Question: What do the following things have in common?
Sharing a bathroom with seven people
Keys lost inside a moving truck
A tornado
Crying a thousand times
Finding out I'm moving to Iowa
My dad's impromptu gall bladder removal surgery
Answer: My graduation weekend.
Life after school has been strange. And to make it stranger, I've decided to go volunteer in India for eight weeks in the middle of monsoon season.
Stay tuned to hear about my adventures.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Went to the grocery store a couple days ago and passed a woman in the toothpaste aisle who was carrying a live baby lamb, wrapped against her body by her coat. She walked quickly and her two young children followed.
I stared at the baby lamb.
"Great Mom," her son said as they brushed past. "Now everyone is looking at us again."
I stared at the baby lamb.
"Great Mom," her son said as they brushed past. "Now everyone is looking at us again."
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Practicum Wednesdays make me so happy that I literally have to drug myself just to fall asleep. Otherwise I'm smiling and shaking in bed all night off the high.
I also have to take a bath before sleep to calm my body. For a while I sensed that something was missing from these baths, and eventually I realized what it was: bubbles. So I went to Walgreens to buy Bubble Bath. All I could find was Mr. Bubbles, advertised to be bubble-gum scented and fun to make shapes with! I kept searching the shelves for adult bubble bath... turns out there is no adult bubble bath.
So now I'm off, once again, to make bubble-gum scented shapes.
I also have to take a bath before sleep to calm my body. For a while I sensed that something was missing from these baths, and eventually I realized what it was: bubbles. So I went to Walgreens to buy Bubble Bath. All I could find was Mr. Bubbles, advertised to be bubble-gum scented and fun to make shapes with! I kept searching the shelves for adult bubble bath... turns out there is no adult bubble bath.
So now I'm off, once again, to make bubble-gum scented shapes.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Spilling Shit
Well kids, I don't have any good reasons for not updating this since June 4, 2010.
Unless you consider the following to be good reasons: full-time graduate student, 3 jobs, classes, a full case load of sobbing clients with issues ranging from substance abuse to domestic abuse who beg me to make their pain go away, daily paperwork for said clients, writing a book, over 4 hours of commuting per week, maintaining a long-distance relationship, and keeping up a social life with old friends and classmates.
I do, however, have a good reason for not updating in the past week: internet at my apartment is out. Although even that is not a good excuse, because I have been frequenting a local restaurant called "The Junction" to use their Wifi. (How do you spell Wifi? Not sure). Anyway, a miniature train runs along the top of the wall there, making it feel like I am trapped (but in a good way) inside a never-ending episode of Mr. Rogers.
Last time I was there I was focusing so much on the train that I spilled my glass of water all over my keyboard. I told Doug to go ask for napkins and he came back and said that a waitress said she would bring a bunch over in a second. But one minute later I was still dripping and we had seen no trace of napkins. Then the waitress he had talked to, along with two others, came out holding an ice cream sundae and singing "Happy Birthday" to the table of high school students next to us. Clearly we'd been forgotten.
Earlier that week I had spilled my water at a Thai restaraunt, after which the guy at the table next to me shouted out "Don't worry about that! I do that all the time!" which I thought was a kind gesture from a stranger.
Also, during Sunday breakfast I poured coffee on my pancake instead of syrup. I just grabbed the wrong pitcher and started pouring and said out loud, as I poured, "This syrup is really liquid-y." Krys says this is the best thing to have happened in 2011.
Unless you consider the following to be good reasons: full-time graduate student, 3 jobs, classes, a full case load of sobbing clients with issues ranging from substance abuse to domestic abuse who beg me to make their pain go away, daily paperwork for said clients, writing a book, over 4 hours of commuting per week, maintaining a long-distance relationship, and keeping up a social life with old friends and classmates.
I do, however, have a good reason for not updating in the past week: internet at my apartment is out. Although even that is not a good excuse, because I have been frequenting a local restaurant called "The Junction" to use their Wifi. (How do you spell Wifi? Not sure). Anyway, a miniature train runs along the top of the wall there, making it feel like I am trapped (but in a good way) inside a never-ending episode of Mr. Rogers.
Last time I was there I was focusing so much on the train that I spilled my glass of water all over my keyboard. I told Doug to go ask for napkins and he came back and said that a waitress said she would bring a bunch over in a second. But one minute later I was still dripping and we had seen no trace of napkins. Then the waitress he had talked to, along with two others, came out holding an ice cream sundae and singing "Happy Birthday" to the table of high school students next to us. Clearly we'd been forgotten.
Earlier that week I had spilled my water at a Thai restaraunt, after which the guy at the table next to me shouted out "Don't worry about that! I do that all the time!" which I thought was a kind gesture from a stranger.
Also, during Sunday breakfast I poured coffee on my pancake instead of syrup. I just grabbed the wrong pitcher and started pouring and said out loud, as I poured, "This syrup is really liquid-y." Krys says this is the best thing to have happened in 2011.
Friday, June 4, 2010
BLOG
OMG I momentarily forgot that I have a blog. And by momentarily I mean for 6 months. Please forgive me.
Today I was writing at a hippie cafe when a large, weird, kid (and by kid I mean early-twenties) wearing his iPod came up to me and started a conversation about how .02% of a body's mass is plastic, due to the bits of plastic that we swallow when drinking from soda bottles. And then about how he licked paint off his finger once on the way to Yellowstone and was sick for 3 days. And about how he can only use the Pus and Boots glasses he got from McDonald's as decoration because they are lined with cadnium, much like Ancient Romans lined their wine with lead. "That's why children today eat so many paint chips," he said, though i don't really understand where that came from.
Then he started a conversation with the Indian gentleman sitting near us.
iPod guy: How was your day today?
Indian gentleman: Pitiful. Just like every other day. Pretty much par for the course at this point.
iPod guy: What do you think is the single biggest mistake in the history of brewing beer?
Indian gentleman: Volstead Act.
iPod guy: Nah, I think it was the adding of lime.
::::::Indian gentleman sighs, puts down his book, and rubs his forehead::::
Indian gentleman: Do you even know what the Volstead Act was?
iPod guy: Um, refresh my memory
Indian gentleman: It's what started the Prohabition.
iPod guy: That's what started Nascar too.
Indian gentleman: It started a lot of things.
iPod guy: Do you think they'll try another Prohabition again soon?
Indian gentleman: They already ARE!
iPod guy: In the U.S.?
Indian gentleman: What do you think drug laws are?
Indian gentleman proceded to give a lecture about his outrage over the high drinking age in the U.S. and marijuana being illegal.
Listening to this was really interfering with my ability to write poignant prose. So I packed up my laptop and went over to Krys' apartment and we went shopping and she bought an outfit that she saw me wear last week and then we each bought the same outfit, so now we have 2 outfits the same and that's nice for if we ever have to do co-therapy or just if we want to be festive. Then we decorated the YSB with a blind woman and her two dogs, for the graduation party of some kid i don't know. Then we watched her foster child almost get hit by a car. That's all you need to know.
PLEASE COMMENT PLEASE.
Today I was writing at a hippie cafe when a large, weird, kid (and by kid I mean early-twenties) wearing his iPod came up to me and started a conversation about how .02% of a body's mass is plastic, due to the bits of plastic that we swallow when drinking from soda bottles. And then about how he licked paint off his finger once on the way to Yellowstone and was sick for 3 days. And about how he can only use the Pus and Boots glasses he got from McDonald's as decoration because they are lined with cadnium, much like Ancient Romans lined their wine with lead. "That's why children today eat so many paint chips," he said, though i don't really understand where that came from.
Then he started a conversation with the Indian gentleman sitting near us.
iPod guy: How was your day today?
Indian gentleman: Pitiful. Just like every other day. Pretty much par for the course at this point.
iPod guy: What do you think is the single biggest mistake in the history of brewing beer?
Indian gentleman: Volstead Act.
iPod guy: Nah, I think it was the adding of lime.
::::::Indian gentleman sighs, puts down his book, and rubs his forehead::::
Indian gentleman: Do you even know what the Volstead Act was?
iPod guy: Um, refresh my memory
Indian gentleman: It's what started the Prohabition.
iPod guy: That's what started Nascar too.
Indian gentleman: It started a lot of things.
iPod guy: Do you think they'll try another Prohabition again soon?
Indian gentleman: They already ARE!
iPod guy: In the U.S.?
Indian gentleman: What do you think drug laws are?
Indian gentleman proceded to give a lecture about his outrage over the high drinking age in the U.S. and marijuana being illegal.
Listening to this was really interfering with my ability to write poignant prose. So I packed up my laptop and went over to Krys' apartment and we went shopping and she bought an outfit that she saw me wear last week and then we each bought the same outfit, so now we have 2 outfits the same and that's nice for if we ever have to do co-therapy or just if we want to be festive. Then we decorated the YSB with a blind woman and her two dogs, for the graduation party of some kid i don't know. Then we watched her foster child almost get hit by a car. That's all you need to know.
PLEASE COMMENT PLEASE.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Oh yeah, my blog.
Well, I've been busy writing other things. So I'll share an excerpt from what I've been writing instead of this blog.
This comes from a part where I'm reflecting on my middle school angst. Names have been changed.
And what made everything worse was Spanish class on Mondays.
Spanish class was taught by Mr. James, who was a pretty laid back kind of guy. Not the kind of laid-back that earned respect from the students, but the kind of laid-back that resulted from him being so depressed, overweight, and alone that he no longer had the energy to do anything but sit back and allow two 8th grade cheerleaders (who were fake-nice to his face but behind his back made fun of him for only owning two pairs of pants, both with holes) to dominate class discussions.
“Can we talk about our weekends?” Lisa would ask each Monday. “Our fin de semanas? If we say it in Espanol?”
“I guess,” Mr. James would say, turning off the projector with his lesson plan, placing his elbows on the machine, and rubbing his thumbs over his closed eyelids. “Whatever.”
“OK!” Lisa would shout as though it was one of her cheers. “Remind me how to say mall again?”
“Centro de commercial,” Mr. James would say. “And if you’re going to ask how to say something, first say ‘como se dice.’”
“Si, Mr. James, si! Esta fin de semana va a centro de comercial con Maddie y Sarah y Jessica y Bailey y… Sam y… Jason y… Katilyn y…. Max…” Then she would look across the room to her sidekick, Maddie. Maddie was about a foot taller than Lisa and had much bigger boobs, but when you watched them interact there was never any question that she was the sidekick. “What else did we do, Maddie?”
“Ummm,” Maddie would loudly hum as she twirled her brown, curly hair with her pencil and gazed at Lisa. “Como se dice went to a party, Mr. James? Como se dice cute boys? Como se dice hot tub?”
The two of them would prattle on like this for at least half the class. Mr. James would rub his eyes and provide the vocabulary they requested while the rest of us sat in dead silence.
All I did on weekends anymore was go out to eat with my parents, watch Making the Band, and dream that I had a different life. I didn’t even want Lisa’s life, particularly. I just wanted Samantha back. I just wanted to do something con someone else again.
What the hell is wrong with me was all I could think during Spanish class on Mondays as I carved tear drops and flames into my desk. Como se dice ‘I want to crawl into a hole, bury my head in quicksand, and wait for the sweet release of suffocation’?
This comes from a part where I'm reflecting on my middle school angst. Names have been changed.
And what made everything worse was Spanish class on Mondays.
Spanish class was taught by Mr. James, who was a pretty laid back kind of guy. Not the kind of laid-back that earned respect from the students, but the kind of laid-back that resulted from him being so depressed, overweight, and alone that he no longer had the energy to do anything but sit back and allow two 8th grade cheerleaders (who were fake-nice to his face but behind his back made fun of him for only owning two pairs of pants, both with holes) to dominate class discussions.
“Can we talk about our weekends?” Lisa would ask each Monday. “Our fin de semanas? If we say it in Espanol?”
“I guess,” Mr. James would say, turning off the projector with his lesson plan, placing his elbows on the machine, and rubbing his thumbs over his closed eyelids. “Whatever.”
“OK!” Lisa would shout as though it was one of her cheers. “Remind me how to say mall again?”
“Centro de commercial,” Mr. James would say. “And if you’re going to ask how to say something, first say ‘como se dice.’”
“Si, Mr. James, si! Esta fin de semana va a centro de comercial con Maddie y Sarah y Jessica y Bailey y… Sam y… Jason y… Katilyn y…. Max…” Then she would look across the room to her sidekick, Maddie. Maddie was about a foot taller than Lisa and had much bigger boobs, but when you watched them interact there was never any question that she was the sidekick. “What else did we do, Maddie?”
“Ummm,” Maddie would loudly hum as she twirled her brown, curly hair with her pencil and gazed at Lisa. “Como se dice went to a party, Mr. James? Como se dice cute boys? Como se dice hot tub?”
The two of them would prattle on like this for at least half the class. Mr. James would rub his eyes and provide the vocabulary they requested while the rest of us sat in dead silence.
All I did on weekends anymore was go out to eat with my parents, watch Making the Band, and dream that I had a different life. I didn’t even want Lisa’s life, particularly. I just wanted Samantha back. I just wanted to do something con someone else again.
What the hell is wrong with me was all I could think during Spanish class on Mondays as I carved tear drops and flames into my desk. Como se dice ‘I want to crawl into a hole, bury my head in quicksand, and wait for the sweet release of suffocation’?
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