt to remind me that we graduated four years ago.
Huh. So you're saying I should stop using my student ID?

When I See You Smile

My Thursday night was muchly improved when I walked past a giant black man standing in the greeting cards section of Target, giggling to himself. Kind of along the same lines as this big guy, little ukelele theory of humor.
I spent my Friday night talking to 8th grade girls about how to be better friends to themselves and others. To wit, I shared with them an entry from my entirely embarrassing Diary of Crushes and Pettiness for which I Will Never Properly Atone. I gauge my presentation as moderately to largely ineffective, but my audience meter was down that night, so I guess we'll never know.
P.S. Can anyone tell me where I can find a battery made of unicorn mane and fairy dust?
Wow! Holy crap! I almost left you without saying: It's St. Patrick's Day! Hi. Hi. Check this out.

Taking Notes

I'm sitting on an exercise ball. It's part of my new approach.
Nicki and I attended a conference last week about working with difficult and hard-to-reach students. Most of the strategies were not about changing the kids, but about managing our own perceptions. Aaaahhh! Tricky!
The perception I'm changing today is that I need a regular chair.
The perception I'll change tomorrow is that I am gradually sinking into the floor because this exercise ball cannot support me.

Maggie's Getting Married

Somewhere between the "How Well Do You Know Your Fiance?" game and the Hungarian's arrival, we had an [olive] oil spill and 1.5 head-to-wall collisions. Angie #2 downed a quart of vodka. Maggie spilled cranberry juice on her white pants. I stopped counting the number of Victoria's Secret bags when I got to 7.
The tanned, waxed Hungarian "Firefighter" got down to his spiderman thong. Personally, I preferred the clothes-on version. Or at least the non-defilement of superheros version. He provided the soundtrack. The rest of us provided the gawking. Eventually it wore off.
What do you do when nobody is interested in watching the stripper anymore? Ask him to leave? Offer him chips and salsa? Make the oil slick kitchen floor into a slip n' slide? We all slowly returned to our previous conversations and helped him gather up his dollar bills. Because it would've been totally degrading to make him get them himself.

26 on the 26th

The golden birthday was a total success. Except for the fact that I made a preemptive strike on the pressure of birthday dinner and chose Wendy's instead. Roommate Nicki has counseled me out of all future social functions.
But yesterday was lovely. Best parking spots all day long. My students indiscreetly gathered around to sing to me in an atonal masse. They stopped what they were doing, which is a nice touch. I think one of them even looked up from text messaging.
Sorry, I'm tearing up.
Matt and I are off to NYC for the weekend, where I can try out my social anxiety on a larger population.

No mini-quiches were harmed during the making of this blog.

Q: Is there anything more awkward than a wedding shower?
A: No. (Exception: A wedding shower in which the groom's mother asks what will happen on the honeymoon.)
In related news, my sister's heart stopped beating for a brief moment around 5:00 pm yesterday. All of the blood rushed to her cheeks and didn't remember how to get back down to the right atrium.
Q: Why do I sometimes use words like "lovely" in the company of strangers?
A: You are being inhabited by the 80 year-old version of yourself. Her vocabulary is limited. (At age 79.5, your physician is contractually obligated to activate the Old Lady Word Switch. You might also begin to say "dear" and "hips" more often. Other side effects include an aversion to garlic and requests for coffee at 4 pm.)
Q: How do you win an Oscar?
A: Uglify yourself. But you still have to be a knockout when the eyebrow pencil comes off.

Valentine's Day: February's New Year's Eve

An hour after four procrastinators get together to eat dinner on the Romantic Holiday of Obligation and find that all female-fearing boyfriends called ahead, we end up at Psycho Suzi's where (surprise!) they have tables available.
Matt orders a ceramic panda full of booze and our conversation gets railroaded by acquaintances at neighboring tables. What are the odds?
Pretty good. We know a lot of lazy people.
Eventually we return to ourselves and soon we're fighting about whether he was addicted to Percocet and whether I work for the enemy. I make it uncomfortable enough for Brent and Maggie to stop eating. Somewhere around the words "Exaggeration Station," I believe.
We leave in cranky silence. My head is pounding. What did I even say? What did he say? Damn this fight amnesia! Wait, did he just call me ridiculous?!
Yell! Yell! Loudness!
The expectations are too high. I have to look nice AND be agreeable?! No. I cannot. Who can withstand the pressure?!!!!

At the end of the night, on the phone, I tell him I hate him. And he knows it's love.

Valentines Aplenty: The Jailbait Edition

Nothing helps me celebrate this holiday like a bunch of propositions.
Student #1: Hey, Short Legs.
Me: Hey, Owen.
S1: What you doin' tonight?
Me: Who can say? Probably dinner with my boyfriend.
S1: I'll take you out.
Me: Aw, thanks, but you should probably just get your homework done.

Hours later, addressing the changing economy and rising oil prices:
Student #2: Your husband ain't taking you out?
Me: Boyfriend. And I'm not sure what we're doing yet.
S2: Ooh. I would take you out to a movie and Benihana....
Me: Benihana?! Wow. Do you have plans with someone?
S2: Nah.
Me: You should do something nice for your mom. A little chocolate.
S2: I'll give her gas.
Me: Ah. Well. That's what every woman really wants.

Or Maybe I Won't

File this one under "Conversations at Work that Probably Reveal Too Much About Your Weekend Habits, When I Was Just Asking for Some General Information, Maybe a Story About Your Family Or, Even Your Hopes and Dreams":
He: What's up? What's going on? Kids wearing you out?
Me: Oh, I'm ready for the weekend. I'm always surprised at the drama that can happen in the space of three days.
He: Yeah.
Me: Anything new with you?
He: I just can't wait for the weekend: to get drunk and sleep.
Me: [Polite laughter]
He: Kind of a light-weight, though. It only takes me three beers.
Me: [More polite laughter, slightly turning around in my chair to the recycling bin under my desk.]
He: Yeah, I used to be able to drink more, but not now.
Me: ...
Me: ...Well, see you tomorrow.

Tough Love

"This job has taught you a lot about parenting."
Um. Great. I...can't...wait?
In the after-school special that is my life working with "high risk" students, I scored a moral victory last week.
Leading up to this major performance we determined that it was time to set some academic goals: If you want to become a team, you will have to play by state high school league standards. Our standards for ourselves include no failing grades. No Fs. Well, you've got three. You can't dance with the rest of the group at the pepfest on Friday. I'm sorry.
Cut to final rehearsal in cafeteria. "We don't dance unless he dances with us. He's our captain."
That's your choice. But I've put as much of myself into this as you. If you want to throw it away...
And, separately: Do not run out on stage. If you do, you will lose every opportunity for the rest of the year and the beginning of the next.
We left it unresolved on Thursday--Who would dance? Who would protest?
When Friday morning arrived, they crouched waiting to go on stage. I took him aside:
I know it's hard for you. Nobody wants to be the example. I just wanted to let you know that I think you're making the mature choice here. Thank you for coming to support your group.
They killed it, of course. They didn't need him out there. They just needed to know that he would be in the audience, cheering them on. He was. I was.
Boundaries. Limits. Parenting.
Gray hair.

Giggle Fit

This will make you uncomfortable.
"Ok, Mom. This is a jump-drive. Now take it downstairs. It plugs into the USB port. It works just like a floppy dick--"
"I don't even know where to find the USB thing. Is that at the back of the computer?"
"..."
"Why are you smiling?"
"Oh, man. I meant to say floppy disk. I said floppy dick, but I meant floppy disk. But you didn't even notice."
"I was distracted. I didn't know what to do with the USB jump drive."

Like The Soothing Sounds of Seagulls

Keeler was asleep in the back seat and had been for about 3 hours. It took him approximately 15 minutes after we left to fall into a deep, softly snoring sleep.
I could barely see through the windshield. Huffman had an idea: You don't have to stop to pick up wiper fluid. If it gets bad, we can use this bottle of water.
Ok. That makes sense.
We probably should have woken up Keeler to let him know that we'd be opening the window. But when you're going 90 mph in the fast lane, those kind of details (politeness, common decency, physics) escape you. He didn't stir much at first. Huffman hung her arm out the window; flicked once, twice, three times a lady, and that 20 ounces of liquid came right back at her face in a 90 mph bullet made of water.
It was the most beautifully executed act of science I have ever witnessed. God bless us, Everyone.

If You're Making Those in Triplicate, I'll Take The Pink Copy

Three related statements in no particular order:

1. I keep going out of town to escape the pooling water in our sink.
2. Avoidance is totally legitimate way of dealing with your problems.
3. Took the annual ski trip last weekend and returned to a sink so clogged that in the time it takes for Michael Scott to brush his teeth you need a canoe to leave the bathroom.

Three unrelated statements in a very particular order:

1. The last time (see also: only time) I created a meal from scratch(ish), I had garlic hands for several days.
2. Matt's older than me by 31 days which means he's had extra time to learn how to wear a coat and hat and get a jumper cable box. Yet. Here's what it sounds like when he calls: "Kbabes, my car is dead. Can you come get me? Aaaack! It's cold! It's so colllllld. Gaaaahhhh! I'm dead. I'm actually dead right now." So I win with my weather preparations, but he wins at being able to use a cell phone while dead.
3. My friend Halsey and I are teaching high school students how to do improv. They are hysterical in the traditional "You're funny" and the not-as-traditional "I'm laughing at you" sense. For you scientists out there.
   

Glossy Finish

Matt had a party last night at his studio. Why weren't you there? An hour isn't enough notice for you?
Photographers from around the cities converged around hummus and archival prints. It was all very sweet. The "artist" two studio doors down spent most of the evening interrupting conversation with his loud chiseling. His name is Zoron or Borflat or Hotel Balkan or something.
I stopped outside his door on my way to the bathroom and tried to peer in, with a mind to invite him to come have a beverage, or take the rest of the night off--please.
In the romantic-comedy version of this event, he opens the door into my face and as I tumble backward I throw my wine on his good meeting suit, making him late to meet the backers of his next big sculpture (enormous mucus-shaped rock (upright)).
In the reality version, I overhear that he is listening to angry art music. I change my mind about inviting him into the party: he's probably not good with humans. As I slip into the bathroom, he opens the door all mumbly "grind your bones to make my bread."
Fine, Dude. Your loss. Who wants to share their beer with the guy at the top of the beanstalk, anyway?

Johnny Cash Shot One

Hairdryers scare me. They make loud noises and distract you from the floor-creaking murderers outside the bathroom. Also, couldn't I maybe suffer serious hearing loss? Hello, Señor Anxiety. Nice to see you again. Can I offer you some Triscuits?
Today I got to thinking that if I were a man in Reno, I would probably just move.

Still Doesn't Explain Why, Though

A picture from last night's adventure in an attic on the North side. These treacherous stairs were lined with loosely-arranged wooden planks. Safety first, I say.

Sweet and Low

Breaking the Ice
Take as many Skittles as you want...Now you have to tell everyone something about yourself for as many Skittles as you took. I spend the rest of the meeting giggling loudly, accidentally at inappropriate moments. Every time I make eye contact and talk about financial aid. Situational poverty! Ba-dum-pum-tsssss!
I return to my office with a stomachache and fumble around for the water bottle. Coming down off my sugar high; hit my head on the desk. Hard.
Funky, Funky
Look out for me, I am on the Warpath of Boredom. Rampant mediocrity (and a minor concussion) is forcing me into battle. Last two days spent almost entirely in pursuit of passion. Somebody, somewhere give me something to get excited about. I talk to a kid today who is so relentlessly positive, I almost follow her to her next class.
Living in a Dan Wilson Song
When my phone is on vibrate, the alarm seems somehow less threatening. Buzz, buzz, my friend. Time to wake up for that meeting you'd rather skip. What is threatening:

• small children with adult features,
• the name Brenda,
• working in a job funded by grant money,
• not working
• a Skittleless world
  

Late to the Party

Please be warned: if you use your college degree to legitimize arguments, some day you will be working with a high school student whose degree is not yet earned, and you will get into a debate about the definition of a word.
You will be wrong. Inflammable does not mean what you think it means.

You may later use this information to make other adults feel stupid. It will be totally worth it. Especially in public.

For His Maybe Trip to Tanzania

Matt's learning Swahili from this guy. At first I was all, "Wow. I wish somebody could just explain Swahili to me clearly. I mean what is it really?" And then I just read the helpful introduction:

First of all, is it “Swahili” or “Kiswahili”? It’s both! It’s “Swahili” if you say it in English, and “Kiswahili” if you say it in Swahili. The following example will make it more clear. The language spoken in France is “French” in English, “Francais” in French, and “Kifaransa” in Swahili. Calling the language spoken in Tanzania, “Kiswahili”, while speaking in English is like calling the language spoken in France, “Francais”, while speaking in Swahili instead of “Kifaransa”.

Funfetti In Your Glass

Obvious Resolutions:

• take hip hop classes
  
• be even more awesome than previous year (subjective, attainable)
  
• eat healthier (perfectly aspecific)
  
• not dish it if I can't take it (vague)
  
• get my business in order (nebulous)
  

Less Obvious Resolutions

• not find naked strangers in my bed when I return home after being out celebrating New Year's at Nate and Jill's house.
  
• stop answering the question "how are you?" with "fine" (even if it's true)
  
• adopt a passable Bostonian accent