my addiction.

i feel like this today.


we had some Quality Roommate Time last night, made all the better by ice cream and a funny movie. but, alas, it came at the cost of a post 12 am bedtime (again!), and i am feeling groggy. part of the grogginess comes from being tired, but most of it is a result of Not Having Had Time to Make My Coffee. guh. my brain is rolling around inside my skull.

so i bought some.

will feel better soon.

weekbeginning

I am currently alone in the archives (again), taking my break by eating a yogurt and reminiscing about the weekend. I love long ones. Some highlights include but are not limited to:

- Scattergories Discovered. I'd never played before. It's really fun.
- Pulling copious amounts of weeds and wearing 2 armfuls of bandaids after I accidentally discovered the thorn bush.
- This rainbow: and additional laughter from a tired 10 hours of driving.
- Breakfeast with the roomies
- Coffee with the soon-to-be Dearly Departed Jeni...
- Praying at Group.

seen in today's paper

I think all of you know I am a serious advocate of literacy. It is a basic skill necessary for a decent quality of life in both the professional and social sectors. That said, I may now make fun of this ad in the paper:


They may want to reconsider their advertising medium. Perhaps an auditory ad would communicate their message better, considering their demographic Can't Read.

Otherwise, I have 14 minutes left of being Alone in the Archives (if that isn't a fabulous title of a mystery story, i don't know what is). My former coworker came by and rescued me for a little while and let me hold her baby. [insert sigh of contentment here]. And now I'm torn between writing a story about my friend's neighbor lady who told us stories about her life for a couple hours last night and writing a mystery based in the photo archives (probably da vinci code-esque). What to do, what to do...

the night shift

In lieu of writing about the parking tickets (yes, plural. I'm not going to talk about it) I received yesterday, I'm going to write about the Spanish fun I had at work!

I came in last night to the paper and translated a Spanish article for the editors. It was so much fun. It helped that there were only a couple words I didn't know, and that newspaper articles in general aim for a 5th grade reading level. But the editors were nice and funny, AND I got paid double salary! Now I can pay for my tickets!

On a bittersweet note, Jeni has a new blog. It is pretty cool. I like the colors. But it means she and Matt are leaving soon. Gah. Can't talk about that right now either.

I still haven't gotten used to...

Ok, I'm transitioning out of my foster kid job in a few weeks, which has me thinking about my jobs in general. In spite of the fact I've been working here for a while, there are still a few things that catch me off-guard.

Like how to respond when dads try to flirt with me in the park. Umm... yeah. Actually, this kid is not my daughter. And even though your left hand is conspicuously naked, I'm not really interested. Sorry.

Or how to look at microfilm for more than 10 minutes without feeling nauseated.

Or how to handle a kid running away and/or getting pregnant.

Or how to deal with customers who think I can do things I am not allowed to do. I promise I'm not just being a jerk. My boss told me flat out I'm not allowed to do that. Sorry.

There are some things I feel I've mastered: persuading small children to use kleenexes instead of picking their noses, figuring out what time we need to leave where to get to x location at x time, looking busy on computers, photocopying with speed and precision.

Oh well. I can stop procrastinating at work now... my shift is up! Lunch!

calling all psychiatrists

Ok, so I had this dream last night that is kind of funny. Or maybe I just think it's funny. Whatever. I'm in a very very small classroom with maybe ten other people and we're taking a standardized Spanish test. The test booklet is about 40 pages thick. I do page one, and just as I'm turning the page everyone else turns in their tests and leaves. As I finish page two, the teacher (my Spanish teacher from high school) says, "Time's up, Mary! Turn it in!" And I start crying. I still have 38 pages to go! I failed the test! I'm so upset that my teacher gives me three sandwiches to cheer me up. Sourdough bread with ketchup and mayonnaise gushing out between the slices. I try a bite. It's about as gross as it sounds (and looks). I'm still crying. Then I flip through the rest of the test and it turns out that the test was only 2 pages long after all! The following pages are a Scholastic Book order form.

I woke up with a POUNDING HEADACHE.

What does it all mean?

on being sensitive

Sometimes I take things personally. I actually don't know how not to take things personally. In part, that may be due to my being a Generally Passionate Person. In other (greater?) part, it is probably pride and ego.

For example, yesterday someone inadvertently hurt my feelings. It was stupid. I knew at the time that no offense was meant, but there was a chance - one little lowercase c chance - that a Shove Off and Leave Me Alone was disguised as an innocent comment. So, I took it personally and assumed the worst. It was stupid. Then I promptly got embarrassed for being so silly, which, of course, made it worse.

And the whole situation reminded me of Lewis, I think in Mere Christianity. He writes that we like to think that we are the people we act like when everything is going well. I like to think that I am joyful and peaceful and encouraging because I have a pretty easy time being those things when life is great. When I am tired, hungry, grieving, or otherwise just plain cranky, I blame what I become on those externals. It's not Me, Mary, who is selfish, prideful, vain, critical, and spiteful. It's just because I'm hungry, or tired, or whatever. But Lewis calls me out (as he usually does) and reminds me that who I really am comes out in moments of trial. And I am still really far from who I want to be. What I call being sensitive is actually just being proud. Where I need to be sensitive is for others' sake. I need to be more sensitive to the pain, loneliness, needs, and beauty of others and not to imagined slights.

All in all, it was a humbling day.

The Freestyle Charleston Fiasco

This morning as I was persuing the paper at work to gather my Friday Night Options, I saw there would be a Big Band playing as a charity function. Sweet! Giving money to a worthy cause and listening to amazing jazz/swing? What more could a girl ask for? So I called up my dance instructor, Janie, from last year and invited her too. Ellyn and I met up with her and sat in amazing second row seats (this is at the Episcopalian Cathedral, if I forgot to mention it).

The band was way fun. They had great energy and were just GOOD. About four songs into the first half, Janie leans over and grabs my hand, "Wanna Lindy?" Here's my Lindyhop info link (the mac is acting up): http://www.savoystyle.com/history.html.

I don't know how many of you know me well enough to know that I never (ever) turn down dance invitations. So, we shimmied on over to a corner and started dancing. It was a little embarrassing - I think like 50 people could see us.

Then a couple songs later, I found myself lindyhopping in the corner again and grinning like an idiot. I really like to lindy. It's like joy personified in dance. The singer/MC then called us out in front. Yeah. Let that sink in a moment. Luckily, I only messed up HUGELY near the end of the song.

Dancing is maybe the only thing I can do without thinking of anything else. My mind blanks out and I just DANCE. Not particularly well, mind you. I just go. This turned out to be an unfortunate trait later in the evening, when Janie grabbed me, shouted "FREESTYLE CHARLESTON!", and pulled me up in front of the Whole Room. I just went. I'm pretty bad at estimating numbers, but the room was definitely full. Hundreds of people, mostly over the age of 65, watched me trip all over Janie's feet, double over in laughing embarrassment, and generally Not Know What I Was Doing.

Overall, a moderately successful evening if I think in terms of Level of Entertainment for the Viewers. If I can make people laugh, I'm doing ok. But it was cute how many little old ladies came up afterward to talk to me. They were pretty sweet.

And Ellyn dances an amazing Rumba.

man-skirts revisited

I have good news, everyone. I spotted a man in an utility-kilt today. One small step for man...

this week's quote winners!

Best pick-up line (courtesy of Ellyn): "I think you stood in front of me once."

Most heart-breaking: "When am I going to be your kid?"

men

As the temperature has soared to a high of 93 lovely degrees farenheit for the last three days, I have been pensating a little on clothing. A little on modesty (which I will not discuss now), but mostly on staying cool in my summer skirts. My favorite one is a swooshy, lightweight black skirt that is the single most comfortable item of clothing I own. It gets a little tricky occasionally walking downtown when the swoosh gets carried away by strong winds. But that's a rarity.

Skirts are, hands down, the coolest thing one can wear in hot temperatures. And I'm not the only one who thinks so.

When we went to the Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii, our guide was wearing a skirt. He was from New Zealand, and wore the traditional costume. A nice, strait, brown skirt. It did not make him effeminate. At all.

Neither did the skirt-like costumes worn by the other men at the Center. Quite the contrary, in fact. Please, take a moment to peruse the website. Here are some of the manly skirts I captured:



And then, holy cow, when they started dancing, it was like masculinity personified. All the stomping and rhythm and dance-fighting was 872 times more virile than any football game, drag race, or spitting contest. So why on earth are mainland American men afraid to wear skirts, much less terrified to dance? It's both practical and sexy. Can you get a better combination?

troll hair swooshing?

I realized yesterday that I am on the verge of a hobo-blogger label. Gasp!

Here's a rundown of the week:

Most fun: Troll Hair Swooshing and Night Troll Prowling

Best pick-up line (yes, said in seriousness to me): "Are you as nice as you look?"

Nicest thing someone said: "I just love being around you. Sometimes I feel guilty for using you for my happiness." Thanks.

Least fun: Being stressed-to-tears because my time set aside for rest turned... not restful.

Dumbest pick-up line: "Uh, you're gonna come back to see me, right?"

More fun: Writing poetry and trying on vintage dresses and hats.

Gasp-erific fun: The end of The Office last night! Gah!

best game ever

We played this last night:


In one foul swoop, it makes me realize I have been mentally sleeping through my Morning Bible Time for the last 8 years while simulateously creating an atmosphere of tense competition as the players battle the urge to equate holiness and trivia.

Aaaahhh.

But at least it has a "beautifully lithographed" board to calm us down:

I need to study up on my OT. And NT. And Prophets, Wisdom, Geography, etc.
Today's study: the Egyptian plagues.
1. Blood
2. Frogs
3. Gnats
4. Flies
5. Livestock
6. Boils
7. Hail
8. Locusts
9. Darkness
10. Death to firstborn children.

Ok, here's the acronym to study: Beleaguered Fighting Gnomes Fail to Liberate Boldly Hostaged Lady Dancing Dwarves.

I'm ready. Bring on Round 2.

hot lips

I think I may have the only job in which a Seemingly Rational adult gets paid to be Ruthelessly Beaten by small children. Yesterday's shift was... difficult. To prove it, I have two incredible bite-marks on both arms and a swollon upper lip due to a little blonde head propelled at high speeds at my face. On the bright side, I look a little bit like liv tyler.

"That's a real mixed blessing."

Jesus.

DISCLAIMER: I am not trying to make fun of the artist. I am merely pointing out a resemblance.

Everyone's ideas of what Jesus looks like are way different. I feel irritated when I see blonde surfer Jesuses. Although, when I see Jesus looking slightly like Johnny Depp... I don't know so much about that either.

housesitting

I'm housesitting this week for a coworker at the paper. I like her. She has a giant, friendly, slobbery dog and two cats. I like them. Two out of three of them like me. Last night I spent the night at the house and learned a couple things about myself.

1) I have a hard time with clutter. Messes I can clean (dishes, laundry, general dirt/dust) are fine. I can clean them. Clutter makes me claustrophobic and panicky. This fact is slightly ironic, as anyone who has seen my desk or my childhood home will catch. So I felt restless and jumpy.

2) I get lonely pretty quickly. I have never lived by myself. I have spent a few days at a time here and there by myself, but mostly I am surrounded by people. And I like it. I am a social being. Spending those 11 hours at the house with no people drove me crazy. I was so desperate for human company, I chatted with my boss for a long time and followed him upstairs. Yeah. Community. I hope this is a normal and healthy and we-were-created-for-community thing and not a neurosis thing. So, I didn't sleep much.

Meanwhile, I am thoroughly enjoying my new pants! We had a clothing exchange/drive at group last night and sorted through over 10 bags of clothing. I am now the proud owner of amazing pants, a red shirt, and a cool purse that all belonged to different girls. Hurrah! And now we get to give the rest of the bags away. Hurrah!

as seen at Jeni's:

Well, if I'm going to be serious about this sort of thing, this is what happens:

Well, as serious as possible while creating a cartoon portrait of myself. However, the temptation to create something like this is too great: