I think I'm ready for my dentures now

"My life is a joke. The carpel tunnel is back in my hand. I AM 21 AND I HAVE CARPEL TUNNEL. I can't believe I'm 21. I'm so old."

I know, I know, this is the part where everyone starts whining because I'm only 21 and you're 52 or 28 or whatnot but DID YOU KNOW THEY HAVE A VACCINE FOR CHICKEN POX?

That's right, kids these days don't have to take oatmeal baths or itch all the live long day. I remember when I got the pox. My mom called all her friends and all the kids rubbed up against each other and then we all itched itched itched all the live long day.

There are 10-year-old children who will come of age in front of Friends and see the episode where Phoebe gets the pox and she has to wear oven mitts over her hands and they won't understand her pain. They won't understand!

AND, last week I was at the National Museum of American History where they are no longer displaying the Star Spangled Banner in the main hallway. The last time I was at the museum it was there. Now it's in the this air-vacuumed room where little ladies in white nurse uniforms "preserve" it. They seriously look like they work in the Wonka Chocolate Factory.

Anyway, one of the placards in the special-lit room where I WAS NOT HEAVEN FORBID allowed to take pictures, said, "the Star Spangled Banner was once displayed in the Great Hall of the museum but is now too old to hang vertically." People, it was displayed there in my lifetime. I am so old.

I think that's why my metabolism is so slow.

My Week in Pictures

This is officially the first post of a new tradition here at My Life. Drinks are on me. Seriously, someone has gotta clear the alcohol out of our house.

Escalator, Cleveland Park

And I didn't miss Southern California

The Days are Getting Shorter

Love at First Surge

When I Really Am Thankful for All Those Care Packages

I think the Postal Service wrote a song about us

It's strange when I suddenly realize I miss you. On nights like tonight when I round a corner and suddenly you are there. Your shirt, your hat, your almost fully likeness.

And then I remember you would never be here. You never were here.

And yet, on nights like tonight I feel an almost fully giddiness urge up inside of me at the thought of you. I can place the urge no better than I can place the desire to do math problems for fun or the reaction I have to all things aggressive.

All things are strange now.

**************

It's surprising when I suddenly realize I'm not in love. On nights like tonight when I'm tired and wanting but don't at all want to call you. I always thought I would. I always thought that if I wasn't talking to you then I would want to and everything in life would just be an absence of you.

Nothing is an absence of you. And I am so surprised because this isn't at all how I expected it. I was so prepared to pine.

Everything is just the same.

**************

It's striking the way your eyes catch the light when you look over at me. "Eyes on the road!" I say, a deceitful protest. What will the absence of you be like? Will I even recognize the light when you are not here, or will it be like being color blind and never knowing what blue really is?

I have a feeling that blue looks a lot like you in the morning when we go for coffee. Or in the afternoon when the cell phone screen lights up with your name. Or whenever I wonder exactly what difference green would make.

On nights like tonight I forget exactly what color the world is because everything is so different now.

I promise this conversation took place irl*

*In Real Life

“Did you see the comment that mean man left? It was so mean!”

“I know, people are dumb.”

“Why, why would he do that?”

“People are dumb. Don’t worry about it, he didn’t even have the balls to link to who he is.”

“I don’t understand! It’s MY blog! The Internet is a free place! If he doesn’t like me he should just leave!”

“I know, I’m really sorry. This is why Dooce had to turn off her comments.”

I knew the way you know about a good melon

Maybe that's it. I was never good at guessing melons.

Things That Give Me Goose Bumps

1. Sneezing. I produce an average of 9 sneezes per day.

2. Beautiful love stories. So embarrassing. I don't even like Keira Knightly (I HATE KEIRA KNIGHTLY) but in the Pride and Prejudice trailer when Darcy says "You have bewitched me body and soul," MAN.

3. The Pentagon flag hanging in the lobby of the Museum of American History.

Home tastes like venti non-fat sugar-free vanilla latte no foam with whip

I got up very early this morning to do homework at Starbucks. Starbucks in La Mirada. They had Starbucks in D.C. but it was more expensive and the Internet wasn't free.

The Internet was free at a little place on the hill called Murky Coffee. Murky participates in Barista competitions, has a blog, and this kick ass sign outside. It was cash only and really really crowded for the entire three-hour block I was there. That was the only time I needed cash during my trip and boy, was I willing to spend it.





There was no Internet at the National Arboretum. There was this beautiful fountain which, thankfully, is the Women's National Home and Garden Memorial Fountain. That city seriously had a monument, bench, or fountain for everything.





The wonderful row house on the hill where I spent the weekend:



And here's a picture of The Man, The Myth, The Legend
Who Is Always On The Phone ...



... and says things like "I'm starting to wear more Urban Outfitters because it's more 'my look'" and "I think I was better at doing math in the middle of the night because then I could say I was better at doing math in the middle of the night" and still manages to hold down a real job.



We went to the National Zoo yesterday on the way to the airport. I actually was able to use the bathrooms here. Probably because of these suggestive signs:



While there I heard a boy named Jacob get in trouble.

"Jacob, you have homework to do this weekend?"
Silence.
"Jacob, I asked you on Friday if you had homework and you said no. Remember? You played!"
Silence.
"Jacob, Sunday is NOT a day for homework, it is a day for ..." His mother searched for a while for what Sunday is a day for. "You should do your homework on Friday when it is still fresh in your mind!"
Silence.

Jacob, your mom is right. Sunday is not a day for homework. Monday morning is. I am with you. Fortitude, buddy, fortitude.

"Mrs. Fulton, if I want your opinion I will ask for it!" "When will that be?" "NEVER!"

It's late here. I'm back at the place I'm staying now, a row house in the District with four girls who work "on the hill." No one is home and the Internet is terribly shoddy. Every other page I try to view Safari informs me that I am "not connected to the Internet."

This house was built by a professional chef and the kitchen is state of the art with a refrigerator the size of Rhode Island. For those of you in California, Rhode Island is the really small state on the East coast. And by East coast I mean those states East of the Midwest, NOT the states East of California.

I did one of those things Lauren hates. I forgot to eat. We had lunch at the sculpture art garden gallery cafe something or other and then I got distracted. I think it's because I had to go to the bathroom so badly all day long. Did you know they don't clean the public bathrooms in D.C.? Seriously. And there are no toilet seat covers. And I swear, it's like men use these bathroom. That's all I'm saying.

Anyway, now I'm starving and the state of the art kitchen is barren. And the four girls are not here.

Here are some more pictures:


Breakfast, or should I say petit dejeuner at Au Bon Cafe this morning. Yes, that is a cereal bowl-sized cup of coffee. And yes the barista made a smiling face with chocolate syrup.


The metro. All the stations look like this. This is the Capitol South station on the Orange Line.


Lynn and I on the mall. That is the Washington Monument in the background. Friday night, while it was raining, I saw it from the steps of the Jefferson Memorial. It was so foggy you couldn't see the top; only the red blinking lights. It took nearly 100 years to fundraise, plan, and build. Supposedly it is possible to go up into it. Somehow I'll get up there.


Some FFA kids at a metro station. Heather, is this Redding's version of Mathletes?

The highlight of my day was a automated puppet show in the Revolutionary War exhibit at the American History museum. I videotaped it so once I find somewhere to host it I'll post the link. It's hysterical. I had to leave the exhibit and compose myself before solemnly proceeding into the other wars. Let's just say a Redcoat Governor tries to impose a Tea Tax on the colonists. And "Hmpfh" was definitely one of the subtitles.

Highlight number 2 was Orlando Bloom in Elizabethtown. Two thumbs up despite Fangs.

Hello, I am in love

I am having such the adventure. This city, I love it. This weather, I love it. The strange stares, the weird people, the woman sitting across from me at Cosi who just read something in the Post that made her laugh out loud. I love the young girls my age who look at me like we're friends. I love that when I get on the metro late at night there are college students in hooded sweatshirts and that at rush times its all suits. I love that it costs more to ride the metro at rush times.



I love that Union Station has free wireless and that I can get on a network almost anywhere else. I love the bread I am eating right now. Why do they not have this bread in California?

I love the newsroom. I love the reporters and the cubicles and the piles and piles of paper on everyone's desks. I love the editor who told me my dimples would get a long way and the reporter who looked at me skeptically.




I do not love all the roads. There are so many roads. Driving here is hard and today we got lost. A lot of times. In a row. Finally, we decided to pull over (on the side of the freeway) and call someone for help.

Turns out we pulled over a little too close to the Pentagon. Within 30 seconds three Pentagon Police cars had surrounded us with their lights on. They don't like it when cars stop near the Pentagon.




The place I stayed in Maryland looked like it was out of a movie. The trees were everywhere and so beautiful and the yards sloped up to big, marvelous brick homes where grandparents collected golf collectibles and the gifts for the people who have everything.



Yesterday, a real serious reporter asked me to do math for her. Thank you Mrs. McHugh and Advanced Algebra I. I kinda wanted to ask for a byline, but I resisted.

There was a couple standing on the metro last night because there were no two seat together. He looked academic and official, a grad student at Columbia, I decided. She works "on the hill" for a Michigan senator. They were U of M undergrads once upon a time before the big city swallowed their souls. I think, though, last night on the metro they found their souls again. He was down for the weekend and I don't think they looked anywhere else aside from one another's eyes. She would occasionally look down to catch her step and he would, in that moment her eyes were away, kiss her cheek.

We met a man in J. Crew, where some people can apparently afford to shop, who was so friendly and so lonely that we wanted to invite him out with us. He was from Missouri and was working "on the hill." He had a 10-year plan.

It is against the law to bring food or drink onto the metro. Shepherd said there is an urban legend that "the authorities" pushed a pregnant woman because she had a Snickers bar on the metro. He said that people talk about it as if they read it in the newspaper. I asked Lynn if she had heard about the urban legend and she said, "the one about the little boy?" The little boy had a Snickers bar and "the authorities" arrested him and "it went on his criminal record and EVERYTHING." She was told it as fact.



I play a game here with everyone I see. It's the "I Pretend I Live Here" Game. So far, I'm winning. Today, someone asked me for directions and I KNEW HOW TO GET THERE.

If I lived here I could just blog what I hear other people say. Today, I heard a woman on the metro say, "And I was gettin' all into the game and before I knew it I was DRUNK and it was only 4 o'clock. AND THEN, my MOM called!!!"

I went to a tea at a place called The Cedars yesterday. It is an old old private mansion dating back to 1777. Some of the constitution-framers lived there. The owner in the early 1900s travelled a lot and the wallpaper in the third-floor hallway is imported from China. The marble is from Italy. They have a framed newspaper announcing Lincoln's death and a host of wonderful people that keep up the place. The guest bedrooms are often occupied by senators, community leaders, and visiting dignitaries who need to "get away from the hill."



I abhor the time change. I abhor the distance from my friends. I hate that I have to call home and read the guidebook to my roommates. I hate that the Starbucks here is even cold. IT IS COLDER IN THIS STARBUCKS THAN IT IS OUTSIDE. I abhor the corruption and the money that seems to run under this city like the metro.

And yet, it's nothing less than magical. Every face looks familiar.

Click on pictures to see larger images.

My Life Is Wasting Away or Reason #529 Why Broadcast Journalism Isn't Real Journalism

Last night, after the disappointment that was learning there was no new America's Next Top Model we made the mistake of leaving the TV on. It was the tail end of the 10 o'clock news and sitcom reruns were about to commence when all of a sudden Lauren "My Second Job is Stripping" Sanchez announced BREAKING NEWS.

There was a police chase in San Pedro. They cut to Kevin in Newscopter 13.

"Lauren, the suspect, as you can see, is driving a silver Mercedes. He is going about 5 miles an hour and has been circling this six-block area for the last 15 minutes."

Now, this wasn't just any silver Mercedes. It was tricked out. All the windows tinted black and rims so big and so sparklin' ("I think those rims are what the kids call bling bling," Kevin reported) that even after police had popped all the tires THE SUSPECT WAS STILL ABLE TO DRIVE. Kevin informed us that the suspect could "drive on metal for hours."

The suspect had originally attracted police attention when another drive reported his reckless driving. Whether this reckless driving was different from his low-speed antics was unclear. Regardless, he didn't pull over and allegedly threw "drug paraphernalia" from the (barely) movie vehicle.

A hospital was in the six-block area and was put under lock down. "That means no one can get in and no one can get out." Thank you, Lauren.

My readers now know all the information that Lauren, her sidekick Mark, and Kevin knew. And yet THEY KEPT TALKING.

What's worse is WE KEPT WATCHING.

Lauren kept saying over and over again, "You just don't know ..." and she would follow this with her theories.

"Maybe this is his third strike and he's enjoying himself for one last time before he gets locked up for a while."

"Maybe there is someone in the hospital he is working with or waiting for."

"Maybe he thinks he's going a lot faster."

"Maybe he's getting read to just take off."

"He's clearly confused, doesn't know which way to turn. You just don't know."

Really, Lauren, REALLY?

As the chase continued she started to get all worked up. Kevin wasn't provided any new information and the suspect was still a-driving.

The California Highway Patrol had declined to get involved and the local police weren't trained on the pit maneuver.

Lauren popped.

"I am just so frustrated! These are tax payer dollars! What is he doing?!?!?" She was yelling a little bit.

Mark, being dedicated to fair-and-balanced reporting stepped in with the "you never know" speech and Lauren actually said ON THE AIR "Please don't yell at me!!"

Finally, after an hour the suspect cooperated. I will never get that hour back.

The Tale of the Pretrip Spazz

When I was young we would take these "family vacations" every year to go visit "family."

My mom would get all crazy. It would happen about 24 hours before estimated departure and everything she said would come out yelling.

THE LAUNDRY MUST BE DONE. THE LAUNDRY ISN'T GOING TO BE DONE. OH NO THE LAUNDRY!

WHO IS GOING TO TAKE US TO THE AIRPORT? WHAT IF WE'RE LATE? GET IN THE CAR!!

ABIGAIL, WHY AREN'T YOU PACKED YET? (I was never packed on time. Never.)

We'd duck, cover, and run for fear. And I swore, I SWORE, that would never be me.

I thought I'd made into the clear, I've completed several cross-country trips without being crazy.

But apparently a cross-country trip to the District is all it takes to make me crazy.

I don't think I said a single sentence today without whining.

My paycheck still hasn't come through.

My camera isn't working right.

Why the hell do I have so many clothes?

Does no one in this world have a hanging bag?

I was on the phone with Shepherd and we were trying to create the schedule for the week. I love schedules, I adore them, and I actually told him that I couldn't have that conversation because it made my head hurt.

We're going to try again after I get off the plane tomorrow.

But seriously, what is wrong with me? And no, Mom, I'm not packed yet.

Things are gonna get a lot crazier around here

The sound of settling

The thing about having a brother 3 years my younger is that there are only certain times in our lives where we are in same life stage. When I was 15 and he was 12 was not one of those stages.

But when I was 6 and he was 3 we made the quite the pair. We lived in a big house in Winnetka with a large, second-floor room overlooking Provident Avenue. I'm not sure how big the room really was, but in my memory it was enormous.

My mom had a system: keep all the toys in the room. And there were a lot of toys. We had every McDonald's Happy Meal gadget every produced and this was back before they started teaming up with Disney. We're talking about the hamburger that TRANSFORMED into a Monster. The milkshake, the fries, they were all part of the toy family.

There was a dollhouse with mismatched furniture and no walls and trees painted on the outside. Some of the couches were too big for the people, some of the people were too big for the beds.

There were tea sets and tea tables and I don't remember ever having a tea party.

I do remember the most fun being had outside of that room though.

The most fun happened when we took all the blankets in the house, even the Star Wars Jedi blanket, and threw them down the staircase. All the pillows, too, and even the couch cushions.

Down the staircase they went and us after them, tumbling down in sleeping bags. Into the pit, him and I, laughing all the way.

We moved that year and then we grew up. The new house didn't have a staircase.

Lights will guide you home

Strange streets of strange cities feel like home to me.

I am her, sitting on the bench, complaining about the weather or the clientele.

Our eyes met across the street, I held the stare.

"People just really aren't that beautiful in real life," I said.

We were downtown for dinner and a limited-release movie. I was wearing high heels because it was that kind of night.

Maybe I knew he'd be there.

We got coffee, I got more stationary, and I kept looking back to the doorman. He didn't leave that spot the whole night.

I didn't let the stare go the whole night.

This strange city smells of cooking sherry and oil paints. The movie was phenomenal and each sound was farther back in time. Farther back from now.

When we left, I looked at him one last time. He nodded, in the knowing way, like we were old friends.

"Are you sure I shouldn't just go say something?"

I didn't say anything. But man, I could look at him ... forever. Like an old friend.

If Only I Had A Camera Phone

I saw Betsy Ross at Starbucks the other day. She was wearing an American flag as a sweater and had a skirt with those country-style yellowed-starred American flags. And she had the earrings. Little wooden hearts with American flags painted on them. (Side note: Heather asked me if I saw "the real Betsy Ross." Clearly, she didn't read Johnny Tremain.)

Today, at mon autre universite I saw a students whose pants were sagging SO LOW that he was actually waddling. Like if you're peeing and then the phone rings. THAT kind of waddle. Across campus. He had a backpack and a cell phone, so he seemed legit. Scary.

I was driving to mon autre universite on Tuesday and an ice cream truck pulled out of a neighborhood and into the lane next to me. I noticed, after careful analysis, that it was a female driver (although she had some very mannish qualities). She pulled up next to me at the red light, put the truck into park, and ran to the back and got a Good Humour bar before the light turned green. No joke. AND she didn't even offer me one!

Apparently, 'tis the season for Snoopy? Our down-the-street neighbors take Halloween seriously. Fourteen-feet high serious. Fourteen-feet high Peanuts characters dressed up for the holiday. (Snoopy is in a ghost costume, Woodstock is sitting on the edge of a cauldron). I want to go trick-or-treating there. Every day.

Miracles Can Happen

Today is one of those days when even though my lunch meat went really really bad, I am still really really happy.

I got an office. Four walls and a door with a lock.

No one said to me today, "what exactly is going on with your hair?"

I had a free Reduced Fat Blueberry Coffee Cake from Starbucks for breakfast. Free!

Yesterday, I decided that it was brisk enough to wear a sweater and therefore, good enough reason to rip open the winter clothes box all over my bedroom floor even though ALL THE OTHER CLOTHES I OWN were already ALL OVER THE BEDROOM FLOOR.

But that meant that TODAY I got to wear a sweater. A GREEN sweater.

Bewitching

I was minding my own business this afternoon, procrastinating as usual, when I logged on to my PASSWORD-PROTECTED computer only to discover that there was a folder on the desktop named "Heather Dodds So Hot Right Now." I opened the folder and found the source of "You've Met Your Disk Quota" problem: several pictures of Heather and I. Pictures that I would post here but we're talking Too Hot To Handle.

Not only is the computer password protected with a very secret password but Heather was nowhere near said computer. She was several minutes away.

So I rang her up.

"How?"

Maniacal laughter.

Turns out SHE GUESSED THE PASSWORD and HACKED IN from a REMOTE SERVER.

I seriously need new friends.

Later, while en route to Starbucks, I made the brutal mistake of going The Long Way. The Long Way takes twice as long as The Short Way and, while involving a higher speed limit, it also involves twice as many lights and twice as many U-turns.

U-turns are common in Southern California because protected left-turn greens are common. During my stay here, I have fallen in love with these green arrows. In Chicago, I was always fighting traffic, having to make a quick left while the light was yellow and before it turned red. Here, I have my very own green.

Except for tonight.

I got to the first intersection of The Long Way trek and moved myself into the left-turn lane.

Click-click-click went my turn signal.
Alanis was hollering about irony.
I was kicking myself for going The Long Way.

And then I noticed that there was NO GREEN. The arrow was pointing STRAIGHT.

STRAIGHT AHEAD. NOT LEFT.

Peering through the darkness, trying to see where exactly the green arrow had disappeared to, I faintly heard my phone ringing (Alanis was singing really loud).

Caller ID gave her away and I answered the phone:

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY GREEN?"

Neither chicken nor love

"I guess we used to date. I was a dumb freshman."

We were puzzled. How could the meat really cook in so few minutes? How could we really make such poor decisions back then?

There is a rule. It's called the Keeper Test and it deals with car door technicalities and subtle nuisances. It sends a hint to your date: whether your like him or not. She told him, but not until their fifth date.

He tried to tell me a hundred times. Ironically, I always argued with him: "actions speak louder than words." No wonder he got so frustrated.

"I don't think I've had non-chicken meat in a year. "

"I don't think I've had a non-weird date in a year."

"I don't think I've had a date in a year."

They talked on the phone and went out for dessert after basketball games. She didn't find him the least bit attractive.

The Keeper Test worked; he stopped calling. She fell for another player and focused on other things.

"Then I found out he was DATING ANOTHER GIRL."

"But you didn't like him."

"But I still wanted him to like ME."

The meat almost burned. We had to use tools, serious tools, to cut it. I hear it's supposed to be cut against the grain but we had a hard time finding the grain.

"How do you feel about the teriyaki sauce?"

"I'm not really a 'sauce for every occasion' type of person."

"Fine then, I'll have it myself."

I met your wife last night. She was small and pretty just like I always knew she would be and yet I was still surprised to see the ring on her finger. It's hard to know now whether I really wanted that ring or I just thought I did.

I certainly wanted to be the one to say no at least.

But then I guess, ironically, I'm too much against the grain.

This is a blog post for my mom and Heather, who three times today alone has said, "If I don't win that freakin contest we are so in fight"

I just finished a conversation with my mom during which she told me exactly what she was wearing when she went on her walk today and what exactly she made for dinner ("Aren't I a good mom?" "Yes, you are quite the Suzy Homemaker.").

I called her because she left me the following message this afternoon:

"Where are you? I haven't heard from you in a while and I don't know where you are. I saw you posted on Lauren's blog yesterday... call me."

"I haven't heard from you in a while" means "why the hell haven't you updated your blog, daughter?"

I haven't updated because I've been up to my ears in phone messages like that and comments demanding updates and contest results.

Thus I present to you the contest results:

Heather

1. Correct! One point!

2. Way to quote the movie again. 2 points. Use of the French language. 2 points. Use of bad language. 2 points. You receive the full six points.

3. Well since this is plausible, fun, and involves both David Duchovny and Starbucks, it wins! 2 points.

One bonus point for You've Got Mail discussion.

Total: 10 points.

Lauren

1. Zero points.

2. You understood the question correctly and mentioned both Friends and chicken. Six points.

3. This doesn't count as a suggestion. Zero points.

Total: 6 points.

Ace

1. Zero points.

2. Interesting suggestion and you used the rule of threes for your verbs so... 4 points.

3. Tickets to a play aren't really in my price range.

Heather Anne

1. Despite not answering the question, you did use bad language and mention Starbucks. 2 points.

2. Yes yes yes on the kissing. 6 points.

3. Well, you stole someone else's idea so zero points here.

One bonus point for You've Got Mail discussion.

Total: 9 points.

Shepherd

Did you not understand the game at all? Zero points.

And you insulted the game. Zero points.

Total: Negative points.

And the winner is ....


duh duh duh

(keep scrolling)
(remember those chain letter emails that made you scroll and scroll and scroll?)


HEATHER DODDS WITH 10 POINTS.

Oh, and for those still waiting in suspense, it was so cold that Sally had to wear two turtlenecks, an underarmour, two scarves, and a big jacket. And it was spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. See? Suzy Homemaker.

"Today is a perfect day for a POP QUIZ"

In honor of the fact that I have a huge un examen tomorrow in la francais, I am sponsoring a little test here at My Life.

1. What movie is the title quote from? (Bonus points if you give the full name of the character who says it).

2. If I have a French test tomorrow, what do I do today?

3. What should the prize be?

Scoring will be completely subjective. The first question is worth one point (plus an additional bonus point) and you can receive up to six points on the the second question. Two points for the third question if your suggestion is chosen.

And, since you can see others' comments, I am going to have to take your word that you knew the answer to no. 1 before seeing the other comments. And of course, you can answer as many or as few questions as you want. This is a loving and open environment.

Heather Anne, this competition is for you.

Goodbye, Amber

We were all seniors taking our last required theology class: The Basics to Christian Living. The class was about absolutely nothing and I remember a lecture about student loans and STDs. We journaled a lot about our lives and our futures and I made a point of having the most creative binder. I had raided the Sunday school art supplies at church and I had at least 16 different colored pages. We had to do presentations on something. Our lives maybe? Mary Number One gave a presentation on how her parents met. Her dad was a Catholic priest, her mother a nun. Needless to say they both left the ministry.

Our teacher was new, just that semester, and we liked her. She wasn't hardened to our ways yet and she would let us get away with untucked uniform shirts. She made the class less about theology and more about "life." We liked that. She liked us too. Maybe too much. Her sexual orientation was unclear and my gaydar was just as weak then as it is now.

Six weeks from the end of the semester she disappeared. Mr. Schmidt, the ugliest, smarmiest theology teacher ever to set foot in a classroom, announced to us that she was gone and Johnnie New Shoes was going to be finishing off the semester.

I don't remember his real name but Johnnie was fresh out of college and less than five years older than most of us. Johnnie had been hired for the fall semester to teach theology to the freshmen (again, by theology, I mean binders) but they had arranged an emergency early hire to save us from ourselves and to teach us all about Christian living.

Needless to say, he was terrified of us. Thirty feminist 18-year-olds with plaid uniform skirts, no manners, and complete disdain for faculty. Why he thought it would be a good idea to start out teaching at a Catholic all-girls school is beyond me. We ran him over, turned in our binders and got our diplomas.

That's my last memory of a teacher leaving.

This morning, our Health and Wellness professor, Just-Call-Me-Amber-Even-Though-I-Have-Two-Doctorates, shared with us that she was leaving. Leaving now, in the middle of the semester. Leaving us to find wellness on our own.

She said she wasn't well enough to stay so I guess it's best she left but I'll really miss her and now I won't know who to ask about eating raw.

The new lady, Just-Call-Me-Wendy-P.S.-My-Man-Calves-Could-Tread- Water-In-The-Open-Sea-For-A-Week seems nice enough. I had her for water aerobics, a class I took for three weeks when I was an underclassmen. I guess she's healthy and well.

I guess you can never tell.

The Brows

I have big eyebrows. Big eyebrows are not becoming. I have come to grips with this and am willing to pay money to periodically have a woman rip them off my face. With hot wax.

I am not willing to pay to have a woman tell me that I have big eyebrows.

Every time I go in she says, "where or where have you bean?" She looks at my forehead area and gasps.

"I'm sorry, I've been really busy and my car was in the shop," I tell her.

"WALK! TAKE THE BUS!"

The urgency with which she treats my situation is not flattering. The urgency with which she treats my situation is, in fact, very offensive. The situation is not that urgent. The three precises that I wrote this weekend were urgent. The books I read, the people I prayed for, the fellowship I had, that was all very urgent.

The last six months have been filled with urgency. Lady, that is where I have bean.

Unfortunately, six months is long enough that the situation is becoming urgent. I have trained myself to focus on my hair or my eyes or my cheeks when looking in the mirror simply to avoid the eyebrow region. That way I don't gasp.

I was going to go in Saturday morning. I was going to go this afternoon. But I'm afraid of what she will say.

So until I get up the courage to face my fears (and foes), please don't look at my eyebrows.

In what world is it acceptable to list all the crazy things about oneself? Oh, right, in the world I am allowed to have a Web site.

1. Cowlicks. I have about nine cowlicks on my head. NINE. I may as well have a bumpy head with all the craziness going on on top of it. I am constantly feeling them to see how wrongly the hair is going and how obvious it is. If I can see my head silhouette I will look to see how normal it looks.

2. Condiments. I love condiments. I want them on everything. A sauce for every occasion I always say. People say I have french fries with my ketchup. However, the condiment cannot accidentally touch me. If I run my finger through the ketchup while dipping the fry, I freak out. It's not normal and I don't know I do it but this is an open place so I'm admitting it. Back when I used to eat in the college cafeteria there was this guy who would always try to shove my fist into my bowl of ketchup just to freak me out. Bastard.

3. Cups. I don't care if cups are clean. If there is a glass of water sitting unattended at my house I will finish it off. If there is a cup by the sink with some residue in it I will rinse it with water and then reuse it. I can't believe I just admitted that. I am so fired.

4. Crazy people. I am fascinated with people. I like to eavesdrop on conversations and make up stories about people I don't know. I stalk people online. I look at wedding pictures of people I HAVE NEVER MET. Maybe I'm the crazy person.

5. I save everything. This is no joke. You wrote me a birthday card two years ago and all it says is, "Happy Birthday!"? I still have it. That reminder email about the study group? I still have it. The t-shirts I wore in high school under my uniform? Still have them. The first sunglasses I bought. Every required class book ever. Souvenirs from my friends' vacations. More clothes than I could ever wear. Slowly but surely I am trying to overcome this. I threw away the sunglasses the last time I moved and I try to delete the superfluous emails. But the clothes? And the memories? I just can't let go.

Heather Anne tagged me. Your turn. I tag: Emily, Lauren, Shepherd, Sally, and Rebecca. Five idiosyncrasies.

Catch-up isn't really my sport

Dear Internet,

I've missed you. There is so much that has happened in the last several days that I wanted to write about but I couldn't. I couldn't because it was about work or it was about boys or it was about people who read my blog. Sometimes it may have been all three combined.





See how I just did that? See how now you are so curious? That's why I couldn't write about it. I also couldn't write because I was too tired. Too tired to think straight, too tired to walk straight, too tired to even complain to Starbucks about how they made my drink wrong.

Lauren and I sat today, in the heat, complaining a lot. We like to complain. You might say it's our love language. Maybe it's our favorite way to communicate. It went something like this:

"I have so much homework."
"You have a lot of homework!?! Look at this whole study guide I have to do! For one test! It's so long!"
"Omigosh, that is long! I can't believe how much homework I have. We have to do homework."
"Yeah, we have to do homework."
"I have so much."
"Let's go somewhere to study. But it has to be air-conditioned."
"Yeah, and I don't want to spend money."
"Yeah. I'm tired."
"I have so much homework."
"I'm so tired."

Then, two hours later we wandered over here to a new Starbucks which is, consequently, like all the other Starbucks except they make worse drinks.

I tried to do homework.

Every week a friend of mine asks me if I've read such-and-such book and it's a new book EVERY WEEK. I always say, hesitantly, no. See, when I read a book it all sounds vaguely familiar and I start to wonder if I've read it before or if the author plagiarized the plot line and then I realize OH WAIT, LAUREN HAS ALREADY TOLD ME ALL ABOUT THIS WHOLE BOOK. So I just don't read anymore.