Shenanigans, ruckuses, and capers from the 505

We will TOTALLY braid each other's hair and play MASH some day

2010-05-20T09:47:00.003-04:00

We're all well aware that one of my favorite games IN THE UNIVERSE is pretending that celebrities and I have friendships which are meant to be.

It's true, guys, the Hanson brothers just don't know how much they need me.

Today's target of creepy bff-ship? None other than the this-is-what-people-mean-when-they-say-girl-next-door-beauty-not-ScarJo-why-keep-insisting-that-woman-looks-like-your-neighbor, talented, effervescent Alison Brie.

Now, I don't watch Mad Men, but I have more than a mild crush on the entire cast and crew of Community and, well, then there's this:

http://www.nerve.com/features/true-stories/homosexual-schmomosexual

C'mon. Please tell me you don't want to be that woman's best friend. PLEASE. Just TRY.

Reasons I'm going to Albuquerque: A list which will probably devolve into paragraphs

2010-05-19T09:00:00.006-04:00

I would like to say, "people ask me about my move all the time" but, that's not strictly true. People ask me about my plans all the time, but become so horrified at the prospect of me moving halfway across the country without a job for some boy that it's really hard to get any discourse in edgewise.

Ah, defensive explanations of my life choices: I know you so well. This feels exactly like when I first started to tell people the topic I'd chosen for my undergraduate thesis. Once they recovered from the shock and horror that I was Making Poor Life Choices, they just pitied me and wondered why, oh why, they'd ever thought me capable of making those choices on my own in the first place. Here we are, two years later, and while my thesis was a terribly written document that I often question the validity of, I think I would be a markedly different person if I hadn't written it. So...take that?

Re: My Move To Albuquerque, I often hesitate to tell people that my GentlemanCaller lives there, because their reactions are so. freaking. belittling. As such, and in answer to Everyone I Work With (who are all well intentioned, let me state that for the record) I would like to start with a list of reasons I'm not moving to Albuquerque:

I'm not moving because I'm pregnant.

I'm not moving because I'm engaged or plan to be as such in the foreseeable future.

I'm not moving to lose my identity in my BigStrongMAN's job/life/dreams only to wake up 35 years from now to realize, tragically, that I never pursued my own.

I'm not moving because my identity is already so inexorably tied to that of my BigStrongMAN that I cannot conceptualize life apart from him any longer and dream of a day when I can effectively define myself by him.

I'm not moving because I need to get laid.

I hope, really and truly, that most of these things come as common sense to those who love me. Of course I am not moving for any of those reasons BECAUSE ALL OF THOSE REASONS ARE DUMB AND/OR INAPPLICABLE TO MY LIFE.

Dear People Who Love Me: I know I've struggled to pick "winners," if you will, when it comes to the men on whom I often lavish affection. That being said: please stop freaking out and assuming I've lost my autonomy because you've learned I'm dating someone. It is insulting.

Reasons I am moving to Albuquerque:

I currently live 10 minutes away from both of my parents, in the town in which I grew up, which is only 2 hours away from the college I attended. I think my horizons need a little expanding.

I have struggled, immensely, to make a life for myself which I like here. The difficulties I've had building a social network in the 'Noke are almost cripplingly depressing some days. Despite how much I truly love the few friends I've managed to secure, I think I need to try my hand in a bigger area where there's a possibility of meeting and making more friends.

My position was cut by the school system, due to extreme budgetary issues. I moved back to Roanoke for this position more than for any other reason, and without it staying here seems weird.

The other position I could seek within this system, while exciting on many fronts, is ultimately a terrible personality fit for me. When I am least happy in my current job is when I feel most isolated and least like a member of a team. This new position would be far more isolated than my current one, a fact which I know would be very hard for me to stomach on a daily basis.

I used to dream of spending some time in my life in the WildWildWest - and I think Albuquerque's breathtaking mesas and yawning deserts fit that bill. It is totally different from anything with which I'm remotely familiar, and that excites me for the same reasons the thought of living in the DC-Metro area is skin-crawlingly-horrible to me. DC, for all it's perks, seems so familiar it makes me feel like crying. Albuquerque, though, is a completely different kind of adventure than I'm used to.

Everything fell into place, once I started looking. Months ago, I was merely tossing the idea of moving to Albuquerque around. Honestly, I expected I'd spend a summer there then go off to somewhere like New York to face destitution on those hard streets. As soon as I mentioned to pertinent people, however, that I was merely considering a Southwestern re-location, even temporarily, things started clicking. I effortlessly found a roommate: another Wahoo and a brother from APO. I immediately clicked with a friend-of-a-friend who wants to bring me into her social group. I befriended a man who works for the University from which I'm seeking employment who decided, after our brief plane ride together, that he wants to help me get a job. Every tentative step I took in the direction of Albuquerque was met with Fanfare From The Universe - a sign if I ever saw one.

I might get to have a lot of Deaf friends. My now-friend Lesley and her boyfriend are both ASL interpreters and most of their other friends are Deaf or at least sign. I'm incredibly excited about becoming closer friends with Lesley, and the possibility of getting to truly learn a language which challenged and intrigued me so much when I studied it in college.

I'm really, really, unhappy with where my life is right now and, ultimately, feel like I need to move. I know moving doesn't solve anything a vast majority of the time, but I also know that I'll wonder obsessively until I try. That being said, I know one of my criteria for moving is that I need to move somewhere which seems to promise a social support system. After much hemming and hawing, the two cities which emerged as most likely to provide the both the move and the support I need were New York and Albuquerque.

My decision to go to Albuquerque was, honestly, as much a decision not to go to NYC as it was anything else. New York houses two of the few people in this world who call me a "best friend," a fact exceptional enough that it doesn't escape my notice. I also don't believe, as many of those who love me do, that NYC would "chew me up and spit me out" or, even, be that harsh and unforgiving - in large part because I know it is home to people who love me. However, I also know that if I were to move to New York I would not particularly want to get a Real Job. I would want to nanny, to work at Starbucks, to join interesting writers circles and tag along to the slam poetry scene. I know this, because when I think about jobs in New York, I think "9-5. Ew." I also know that, at some point, I would start to feel my own directionlessness, and I have a pretty good idea that I wouldn't have undergone nearly as much learning and growing as I'd want to, and that would ultimately be a bad scene. For me, right now, moving to New York is like moving to Neverland: it's a place where you never have to grow up, ever. I am not positive that's what I need in my life right now.

Yeah, Mike's in Albuquerque, and I hate that people judge me for that. I hate how often people point out that we might break up, mere seconds after my arrival in the state of New Mexico. I hate that people sigh and look like "there goes another good one" when they think I'm uprooting my whole life, practicality be damned, to be with a boy. I hate that my mother thinks I'm choosing some passing crush over career advancement in my home town. He's the reason I started looking at Albuquerque in the first place, sure, but he's not the reason I'm moving. I hate that if Mike lived in New York or Boston or San Francisco, no one would think twice about my move - because those are cities already imbued with senses of adventure in our collective cultural consciousness.

Am I moving to the city in which my GentlemanCaller lives? Sure. Am I moving there for him? Oh. Heck. No. I am moving for me, because I need to move, and because I am excited about this as the move for me, and because I want to. I struggle with how to convey this to people, with how to drive home the point that the GC was a mitigating factor, but not the deciding one.

I hear, from the depths of my MiddleSchoolBrain, a 14-year-old Carly telling me to not care what other people think. As a 14-year-old, I found that philosophy as frustrating as I find it a decade later. I care what people think, because I know they care for me.

Dear The World: I know you're only looking out for my best interests but please, please, please believe me when I say that I am too.

Stop, collaborate, and listen

2010-05-18T14:36:00.005-04:00

Pretty much once a day, I think about things I should be writing. This thought, like many of my more nagging thoughts, is often answered by taking a nap.

You know how I do.

It frustrates me when people put "life updates" in blogs, because they feel like what they are: rushed, forced, and formulaic. It frustrates me, too, when people DON'T put life updates in blogs because then...you know...I'm not updated on their lives. My pragmatic nosiness and artistic sensibilities are constantly warring forces.

I spent a few half-hearted months trying to write a blogpost about control. It started off with something like, "in the past two calendar years I've survived both a sexual assault and a really scary car accident and I think both of those things bring me back to my thoughts on power and control and Women In The Workforce" but, as these things often are, it was forced and false and overly verbose to make up for being uncomfortable.

When people ask what I've been up to for the past little while, I usually tell them about a few things, including but not limited to the following. My job was cut and my contract ends in June. My sister's getting married in August. I'm moving to Albuquerque sometime around mid-August or early September, depending upon how my summer employment works out. No, it's not just to be with my Gentleman Caller. Yes, he happens to live there, too. I like to go on bike rides with my friends. Travel is the #1 way in which I live beyond my means these days, but my one-bedroom is pretty sweet, too. The piece of glass stuck under my skin, right by my left ear, left from the aforementioned scary car accident is still there and it makes me feel weird to touch it. I took a creative writing class at the local community college from which I have myriad hilarious stories. I spend more time than is strictly necessary on sites like Awful First Dates and Babies Making Faces and I'm okay with that. Applying to jobs is scary. I still don't know how to pop-and-lock. I stayed at a hotel in Mexico which had doorbells for each room. While teaching my little brother to drive we had candid discussions about creating a culture of explicit consent, what abusive relationships look like, and how to prioritize both emotional and physical safety. I've made banana chocolate chip mini muffins at least 5 times this year.

That's probably not it, but it's a start.

Tyra - you know I love you.

2009-12-16T18:06:00.002-05:00

So, pretty much the whole point of having a blog is the freedom to re-post C-RAZY links, right?

Right. Solid.

So this youtube video has pretty much Everything I've Ever Wanted From Life:

1. Tyra Banks being COMPLETELY INSANE.

2. Tyra Banks asking Robert Pattinson to bite her.

3. Tyra Banks telling Robert Pattinson he looks dirty.

4. An accidental: HOLY CRAP, TWILIGHT IS WEIRD AND CRAZY reveal.

5. Pie-eating contests.

6. Taylor Lautner telling Tyra that he'd bite her, if requested.

7. Perhaps more fodder for my, "Maybe T-Laut is the cutest 16-year-old-boy-EVAR...or more probably the newest about-to-be-gay-icon-EVAR" theory.

E.n.j.o.y.

Here's the thing, she's really only talking about parties in LA...

2009-10-31T09:57:00.004-04:00

"Meg, why don't you ever update?"

"Because I hate you."

I very much enjoy that Miley Cyrus' diddy "Party in the USA" has spawned my two favorite kinds of cover.

ASL:

And fabulously tongue-in-cheek gay man:

That is all.

we'll call ourselves an upRISING. Get it? It's a yeast joke.

2009-09-24T14:36:00.003-04:00

I want to start a movement, a grassroots movement that grows worldwide and engulfs the peoples of the globe in its loving arms.

I want to start a food movement. Like the local food movement or the organic food movement, I want my movement to grow out of the grass-roots initiatives of people who really care and have science on their side. I want my movement to begin in the blogs and the small-town newspapers and the yuppie west-coast coffee shops of our nation. I want my movement to be hip in Asheville and down in Louisville. I want my movement to take stay-at-home moms with slings instead of strollers by storm. I want my movement to be so cool it's a class statement.

I want to start the: I Am Not A Bad Person Because I Love Baked Goods movement. We'll take cupcakeries, doughnut shops, and pie-stands along with us as we sweep the nation! People will learn to love yeast again! The hip-hot spots like Voodoo Doughnuts, Sprinkles, Crumbs, and Magnolia will stand as our beacons of truth. Pies - unique receptacles of pastry goodness - will serve as our open door. Fill us with your regional specialty, we are willing. We are warm. We flake on command.

Baklava makes us international.

Muffins ingrain us in your morning rituals. We are filled with oats and bananas and blueberries and sunshine.

My movement will not, however, do several things. Firstly, no one will advertise my movement in cycling class. Or pilates class. Or at triathlon training. Or even, most probably, during yoga. My movement is not about diets or exercise plans or working it off. My movement knows no cycling class. It knows no pilates. It knows no jazzercize, no body pump, no nothin'. You see, the whole point of my movement is that you eat not that you regret eating so my movement has no checks-and-balances - it doesn't need them. My movement is already balanced, balanced with joy.

My movement will not hire nutritionists. Our scientists are psychologists who wish they'd become philosophers and philosophers with the sympathetic ears of psychologists. My movement is not about an obsession with food as a means to nourishment anymore than good sex is about procreation. My movement is about foreplay. My movement is about eating. I want my movement to be to food as the removal of abstinence-only education is to the budding minds of young teenagers. It is liberating. It is responsible. It is realistic.

Food today is a lot like sex education today. If we simply tell children that pre-marital sex is wrong surely they will abstain, right? It's wrong morally. It's wrong for your health. It's wrong for your future. But oh, oh oh, it's so good. BUT YOU CANNOT HAVE IT.

Yes, yes, I recall that all the teenagers I know respond well to that kind of message.

We do the same thing with food, baked goods especially. Those doughnuts are so good. They're calling your name. You want one. You need one. You should eat this diet bar instead, because otherwise your body won't look like a 12-year old boy's anymore, and that's wrong. That's bad for your health, looking like a grownup. It's bad for your future. Doughnuts and premarital sex are for kids who don't know any better and never plan on leaving this town.

Let's take back baked goods, folks. Let's take back childlike wonder. Let's take back joy. Let's take back first kisses and daring trysts and spices wafting through the house. Let's not let the naysayers rule our lives. Let's not let people who've lost touch with reality in some twisted crusade for Purity of Body and Spirit be those who dictate whether or not our carnal pleasures can lead to a higher enlightenment.

I see magic and dreams in our layer cake. I taste art in these brownies. I transcend with every bite of our maple-glazed doughnuts. I do. I really, really do.

So, if you'd like to end the abstinence-only education of our mid-twenties, come join me. I will be baking. And smiling. And loving. And free.

This is the reason I find it hard to blog

2009-08-04T12:05:00.003-04:00

So, how appropriate is it to be all, "Hey - so I know we're not REALLY friends but you just confirmed my facebook friend request and...I think you should know I had a sex dream about you last night. Explosions were involved. It wasn't so much a 'sex dream' as a 'being held tightly to your (in my dream) manly, naked chest whilst being shielded from explosions. Your grease stains/scars were vaguely reminiscent of Fifth Element Bruce Willis. I believe we also rode motorcycles. Adam was there too." ?

Reason number 512 I think it's weird that I still have friends.

Just because it's 2am and you know I'll be in bed, thus easily findable, doesn't mean it's a good time to ask me to kill a cockroach for you.

2009-07-25T08:44:00.007-04:00

Truth: I thought updating from New Haven would be easy, as I have one of those Totally Dynamic And Full of Stories Summer Jobs.

Truth, part the second: I was wrong. You see - my job is "RA/Instructor" at a summer camp for high schoolers, meaning I'm the RA for a living group of girls as well as instructor of two classes. This means several things which are prohibitive to blog posting. Thing number the first: I work two full-time jobs. That is exhausting. Really, really exhausting. Thing number the second: most of the things I'd want to talk about involve The Kiddies. Now, as evidenced by rarely blogging about The Kiddies this whole last year I worked with them, I don't feel super comfortable putting details of The Kiddies' lives on the interwebz. They are children, let their privacy be preserved.

Moving on.

Yesterday in Starbucks I passed a man who, were I the Short Story Writing kind, was most certainly fodder for short story writing. He was handsome, to be sure, but in this incredibly non-standard way - he was disheveled probably-a-crazy-person-or-perhaps-undiscovered-genius handsome. He was also using a brush and ink to create things that looked like cryptic punnett squares in a notebook of graph paper. Yes, Mr. Starbucks Dude, you are the stuff short stories are made of.

I often think a similar thought about my fellow camp counselors: you are the stuff short stories/movies about College Timez/ transparently autobiographical first novels to a lost love are about. The people I work with here are really kind of remarkable, it's overwhelming. I will include pictures, so you (the blogosphere) can be impressed with my skillz at having pretty friends.

Look how wholesome we are. We do things in parks! Wholesome! Parks!

It is impossible to doubt Rachel's wholesome intentions, to be sure. She's pretty unstoppably cute.

We went to see Harry Potter the first day it came out (we are too old for midnight showings, yo). I think this picture does a pretty good job of outlining our group dynamics.

Sam is skeptical! This is normal for Sam! Unfortunately, he left us after first session to go to training for his Fulbright. Like that's more important than MAKING FRIENDS AND KEEPING ME HAPPY!? Pssshhhht.

It is ACTUALLY impossible to take a bad picture of Patrick. Feel free to try. You won't succeed. Also - this may or may not be the night we drank the bar holding trivia night out of $2PBR.

These people are in charge of me. And always playing guitars. I think that's probably all you need to know in order to form an accurate picture of what my work life is like.

Once, on our day off, we went to the beach. Poetic. Poetic and full of beach napping.

We also do things like chaperoning children on trips. Trips to places like NYC. Then Chris comes down from the Norwood office and tells us we're going to do a photoshoot in Times Square. With 75 kids. And four chaperons. Woo and hoo.

Dancing in the dining hall to get pumped for 80s night. Also because, really, when SHOULDN'T we be dancing in the dining hall?

Some people took edible architecture really seriously. Those people are far more awesome at edible architecture-ing than I.

Tamar looks almost as silly in my Huge Zebra sunglasses as I do.

This makes our job look far more relaxing than it actually is. I'm okay with that.

A cautionary tale of the most serious nature!

2009-06-06T01:34:00.002-04:00

On Going Dancing In Your Home Town: A Cautionary Tale:

Ladies, should you find yourself Out On The Town in the same small southern city in which you were raised be aware - danger lurks! Yes, Dear Ladies - danger lurks, danger of a most nefarious sort! Keep vigilant, ladies, lest you find yourself and your Leggy Blond friend ground allupons (grinded allupons?) by one of your former local news anchors. Be wary ladies. So wary.

So, so wary.

That's it. I'm shopping for a place in Brooklyn.

2009-05-22T11:50:00.004-04:00

I kid you not, moments after I'd posted the wolf t-shirt blog entry my hipster friend Hunter, who's subbing in this high school today, came down to show me the shirt he's just gotten for himself:

Oh...oh hell.

You know what? Hunter is 100% right when he says I only hate because I'm jealous. I hate out of PURE jealousy in fact. He's right. That shit is majestic. It is startling beauty deserving of both my respect and my adoration. I'm just pissed because I can't wear it.

I want unicorn t-shirts.

And my Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper With Matching Pencil Pouch.

And a felt poster.

Hipster culture - why must you adopt and flaunt in front of me everything I ever loved.

Never fear: neither jorts nor a braided belt were involved.

2009-05-22T10:15:00.003-04:00

One of the most hipster kids in the more hipster of the two high-schools in which I work was wearing almost exactly this t-shirt today, except the background was a shade of mauve-meets-lavender.

I say only this: wolf t-shirts? Oh hipster culture. How you've failed me!

This is why they shouldn't give us responsiblity

2009-05-21T12:08:00.001-04:00

Mary, on her most recent interaction with the captain of our football AND basketball teams: "I may or may not have said to Darren Thomas, 'strip baby, strip' because he was taking off his shirt anyway...because he wanted to show me tattoos...and I was THINKING IT, and then I realized, 'OH GOD! I SAID THAT OUT LOUD.'"

Also, we once took a lot of pictures of my feet with her cell phone to compaire them to photos online to determine whether or not I have cankles.

It's really, really, really, really time for summer break.

TOTALLY CANDID, GUYS!

2009-05-18T09:10:00.011-04:00

As is often the case in these blog-posts, let me begin with a List Of Truths About Meg:

1. I have a new camera, for the first time since, I think, 10th grade.
2. It is the Best Camera Anyone's Ever Owned, EVER. It's freeze-proof, shock-proof to 6.6 feet, and water-proof to 33ft. All of these things, while you might dub them "bells and whistles" are, in truth, MADE FOR ME. The creators of BlueBabe believe that I'm taking her camping, kayaking, spelunking, and into other TOTALLY X-TREME conditions. I am, in fact, taking her...to my life. Shock-proof and water-proof it is. She is also blue, hence I've named her BlueBabe, much like Babe the Blue Ox (Paul Bunyan's constant companion).
3. I am not a good photographer.
4. No. Really. You don't even know, dudes, you don't even know.
5. I can't really use most of the bells-and-whistles on my camera (the real ones, the ones that are for Makin' Pictures Pretty, as opposed to Makin' The Camera Not Dead).

My lack of photographic skillzzz, combined with my urge to Live Life Unmediated, and a signifcant dash of "forgetting I have a camera" means that I'm not usually The Photographer. When I remember, however, that photograph taking is something of which I am capable, and something which I wish I did more of, I often feel the pressure to Document Everything. (This is what I mean when I say being the photographer gets in the way of Living an Unmediated Life. The pressure of needing to see everything as a Photo Moment is high! It means you're living to look back on the memories later, not to make the memories now! PRESSURE!)

My favorite mode of picture taking, thus, is what I've deemed TOTALLY CANDID. This means I take lots of unflattering pictures of people, often while shouting, "TOTALLY CANDID." Soemtimes, I make you STOP smiling and looking cute, to mimic the "candid" nature of my favorite photographing style. Guess what? This is usually a dumb strategy. Most of my pictures are dumb. Yet, since either evolution or divine intelligence has seen fit to give me at least the semblance of free will, I also have the free will to refuse to learn from my mistakes. TOTALLY CANDID it is.

I am going to include some examples of my TOTAL CANDIDNESS so you can see - sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't...and very occasionally, it's glorious.

I actually consider this something of a triumph of the "totally candid" school of picture taking. It's a photograph of my mother and aunt when we traveled down to Austin together for my Cousin's wedding. Is it a flattering picture? No (a common fault of TOTALLY CANDID). Is it interestingly composed? I would say yes. I like it. My mother does not. Tough cookies.

This picture? Kind of a failure as it's (1)really blurry (2)impossible to tell what's going on (3)kind of just of Caron's boobs. I will, however, swear up and down in similar pictures that they're great because they feature the energy of the setting. For instance, I really like this picture, blurriness aside:

ENERGY, GUYS, ENERGY.

Totally. Candid. Energy. C'mon. CCCCMMMOOOOON - isn't everyone willing to browse through grainy, poorly composed photographs in search of ENERGY? No? Well lame. (I'm also pretty darn anti-flash. I think it makes everyone look ugly. As a result, all of my pictures are fuzzy. All of them.)

Once in a while, though, Totally Candid pays off - you either get a really cute candid shot of someone you love (exhibit A) or a REALLY HILARIOUS shot of someone you love who will not de-tag because he is a good sport (exhibit B).

(exhibit A)

(exhibit B)

TOTALLY CANDID.

And, as is the recent blog theme: I love my life.

(It was an image search, by the way.)

2009-05-13T09:33:00.003-04:00

So, I think I need to get better at clearing out my most recent search from that little google-search-bar at the top of my work computer. Obviously personal searches, at the end of the day, probably undermine my apperance of professionalsim

Sometimes I glance up there and see words like, "how do you become a physical therapist?" or "best pre-law programs in Virginia" or "african-american female buisness women scholarships." These searches, I feel, are fine.

Other times the searches are things like "fake boobs are better than rubber chickens."

...perhaps less fine.

My life is magical

2009-05-13T00:31:00.003-04:00

Truth: Lately I've been the really lucky recipent of several unsolicited compliments. This is awesome - thank you, world, for showering this true kindness upon me. It makes me really happy.

Truth number the second: 100% of said compliments (all of which came from completely un-related parties) have been either of my skill with one-liners, or my breasts.

And I say again, and without any hint of irony: I love my life.

My hands smell like llama. It was worth it.

2009-05-10T18:06:00.010-04:00

I got really hung up on the title for this entry. I want to make it, among other things, one of the following gems:

"I'll tell you I love you when I catch my breath, post Zebra-Escaping-Sprint"

"I'm not a smoker because dudes in hot tubs don't want in my pants badly enough to share cigarettes"

"When you make fun of Trekkies and their commitment to the canon, it hurts me....we...we can still make out, though. I'd, uh, I'd be totally cool with that. Really. Totally cool."

and, my possible favorite,

"All my life in an elaborate-lead in for an 80s-movie-themed music video."

Sometimes I worry about the wisdom of this blog. Many times I worry about the wisdom of this blog. This blog's wisdom is questioned for the following reasons:

My students have the interwebs. It is but a matter of time before someone's bored enough to stumble across this bloggyblog. Most of the funny things that happen in my life are not, strictly speaking, the things I also think set up the most I-Am-A-Figure-Of-Authority-And-You-Are-My-Student relationship possible. Who, though, really wants to blog about non-funny things?

One of the funniest things in my life semi-recently told me that this is the exact kind of blog he has some contempt for - the kind of blog that's just sort of...hey guys! Some things happened to me! And, you know, I care a lot about what people think? That's...in fact...why I have a blog.

EMPLOYMENT! THE LOOMING THREAT OF ALL INTERNET ACTIVITY RUINING FUTURE EMPLOYMENT, etc.

Anywhoosles, allow me to tell you a story: My friend Chelsea, sometime around 11th grade (for those of you in the audience, that means she was 16 going on 17) was once stopped at a gas station by a band of Hot Indie Dudes who, upon being overcome by her beauty, wanted her to hop in their van and ride up to their NYC show. Chels, being educated in the ways of Stranger Danger, declined, but politely listened to the free CD the boys gave her, developed a taste for the band, and became a big fan. Fast forward two years to me, very uncomfortably in a hot tub (for which, let's keep in mind, I was NOT appropriately attired - though I'm going to go ahead and say my dress was damn cute anyway) in some random dude's house, post this band's show. With two girls members of the band Have The Hots For (oh, excuse me, Are Just Friends With), women who I adore and respect and who are Way Too Good For These Dudes. Srsly.

Fast forward to: AND THEN MY LIFE WAS HILARIOUS. Last night's is one of those stories I will never be able to do justice to, mainly because it's hilarity stems from its cliche nature. Tortured men, tempted by the Younger Women They Love, but loyal (ish) to The Women They've Left At Home. Beautiful young women...in a hot tub...after a rock show...with bottles of wine and cigarettes and laughter and quite the air of Movies About Rock Stars mystery. Me: the Overly Internal Not Lusted After Mother-Hen Type, torn between her desire to leave (fully aware that her friends can take care of themselves), her desire to stay (because when the hell else is this kind of thing going to happen to her), and her desire to smack someone in the head. We were a walking stereotype, and I'm kind of okay with it. I kind of love my life.

Allow me to tell you another story: this story features prominently Running The Fuck Away From Llamas:

The llama pictured above, poised to freaking kill us all, is one of the many inhabitants of the Safari Adventure located in scenic Natural Bridge, VA. Safari Adventure sounds like a really good idea...mainly because it is...but it is also WROUGHT WITH TERROR. I say to you this, and only this: you think feeding the animals is going to be a really, really good idea until you're suddenly in a car of college students shrieking like scared 8-year-olds, yelling "DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MEG, DRIVE!"

Zebras know. THEY KNOW.

Story number the last: There are many out there who are, far and away, bigger fans of Star Trek than I, this I readily admit. But how many people can claim that they've connected with a guy on a college-party dance-floor by asking, in earnest, "Do you ever feel like watching the Next Generation feels like coming home?" and receiving (again, in earnest) the reply, "Why do you think I still watch?"? Hm? Not many, I'd wager. Not. Too. Many.

I understand, Mr. Abrams, the need for Pointy Ships, Big 'Splosions, and loathsome loathsome I-am-death-to-everything-Meg-loves-when-I-touch-it Eric Bana. I really, in my heart-of-hearts understand your need for canoic change. Sure, I'll probably bluster around for a bit more about "Just Because Superman And Spiderman Can Do It, Doesn't Mean You Can Touch What I Love, Mr. Abrams! J.J? What's that stand for JERK...JERKFACE?!" and so on, but I understand. The canon had, I'm sure, grown restrictive. One of the beautiful things about the way Star Trek had successfully grown before, though, was its reliance on building forward, rather than having one, central, mythical creature around which everything needed to resolve. That's why Superman and Spiderman were more difficult, you see, Mr. Abrams. Each new creator felt the pressure to wipe the slate clean because one man can have but so many attachments. Star Trek was worlds and galaxies - a mythology based on the spirit of adventure, though I will readily admit much of the most satisfying adventure was to be found in the interpersonal relationships build aboard those ships.

So yes, I understand where you're coming from - the urge to seize onto an iconic figure, to build around his story (how very American) but the creative restriction decades of canon must have imposed. I understand it, and I think you handled it kind of confusingly, but I still probably don't exactly fault you for it. I do, though, fault you for letting them (the Pretty New Ones ) make fun of me, make fun of us, mock our possibility of indignation as Stodgy and Old and Delusional. Recognize what you're doing, sir: thousands of people cling to this canon because, at 2am on sketchy-house-party-dance-floors across the nation, people are hooking up because Star Trek felt like going home.

OMG GUYZ, 2FUN2FUNCTION!

2009-03-31T12:40:00.005-04:00

I hate writing blog posts after a long spell of Not Blogging because, inevitably, there is that moment of "OMG GUYZ, I WOULD'VE UPDATED, LIKE, SO MUCH SOONER BUT MY LIFE IS JUST TOO INTERESTING AND FULL OF FUN THINGS FOR ME TO FIND THE TIME."

Truths it is essential for you, Dear Reader, to keep in mind:

1. My life does, indeed, have fun things in it. It is not, however, 2Full2Function of said fun things.

2. If there's one thing at which I do not excel, it is writing about things that matter to me, have any type of social or emotional connections, or writing with self-imposed deadlines.

3. I travel a lot on the weekends, and I'd intended this blog to be a log of Time Spent In Roanoke, so I always feel a little conflicted about basically posting a list of Things I Did While Not In Roanoke (omg dudez - SO MUCH FUNZ).

However, with the Three Essential Truths in mind, let us embark on A Blog Update.

This is for me, for when I'm re-reading through my blog and trying to remember what I did but didn't write about:

I went to Beardfest - a festival for beards.

I went to Jen's birthday party which was also beard themed at which I wore the best home-made beard known to man.

I went on an Exploring Adventure in the park the day after Jen's birthday. And that was rad.

I went up to C'ville to "help judge" UVa's debate tournament. I refer to this happenstance as, "In Wich I Attempted To Converse With People Who Like to Win At Talking...and spooned with Childers."

I agreed to a nearly spontaneous road trip to Philadelphia. I refer to this happenstance as, "In Which I Thought 8-9 Hours Was A Totally Reasonable Drive For A Weekend Jaunt...and was perhaps not proven wrong!"

Also, I got sloppy with my Proper-Nouning. I did that a lot.

Here's the truth though: I do lots of fun things on my weekends. On my weekdays, though, I've started to do more fun things too. How odd! This blog used to be a way for me to fend off the inevitably near-crushing depression, the life-sapping boredom, and the isolation of South West Virginia...but now sometimes I do fun things. Sometimes, I even have friends. I'm not even j/k-ing you guys - this is not even an LOL moment.

Wednesday is dessert-and-game night. Mary and I drive out to our friends' (friends!) Jas and Josh's house and we have a game night. WE ACTUALLY DO THAT. We play games, and eat desserts, and are really cute.

That's revolutionary, ladies and gentlemen. That's adjusting. That's me not fighting Roanoke with everything I didn't know I was throwing at it. That's discontent, contented. Feel free to 'ooh' and 'ahh' at your leisure.

This post feels forced and perfunctory to me. I can't help it. I feel like I have to get it out of the way before I can move on. I'm going to spell-check, hit post, and hope to overcome writer's block before long.

2009-03-17T07:46:00.003-04:00

I say little more than:

omg, we are teh cutez.

Someday, I will again articulate thoughts! Until then - a picture!

It's like the bad part of an indie movie, really.

2009-03-10T20:18:00.005-04:00

Dilemma, dilemma, dilemma...

I had a weekend filled with Blog Worthy Events of a positive nature, all of which I've been systematically organizing in order to, as luck would have it, blog about them!

I also had a day where I spent almost 3 hours talking to a kid who's unbelievably depressed, thinks about killing himself every day, and reminds me more than anything else of The One From High School.

I just...don't want to think about happy things anymore. This, you might note, is ironic as I spent those 3 hours brainstorming how we could make this kid happier.

I want him to be someone in my life I can hug. I want him to be someone in my life I can shake, or scream at, or call at 2am and say "we're going for a drive - you're snapping out of it." I want to have that power in his life, and I want to have it as a friend.

What he needs, I imagine, is what I actually am: an authority figure. I'm someone who has to tell his counselor if he tells me these things. I'm someone who's required by law to say and do and be certain things.

Today he told me he doesn't think of me so much as a teacher, but as a complete person. I don't think he meant it insultingly - he meant to say he thinks he can trust me. I value that trust so much, but I feel like just having it betrays it. I'm not his friend, I'm his College Planning Advisor, I'm a middle-man counselor. I'm not even certified to talk to him about his emotions (that may, at the end of the day, be on the 'frowned upon' spectrum of actions).

It'd be easier if he were just...not so much like friends I used to have. He hits close to home, this kid.

I gave him the link to the happiness project and told him to google MPDGs and why they're an impractical solution to sadness, alluring as they sound.

I tried to say Intelligent and Adult things.

I told his counselor.

I do not want to think about happy things right now.

You don't even know, dude.

2009-02-26T21:14:00.005-05:00

Welcome to today's edition of The Story of My Life:

The sequence of events is as follows:

Mary meets with One of the Totally Cool Punk Kids Who I (not-so) Secretly Wish Were My Friend today, and he is awesome, and he is in a Cool Punk Kid Band.
Mary cannot recall the name of said kid's band, but merely that it was something he "couldn't explain in school" and we're playing the "can you remember any details" game. She says "um...several words? One beginning in....M?"
I, using my powers of Punk Kid deduction say "Mung"?
I am correct. The kid's band is, in fact, named "Mung Choke." We found them on myspace. We're totally going to a show. We're totally doing it. You don't even know.
One of their band's myspace pictures features one of the punk boys I was hearts-for-eyes-for in high school. For realzises. THAT IS MY LIFE.

Mary wonders why I know the word "Mung." I remind her that, while she dated all the boys fitting the descriptions of boys I loved in high school, I merely loved them from afar which required far more detective work. Being a Creepy Swooning Stalker is a lot of work - you don't even know.

That's right: my most marketable skill is immediately being able to guess the Weird and Dirty word that Crazy Punk Boys are thinking.

So, I have The Plague (a bad head cold) which means I'm currently blessed with Fever Dreams. Fever Dreams, as it would have it, are great indicators of Things That Are On My Mind. Examples:

I dreamt that a Hot Young Doctor named Julian was nursing me back to health. I have been watching a lot of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine lately. If you don't get it, you don't need to get it.
I dreamt about really cute husky-shephard puppies who looked at me with their adorable puppy eyes and asked, "et tu Brutus?" Yes, my dreams of puppies are also dreams bout me being a meanypants...and involve Shakespeare. If you don't get it - it means...I don't want you to know how much of a meanypants I am. I am hiding my mean shame.
I dreamt that my friend Greg and I were shopping, but also we were at a rave, and I'm pretty sure that we were also running some sort of relay race which involved us forcing people who weren't single to make out and I knew we were breaking up relationships, and it was very uncomfortable. Also, I think there were whales involved. Obviously - this is the dream most tied to Logical Things In My Life.

So sometimes I don't write blog posts for Forever because, you know, I'm bad at writing about The Real Things In My Life. So - real things happened. I met some puppies. I went up to C'ville for the Wash's Banquet Weekend, etc, etc, etc.

Head cold 2xtreme. 3xtreme, even.

It keeps you warm too, doesn't it?

2009-02-11T22:55:00.004-05:00

It used to be the case such that I could only post things online after midnight. Considering I go to bed at 9pm these days - I think pushing 11 is dangerously late enough.

It's windy outside and despite the fact that it's still 60 something degrees, I imagine it's chilly. In true Meg On The Internet fashion, weather patterns such as these combined with the sudden Late Night Stir Crazies make me wish I were a runner. Well - more specifically, a runner across the forlorn moors, filled with a wistful passion witnessed only by the moon and the heart of her lover, stirring somewhere in the deepest of night. Tendrils of hair, softly caressed by the shivering wind, as well as sighs like the wings of a dove are also featured prominently in this scenario.

(True story: I've thought more than once - more than twice, even - about writing a romance novel. I think I'd try to make it a choose-your-own-adventure post modern experience. I am not actually being facetious right now.)

True story, the second: the reason I like the Idea Of Boyfriends is that I like the idea of someone who goes out and runs away with you when you're feeling restless. Autonomy? Sense of self? Individual goals and dreams? Pssshhhhht. Please. He needs to have (1)the flying kind of dragon, (2)a penchant for escaping into darkest of night like the last glimmers of the sunset and (3)something that makes him a feisty, yet non-problematic foil. True story the second, part deux: sometimes I wonder whether or not I'll encourage my children to read fantasy novels growing up.

Aside from non-problematic male foil characters, I have pretty much two weaknesses when it comes to OMGBOYZ. Those two, for anyone who knows me well, are certainly floppy hair and beards. Long has my beard love been mocked. Long has my call for the hirsute gone unanswered. Long have I stood, the lone girl in favor of the face blanket.

But - my friends - my hour has come. Yes, MSNBC confirms it: 2009 is the year of the beard.

Perhaps we saw this coming - perhaps the hipster (were the hipster to self-identify in the first place, let alone acknowledge trends' power over him) would say he's been rocking the beard for at least a year now. Perhaps the hipster isn't wrong.

I am just thoroughly pleased to see a few things here, really. First and foremost - I am excited to see public sentiment sway in favor of the well-trimmed beard. They look so good on so many men, especially when properly maintained and, for the sake both of my male friends and my eye-candy, I am pleased. Secondly - and this is a big one - I am exceedingly pleased that MSNBC mentions the stubble issue.

Recently, I've become something of an anti-stubble activist. Dear dudes: we know it looks manly. Trust me, you're rugged like you don't even know. But you know what else you're doing? Rubbing our faces with shark skin. If you're one of those guys who has 3-day stubble by 5pm then, well, maybe you should be a beard man. Otherwise I can almost guarantee you've made at least one partner tear up, if not bleed. Melodramatic? Possibly. True? Certainly. Dear dudes, again: the time has come to stop claiming ignorance! The time has come to make your faces nice places to hang out! The time has come to go beard or go home.

Third, I am glad that the beard is in, which - while closely related to the mustache, is not the mustache and, perhaps, will kick the mustache out of fashion again. Let me explain - there are people who are allowed to have mustaches. Those people include: my father, Snidley Whiplash, dapper gentlemen taking ladies for a ride on their bicycles built for two, and a select number of Distinguished Older Gentlemen. Anyone who sports a 1970s porn 'stache, however, should seriously reconsider his decision. By "seriously reconsider his decision" I mean to say, of course, that he looks dumb. And creepy. And dumb. Join that mustache up with your chin hair and make something respectful of it! As I said before: go beard or go home.

Lastly - Zak mentioned that The Beard Is Coming Back, and I was not kidding when I said that was the best news I heard all night. See, Zak? The nation is behind your beard. The beard is your accessory, your means of self expression, your flair. With your impressive beard, you can make more bearded friends! You can have beard societies! You can...you know...introduce me to said bearded friends.

Make sure one of them has one of the flying kind of dragon, okay? Or, you know, at least some respectable floppy hair.

I do believe in fairies, I do, I do!

2009-02-10T23:41:00.002-05:00

I wasn't lying when I told Katie that, very often, the thing I love most about visiting friends on the weekends are those Sunday mornings when everyone finds themselves draped over various couches, missing a sock or two, and enjoying the thought of watching televising, rehydrating, and curling up in a sunlit patch like the kind of cat I always wanted to be - but doing it all together.

While this past weekend in C'ville probably can't be summed up in "moments that were my favorite" it featured several "moments that were perfect."

I miss waking up on Saturday to do service projects, especially on beautiful days like this past Saturday. I miss that loud, boisterous group of rakers and diggers and people genuinely enjoying being out in the world, together, and helpful.

While up in the 'Ville I also managed to: go on a milkshake quest, finally take some of those "jumping in the air" pictures I'm always so covetous of, creep out some people who don't know me too well, and spend a really quality Sunday with three wonderful people. My Sunday, really, was paced just as Sundays should be paced, and that is quite the feat.

Stay tuned for an update on beards. Beards: my favorite thing.

Ole' yellow eyes...

2009-02-03T22:08:00.003-05:00

In today's installment of Things That Are Confusing To Me we find: a big hoo-hah and necessary apology by Michael Phelps for a bong picture.

I suppose to say I "don't get it" is simplistic. I get it: role models, illegal action, etc etc.

But...I don't really get it. I mean, okay, sure - be mad at him if we discover that, during the off season he is doing all sorts of crazy, illegal performance enhancing drugs. But - do these people realize what's going on here?

He's smoking. Smoking. The fastest swimmer in the world is still the fastest swimmer in the world even with potential smoke damage to his lungs.

You know why we should be pissed off: BECAUSE HE'S TOO GOOD. I can't swim that fast, and I'm not smoking - NO FAIR.

Call me when he apologizes for being an android. That, folks, is an apology I'll accept.

Splish splash...I was annoying all the good swimmers in the pool.

2009-01-27T17:42:00.001-05:00

Word to the wise: deciding that you're just going to "pick up swimming" is difficult.

Way difficult.

I am not a thing of beauty in the water. Not. Even.

No puns! NOT EVEN ONE!

2009-01-24T18:19:00.001-05:00

As my last day as a 22 year old winds down, I am contemplating how little I made of being 2-2.

I chewed no double mint gum. I...did no other things in duplicate! Why, I treated twenty two as if were just another age - an age with no punning potential! How could I have let this happen, how?

Truth: 23 sounds a lot older than 22. For serious.

Lolthulu strikes again!

2009-01-21T23:06:00.002-05:00

My life is complete.

My craigslist post, and my sushi chef's response caused THIS to appear on craigslist.

I am always happy to increase the number of Cthulu reference opportunities in the world. It makes me want to respond to the poster with lolthulu, but I don't know if that's taking things a little far.

Dear Richmond Craigslist: you now own my life.

It's education, yo.

2009-01-20T22:11:00.004-05:00

In true form, I kind of don't like writing about Things That Are Actually Important.

But I say this: I will always, always remember what 9/11 looked like on TVs in my Center classroom. And, I imagine, similarly, I will always, always remember watching Obama get sworn in from the back of the marketing classroom in Fleming.

I remember these two similarly, not because they evoke similar emotions, but becuse there is something about watching history unfold in the classroom itself that is singular.

When I get famous, someone's going to find this on the internet and write a fanfic about it. JUST YOU WAIT!

2009-01-20T17:40:00.009-05:00

So, after reading the craigslist fine print, I realized that posts go away after 30 days. My no-longer-missed connection, however, needs to be preserved for posterity. FOR POSTERITY.

Proof, my friends, that people are awesome and being an internet creeper sometimes pays off.

My post:

To the Sticky Rice sushi chef who knew a thing or two about octopi (Sticky Rice: the take-out portion)

Sure, maybe missed connections are an awkward medium. Sure, maybe if you (or a co-worker) stumble across this ad responding to it would be FAR too weird for any normal person to do, so you won’t do it. Sure, it’s pretty likely that you’ll never read this so it won’t make a difference either way. Still, at the end of the day, who doesn’t secretly want a missed connection written about them? I’ve decided that the potential good a missed connection can introduce into the world outweighs its impractical nature. To make this totally legit, I’ll try to write it in standard missed-connections speak.

You: the hipster-beautiful sushi chef working in the take-out part of Sticky Rice Friday night.

Me: the girl in the red coat who tried octopus for the first time.

We connected when you pushed adventurous eating and I awkwardly found myself unable to use the word “octopus” and, instead, really needed to identify the entire class – “cephalopod.” When I say “connected” I really mean, “chatted briefly” but, you seemed friendly, nice, and fun.

I was actually only in Richmond for the weekend (I live almost 3 hours away) – so I can’t really say something like “hit me up for a coffee and maybe we can continue that conversation about cephalopods and the way oxygen is carried throughout their blood streams” but, you know, I guess…good job? Good job being really friendly, interesting, and (as far as I can tell) good at your job. My sushi – with and without the octopus – was delicious. Yes: good job. Good job knowing interesting things about octopi, and rolling a mean sushi, and being (you must know it’s true) really amazingly handsome in a seemingly not-conceited way. Good job on that one.

We have hundreds of small interactions with people daily, and I just wanted to let you know that this one made a difference in my evening. Thanks for introducing me to octopus, and for being nice to a loud and giggly group of 20somethings, and for being part of what looks like a really friendly and wonderful dining establishment. Good job, in general – and good luck in work, life, and other octopus-related endeavors.

His response:

Re: To the Sticky Rice sushi chef who knew a thing or two about octopi

hello. i'm that sushi chef to whom your missed connection was in regard...

i'd just like to say that i do have a girlfriend, but your missed connection was the best missed connection that i've ever read about anyone, so good, in fact, that it has (obviously) generated an overwhelmingly positive response from its subject (me).

i would also like to say that i am honored to have received it, and although you live 3 hours away, if you ever end up at sticky rice, or of course its takeout franchise while i'm working, expect more sushi and conversation.

Oh. Em. Gee.

2009-01-20T16:55:00.003-05:00

OMG.

OMGOMGOMGOMG.

O.M.G.

So, let's just say: thank you Amy for seeing this before I did.

It's all about connections

2009-01-19T23:36:00.012-05:00

My name is Meg, and I post on cragislist missed connections.

Want proof? Go here.

Ways I justify posting a missed connection in a city I don't even live in. (1)Everyone I love dearly already knows I'm an Internet creeper. Proving it to the world, via craigslist, was really the next step. (2)At the end of the day, I think we'd all appreciate a good missed connection. I know I want to some day stumble across a quality MC about myself - how awesome is that? A really great missed connection is someone saying, via craigslist but saying none the less, hey you - you influenced me. You made enough of a difference in my day that I am going to take the time to go home, sit in front of my computer, and compose a coherent though about it. Something about you was striking, unique, and touched me. You win at not illustrating the principle that all people at all times have the opportunity to be influencing the lives of those around them. (3) That dude was really breathtakingly gorgeous and...I mean...you just...he was, okay? (4) Whatever, we totally had a connection. Totally.

While this weekend brought connections of the unrequited-type, I spent last weekend in connection-contemplation as well. Last weekend I traveled down to Austin, Texas for my cousin's wedding.

George is the first of our generation to Take The Plunge and, let's just say, I was bawling. Heather (his now wife) is, as far as I can tell, pretty much amazing, hilarious, fun, intelligent, and drop-dead-gorgeous. Even beginning to think about planning a wedding stresses me out beyond all piratical measure, but if I ever find myself planning a Traditional and Classy Celebration of Matrimony - I am keeping both Heather and my roommate Cor (who was married over the summer) on speed-dial. She baked cookies and wrote personalized notes for all the gift bags. Yeah. Yeah. She's a freaking phd candidate and she baked us all cookies amidst planning this complicated and gorgeous and perfect wedding. I get the distinct impression that standing in Heather's way is probably a poor life decision.

I still have some difficulty believing that a boy I associate most closely with Ninja Turtle themed birthday parties is now a ring-wearing, waltz-dancing, real-life Somebody's Husband. To be fair - the groom's cake was decorated with the Star Fleet Federation symbol. That's the Gorge I've always known and loved.

The wedding, overall, was less awkward than I'd imagined. Our family heald it together, I discovered family-in-law I adore, and I'm pretty psyched at being loose-in-laws with Heather's family now too. I think I'd really love the opportunity to spend some serious time with them and understand all of the dynamics going on there. Heather's line is is, apparently, old-school French Catholic from Louisiana which is just so different from my faimly and I'd love to know what those differences mean. Also, I believe capers, of the teaching me to dance variety, could be had by all. Seriously - I innocently accepted the offer of a dance from one of her cousins and he meant really dance. Note to everyone: I step on OTHER COUPLES when trying to be lead in real dances. I am bad. He was understanding. This, however, leads me to believe that everyone related to Heather (who is an amazing dancer herself) is infinitely capable of turning me into a dancing success story. I see great potential for a Quirky And Heartfelt Comedy/Drama About The True Meaning Of Family With Dancing Used As The Overarching Metaphor here. Just think about the Heartfelt Messages! The quirky Learning To Dance montage potential! The potential to dance our feelings, as well as our dreams, people!

Austin is a beautiful city, I've added it to the list of places I could spend a few years one day. Now I've officially been to the state of Texas - another accomplishment. Something about our brief experience with the lay of the land makes me feel like I should spend some time in the southwest. The thing which struck me with the most force is that the Texan countryside looked exactly how you imagine it should. There were low-laying shrubs, expanses of brown, and skeevy looking low, square buildings with most of the paint worn off. I want to spend time in the southwest because I'm not sure I understand it. I'm adding "time in the southwestern part of the country" to my to-do list.

"I'm a white boy - I only know three dances, and none of them are approprate for this dance floor."

2009-01-04T22:27:00.003-05:00

True Story, installment #21: In Which Hilarity Ensued - to a spicy Latin beat!

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to stop whining about how there's nothing to do and no one to see in Roanoke and, instead, start doing things and meeting people. Last night, to kick things off, I tried to go to see an improv comedy show with Mary and my friend Lauren and, later on, meet up with my friend Aaron to have fun timez. Unfortunately, the comedy show sold out, so we just ended up trying to make the best of the Roanoke Bar Scene.

Warning, folks, "make the best of the Roanoke Bar Scene" is always code for, "hilarity alert!"

After bouncing around a bit, Aaron called to meet up with us and give us bar suggestions. Our stipulation: hilarious dancing. His suggestion: 202 Market Street. Now, let me tell you - the last time my friend Kate and I went to 202 we asked the guy at the door, "Is it busy in there?" and he said, "oh yeah - packed!" "Packed" was apparently bar-dude lingo for "a guy with a belt-clip cell phone and a lady in Jorts who appears to want to shank any other girls who get on the dance floor because they might steal her thunder."

We were ready.

We made our way to the top floor, which was apparently Hot Latin Beatz floor, where Mary (who is, for the record, a blond Puerto Rican - so, 1# desirable lady in the club) danced the night away with The Sketchiest Dudes You've Ever Seen, Jorts made a re-appearance (but this time, an an entire denim skirt-suit), a girl who looked kind of like a tranny employed the hottest dance moves I've ever seen, Aaron got (I think) pseudo picked up by a very drunk man named Mario, and I stepped on two couples trying to learn how to salsa.

Can I just say: I kind of love Roanoke.

Mary's currently in a Hot Mess of texting back and forth with a Nicaraguan hottie (also, conveniently, named Aaron) who is trying, with quite a lot of acumen, to game her. You don't even know the joy this brings the two of us - almost enough to temper the sadness brought by knowing that we have to go back to work tomorrow.

Next on the list: start volunteering places again, and learn how to rock climb.

Should old aquaintence be forgot.....we'll sing it ore' and ore'

2009-01-02T00:26:00.004-05:00

Advice from Nick, which I plan to adopt as my mantra for 2009: "Do what makes you feel free. Go forth and be fierce."

Unfortunately, when given, the advice applied to wearing totally fierce red shoes with a snappy dress. This decision, in turn, resulted in Partying Like It's 1999 which - in its own time, may or may not have resulted in Fran holding my hair back while I became intimately familiar with the contents of both a trashcan and my stomach. Being graduated from college is not, Gentle Reader, necessarily synonymous with being classy or making consistently good decisions.

On the bright side of things: the shoes were really fierce. And made me feel free. And I've discovered that my Secret To New Year's Eve Success held true, once again, so that's rockin'. I've noticed, over the years, that NYE tended to be the most disappointing of holidays. No matter what December 31 promised to hold, I usually found myself a little bummed out once January 1 really got itself going. This, I feel, resulted almost entirely because NYE was always played up as this TOTALLY AWESOME PARTY OMG BEST OF THE YEAR EVER BETTER DO IT WHILE YOU STILL CAN BECAUSE SOMETHING SUBSTANTIVE WILL CHANGE FROM 11:59 TO 12:01 IF YOU MISS IT YOU SUCK (also a good time for makey outy!). In fact, New Year's Eve is just...a day. A day on which you go to a party sometimes. Or not. Woo. It's the same as Begging Of April Eve or a solstice. Yeah - it only happens once a year, but so do the other 364 days. The secret to success then, is to say to youself, Self: this may or may not be Totally Fun Timez - but if it's not The Most Fun Timez EVARHHHH, that's cool by me too. This, I feel, results in times of funness proportionate to what should be the expectation.

Also, makeyouty can't be forced into a date like that. Come ON. Geez! You do not understand the unleashable power of makeyouty, people who are alls about kissin' at midnight.

So - that's my story. I wore some fun shoes and went to a fun party and maybe hit the Cheap Bubbling Wine a little hard, and it was fun. And now it's 2009. And that's awesome.

Now Matthew Lukens is staying at my house and we're having Fun Roanoke Adventures. Earlier, we had to stop talking about horror movies and urban legends because, as he pointed out, being The Kids Driving Through The Woods At Night Talking About How Urban Legends Will Certainly Not Come True, Ever, is a moderately auspicious activity.

True story: I don't like walking through the woods while holding hands - because you know how chainsaw killers feel about couples in the woods.

True story, the second: the horror/slasher genre makes me a paranoid, unhappy person.

"Hi. I'm Meg. I didn't go to high school with you."

2008-12-28T16:04:00.003-05:00

So:

I used to have this other online diary - an online diary filled with things about booyyyzzzz and whinnnniiinng and Mandy Moore.

And, for a moment, Dear Reader, we need to go back to that earlier iteration of online journaling. Because, let's be serious about this right now: I really love Mandy Moore. A lot a lot. This has got to be the 40 billionth (in real speak: 6th or so) time I've watched Chasing Liberty and I still ADORE it. A.D.O.R.E. Mandy Moore - you GO rebel! You GET out your aggression! You MAKE OUT with that hot British Dude! NO ONE CAN KEEP YOUR SPUNKY ATTITUDE DOWN!

You know what would make this Mandy Moore experience better? If it were followed by that one where she dates the dude who looks like Every Man I've Ever Loved, Ever. I think it's called Get Real or Really Real or Real, A Lot, For Always. Regardless - it's the one where her BFF gets preggers and then her BFF's BF dies suddenly and people learn about true love, with and without matramony.

It's hardcore. I think we'd be friends in real life - we'd girl talk and participate in capers and she'd tell me how she gets her hair to look so cute all the damn time. Seriously, Dear Reader, seriously.

So - winter break's been, for many days, even more hectic than regular workin' days, but I'm digging it.

Waking up in Jared's house, surrounded by people who are similarly trying to make sure they weren't too awkward last night, puts me in a weird mood. Dear Changing Relationships With People I Grew Up With: you confuse me.

True story.

2008-12-26T03:08:00.001-05:00

Dear Story of my life:

So, story of my life, you're pretty hilarious sometimes. I wound up at a bar with my pre-school best friend where EVERYONE I EVER WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH THAT I HAVEN'T KEPT IN TOUCH WITH WAS ALSO DRINKING. Story of my life (aka: AWKWARDNESS) why do you do this to me?

Couldn't you at least have told me to wear heels, SOML?

Oh well, I came home and Gchatted Charles Harrison because I desperately, DESPERATELY needed to talk to someone who knew and loved college Me.

Story of my life - I am not positive you're a comedy.

Lurve,
Meg.

Meg who got her mommy to DD her. Meg who is a mess and a half and probably shouldn't be allowed to live in her home town anymore. Meg who will, probs, delete this in the morning.

Lurve, indeed.

Pass me the denture watch and fig newtons, please.

2008-12-21T11:33:00.002-05:00

The newest installment of "Things That Are Cute In My Life:"

- The joy my father gets from my newfound crush on Total Hottie Robert Redford. Dear audience: though he often sports an ill-advised mustache and often plays characters with more-than-questionable gender politics (and has kind of small teeth) - I get it. The cute part, though, is how every time I go over to my Dad's, he's netflixed either a Paul Newman or a Robert Redford. Oh Electric Cowboy, you're such a rascal!

I feel I've reached a new point in my life - the point in my life at which I begin to understand how Totally Old Dudes are also Totally Cute. Newman and Redford were just the tip of the iceberg. Shatner as Kirk as Sex Symbol has always been high on the list of "Things I just don't get." Until today, folks! I flipped on the television, saw some tight-fitting yellow, and was sold. I get it, folks.

It's official: I eat dinner at four, I go to bed at 9, and my heart flutters for Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and William Shatner - I am a very, very old lady.

I can't figure out if I'm using "forebearer" correctly, so I removed it from the body of the post. Darn you - ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

2008-12-17T22:40:00.003-05:00

Gentle reader,

I come to you today with a picture. I say no more about this picture than that it is a sign of great and powerful things to come.

Also, it's a menorah hat. HAT.

(And that's my Bannister. Note the white lights - proof of my co-habitation with a one, Miss Mary Ryan.)

This post isn't very funny so I tried to fake it with a youtube video

2008-12-15T20:35:00.003-05:00

Oh Arlington - the land of Couch Crashing and Life Lessons. Lessons from this installment of Weekends in the DC-Metro Area include:

- I want to live at Kate's house always. The land of KateJennyAndrewDavid is a land where, according to what I see when I visit, I can always watch Nine to Five and color felt posters while eating delectable baked goods. What's that you say? I could probably do those in my own home, now that I'm "an adult" anyway? True - but it's not the same without Kate, et al.

- I am weak, weak when it comes to Ms. Katz and her sweet-talking, make-up finding wiles. Also the West Coast needs to be closer to this one. Stat.

- I CAN DRIVE IN GEORGETOWN NEAR CHRISTMAS TIME AND NOT DIE. Dear Cities: I hate driving in you. Fix that, por favor. (Side note: I can parallel park in Georgetown near Christmas and not die - take that, mon amie!) (Side, SIDE note: it is annoying that I do not know how to make accent marks in this little bloggymadoodle, so I can not ACTUALLY use any of the 4-5 French words I know! SACREBLEU!)

- Kelly is the hottest thing on two legs. Now, for those of you who know my friend Kelly, you were well aware of this fact before I told you. For those of you who don't - let me just reiterate: Kelly is the hottest thing on two legs. This is impressive, coming from me, because I have a lot of attractive friends, guys. You don't even know. My friend circle is, without a doubt, Hot Chick Central - and the ladies I was out with Saturday night were, if I do say so myself, easily the cutest, classiest, most awesome women to walk into any room we deemed worthy of our presence. But...I mean...you should see what happens to a room when Kelly walks into it. I'll give you a hint: men melt into piles of simpering mush whose eyes glimmer with hope and adoration. It's AWESOME. It also equates Free Drinks In An Attempt To Distract Meg So All Men, Ever, Can Attempt To Romance Kelly (in a proper-noun sort of way). I would like, again, to reiterate: it's AWESOME.

Finally, even though my Youth Group kids are, for all intents and purposes, being butts I am going to post this video about the true meaning of Hanukkah. The true meaning of Hanukkah is humorous raps - that's right, humorous raps. And a solstice-esque festival of lights, just like every other world relgion.

Oh, and Macabees and the miracle of the oil and family and getting presents at the same time as all the other kids. It's about that, too.

But mostly raps.

The stammering really gets me

2008-12-09T22:29:00.002-05:00

Dear Woody Allen:

I do not think you are very funny or entertaining. I'm sorry, but it's true. I wrote a paper once on what you symbolized about the Jewish-American experience's necessity to be self-referential in a sort of paranoid and self-deprecating way. You make me uncomfortable, and I am annoyed that this pegs me as Not Appropriately Quirky OMG2XTREME.

I am a Jewish feminist who doesn't particularly like Woody Allen and has a conflicted relationship with the music and works of Ani DiFranco - oh why can I not get my pop-culture references to match my societal labels?

My life is so seriously difficult, guys. You don't even know. Don't even.

In other news: I didn't know how much I liked Richmond until I spent an evening going to hip coffee shops and cool vegan dives and fun apartment parties featuring hilarious snore-stories. I drove home listening to NPR and basking in the bright, crisp light of a morning of a day that was only going to go down hill in terms of "things that stress Meg out."

In thirdly other news: I am not very good youth group leader and would not like to do it anymore, if that's a-okay with everyone. Oh? It's not? You'd rather be kind of passive aggressive and consistently ask me to organize things the kids don't seem to want to partake in? Cool. I...I guess that's almost the same.

Watchful like a Kung Fu master (preferably of the panda variety)

2008-12-06T01:12:00.003-05:00

Dear Aliens-Who-Are-Currently-Inhabiting-My-Body:

For starters, I'm onto you. As a follow up - you are doing a poor job of being subtle. What? Did you think just because you were making healthy choices for me, all of a sudden, I was going to turn a blind eye? Did you think I wouldn't notice? Aliens - you are new to this body, obviously, otherwise you would understand that changes this broad and rapid are not par for the course. Aliens - I am beginning to believe you didn't do your research too well.

I don't know what you are plotting, nefarious or otherwise, but if it involves going to the gym four times this week (two of those times involved waking up and going before work - Aliens, the real Meg would never do these things), taking my vitamins regularly, and flossing I am suspicious.

Know this, Aliens, for now I'm putting up with these changes and seeing where they take us, but the moment I find myself thinking "you know, I always did like lettuce more than chocolate cake, anyway" you will be out faster than you can say "low-budget Sci-Fi channel exorcism."

Yours,
Host Body.

In other news: Mary and I made a Wal-Mart run tonight which involved two key purchases. Key purchase one: The Last Holiday with Queen Latifah. Let's just say: we love Queen Latifah for a reason - and that reason now involves how hot LL Cool J is.

Key purchase two: a pair of fun reindeer antlers for Mary, which she wore on the way to the car. Why didn't she wear them all the way home? Because a guy in the parking lot said, I kid you not, "Hey baby - you can pull my sleigh...heh heh heh."

Ooooooh creepy dudes - do these approach tactics ever work for you?

I can't think of William S. Burroughs without thinking of that Moxy Fruvous song

2008-12-03T21:52:00.002-05:00

So here's a story about one of my kids and why I have mixed feelings about the gonzo journalists of the 1960s:

Once upon a time I had this totally sweet kid in my office and he told me to speak to his friend who had OD-ed at school the past year about planning for college. So, I called in the other kid and found myself with this this totally cool and erudite and hip-seemin' kid in my office and we were all talking about his hopes and dreams for the future (of which he has many) and then he was all, "hey, yeah, also last year I got really into reading Timothy Leary."

Well, let me tell you, being a product of the DARE generation, my drug-dar was already up so when he Timothy-Leary name dropped, I was ontop of that. Because, here's the thing: I kind of get it. I more than kind of get it, I feel it. I understand what's sexy about Leary it's the same thing that's painfully sexy about Burroughs and Ginsburg - I understand that pull towards a shattering of the self, fully expressed only throught the further shattering of the conciousness. I also undersatnd that, kidding aside, I am a product of the DARE generation - my ideas about drugs are culturally influenced in the extreme.

But I also understand that this kid is sixfuckingteen and he's already ODed and LSD is not something you play around with when you could be dedicating the rest of your life to bad flashbacks. Yeah, I'm supremely uncool, I get that. Go forth and talk about how I'm a huge Square or whatever the appropriate terminology is but I just get in a panic every time I think about this beautiful mind getting into bad, drug-related trouble. I knew the kids who were druggies in high school and I knew a fair number who were druggies in college. Most of the high schoolers probably didn't know I knew (I did, SoRo crowd. I knew you more than I knew my fellow theater kids, if you'd believe it) and no, none of them died horrible fiery deaths. Really, I have no anecdotal proof that DugzRBad, but I know substance-related coping mechanisms in general are bad, and I know ODing is bad, and I know LSD scares the shit out of me at the end of the day.

And that's my life. I am not very cool. But, you know, who was pretending on that one, really?

The best part is the part about the blue shell. Wait for it, you'll see.

2008-12-01T23:07:00.003-05:00

So, I know this "blog" is just code for, "Meg posts youtube videos. Lots of them." But take a few things into consideration.

1. I'm still really excited that I know how to use this technology. You don't even know, dudes, you don't even know.
2. My life isn't really THAT interesting.
3. Sure, I never talk about the semi-important stuff in my life, like my LSD using, Hitler-essay-writing, bawling-in-my-office kids or Thanksgiving, or how cyber boys are totally lame, okay. But that's just...because I'm saving it up for when I feel more like a good writer, okay? Okay? Also, I feel nervous about this blog being So Public, OMG, and I don't want to go...you know...spreadin' other people's buis-nass on the interwebz.
4. THIS VIDEO IS SO ADORABLE AND AWESOME OMG. Truth: it is not as cute as the sleepy monkey. Other truth: it is WAY more awesome than any of the Beyonce/Brittney/HDuff videos posted in the last youtube splurge.

(He's feels so deeply! And so mustacheo-edly!)

So, this is...pre-Christmas.

2008-11-25T07:39:00.003-05:00

So, here's the thing: I really love Christmas music. Look, I'd love Hanukkah music if there were a significant body of it out there, I'm sure I would, but as it stands, I really love Christmas tunes.

I get all excited when it's time to break out Snowed In. I tune into the All-Christmas-All-The-Time stations when December hits and I squeel with glee every time "All I Want For Christmas is You" comes on the radio anywhere. I really love that song.

But, here's the real thing: not one but two radio stations in Roanoke have already gone All-Christmas-All-The-Time. The first one changed over 2 weeks ago. There...there just aren't enough Christmas songs to sustain this pace for more than the post-Thanksgiving push. I'm not kidding folks, I really love Christmas music and there are really only so many times I can handle Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

Furthermore, ABC Family Channel - telling me we haven't started the "25 Days of Chirstmas" but are merely in the "countdown to the 25 Days of Christmas" confuses me when I am watching Christmas movies. But...you know...if you want to play that one with Melissa Joan Hart and Mario Lopez more often, I'm cool with that. (Guys, you don't even know: IT'S MELISSA JOAN HART AND MARIO LOPEZ!)

Oooooh youtube.

2008-11-17T00:16:00.006-05:00

Since I spend my days with high schoolers and am now spending at least one evening a week with a pair of seventh graders, I think it is important that I have an opinion about pop music. That's right, my "Fall Out Boy" Pandora radi o station is totally legit. I'm just trying to understand these kids, alright? YOU COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND MY PAIN LIKE THEY DO. Etc.

Thus I present to you my discoveries about pop culture, complete with youtube videos.

1. Every time I hear Britney Spears' new song, "Womanizer" I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Seriously, I had no idea, but I am legitimately emotionally invested in how Britney is doing. I care. It makes me feel really good that she's got a New Hot Single out there, and that it's inhumanly catchy, and that I'm pretty sure from the first moment it hit the airwaves it was destined to be the anthem of really fabulous sorority girls and gay men everywhere.

2. HilDuff, on the other hand, does not please me quite so much. HilDuff, in fact, DISPLEASES me. Greatly. You may notice, if you choose to click this video that it is (1)really sadly trashy. In a sad way. A sad trashy way. (2) Basically a really weird cover of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." Now, seriously, do you need to make almost anything by Depeche Mode wierder? Oh Hilary Duff - this is not edgy, it just makes me feel like one of those moms who needs to censor which teen queens her daughters want to emulate. Hilary Duff - I bought one of your songs off of iTunes, where's "Wake Up" Hilary?

3. I know you hate Beyonce, Cor, but I just don't. I like you, Beyonce, even though I suspect we would not be friends in real life. In fact, I suspect Beyonce of being TERRIFYING in real life, which makes me even happier that "If I Were A Boy" features, prominently, the subjunctive. The subjunctive may be in danger in the English language, but it's not dying on Beyonce's watch. Not today, evolution of the language towards a simplified vernacular, not today.
However, as much as I applaud Beyonce's semi-forward thinking, I also happened to stumble across the video for "Put A Ring On It" the other day. By "stumbled across" I mean "I watch a helluva lot of MTV, people, it's becoming an addiction." So anyway, first of all, the possible (anti?) feminist things going on here are interesting to me. Especially when taken along side "If I Were A Boy" and Beyonce's current proclivity for Black And White I kind of don't know how to make sense of either the sentiment or the aesthetic of "Single Ladies." Anyone feel like they're getting a little Josephine Baker/Exoticised other vibe?

...Maybe you can't tell, but I REALLY miss American Studies. Really, really.

I've run out of steam to write much more but I leave you with this, the video youtube just recommended for me. Youtube knows me well.

Cosmic Coincidence?

2008-11-09T11:08:00.003-05:00

Twice in the last 12 hours, allusions to The Toxic Avenger have popped up in exceedingly unlikely places. Dear Universe - WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME ABOUT MY SORDID, HIGH SCHOOL PAST?!

I'm back in Roanoke. I'm working with the little siblings of the boys I grew up with. Their cult favorites are now haunting me. Alright already, I sent Brian a facebook message the other day - what more do you want from me?!

Holy hell - this is history

2008-11-05T21:56:00.002-05:00

There are so many things I want to write about. I want to talk about being a picnic for Halloween and about my qualms with boys and digital diaries.

OH WAIT ALSO I WANT TO TALK ABOUT POLITICS OMFG. As I sat in my mother's den, obsessively refreshing CNN.com while watching CNN on her television I got to scream, "Virginia turned blue! THEY TURNED VIRGINIA BLUE!" Mere seconds before the announcer told us to hail our new President Elect, Barack Obama.

Maybe, one day, I will tell my kids I lived to see the first African American President of the United States like my parents tell me they lived through integration. I know, mentally, that there was a time before school integration, but I can't really fit that sort of belief system into my world view. Similarly, I hope that my children can know that, yes, as recently as in their mother's lifetime, we didn't have African American (or women?) Presidents - but that's a thing of the misguided past.

Yes we can. Yes we did. Yes we will.

Just for your viewing pleasure, these were some of my favorite ads during the campaign. Dear Celebrities: I don't care what Carrie Underwood says*, I'm all about your opinions. I'm all about their entertaining little ways.

(Watch all the way to the END of this one - THAT'S THE BEST PART!)

(I less-than-three you, Leo! I always have! ALWAYS.)

(I also less-than-three you, Snoop, but it's more in that, "I like to pretend you're actually sweet and cuddly in person and that'd be our little joke" way.)

*That's a total lie. I do care about what Carrie Underwood says. I don't know why I care, but I know that I most certainly do.

Okay, I'm sorry, I don't even watch these things to fuel my stupid brain,

2008-10-25T06:29:00.004-04:00

So, I am mad at my brain right now. I'm not mad because I'm awake at 6:30 on a Saturday, that's my own fault, I'm mad because it keeps having nightmares with horror movie plots.

Last night is a great example, I woke up at 3:30 with a very full bladder and was unable to DO anything about it because, you know, if you leave the safety of the covers then you're vulnerable to the baddies. In this case "the baddies" were, in fact, a dude stalking my friend Veronika who then tried to kidnap/kill/something her such that they found themselves in the woods with him perusing her. He, in desperation, grabbed an axe. She, being a bad-ass, grabs an axe-intended-for-fires (just go with it) and summarily kicks his ass then runs away. So really, my damn brain has the nerve to dream up a horror movie (bad) but the sense to make Veronkia the unequivocal heroine/winner (good). There was even some part where I (the Meg character in my stupid horror movie dream) said something like, "that guy sure picked the wrong girl to mess with" and acknowledged that If I, real-world-or-dream-Meg, were placed in the same situation, I would definitely loose an axe fight.

Also, you know how your friends aren't usually very realistic in your dreams? How they have the names but not really the attributes you associate with your friends? Well, axe-killer-ass-kicker Veronika (and her spunky dream-roommate, Lauren T.) were exactly like they are in real life. Except, you know, persued by a deranged dude with an axe.

WHY ARE THESE THINGS IN MY BRAIN!? UNACCEPTABLE!

Well, I'll have the whole early morning drive to c'ville to ponder it, I suppose. Whee for rainy pledge-project weekends!

What can I say, I'm a hussy.

2008-10-24T22:18:00.002-04:00

A day in my life:

"Well, hello Ten P.M.! What's that? You'd like to take me to bed now? Oh well I...I...I mean...a nice girl...oh Ten P.M. I cannot resist your wiles! I'm yours!"

Why yes, yes, there are little old ladies who routinely stay up later than I want to. Thank you for asking.

They didn't even play any 90s throwbacks

2008-10-21T10:32:00.003-04:00

There are some things in life which appear to be way, way better the second time around. The second time you listen to a fantastic piece of music you are better able to appreciate its subtle complexity as well as the overall musical arc. The second bite of delicious, delicious cake is sometimes even better than the first because you know what to expect - also, it's delicious, delicious cake. There are probably other examples, since the rule of threes is a good writing technique.

So far, I think high school might be another of these phenomena. I like high schoolers now waaayyyy more than I think I did as a high schooler myself. They're just so darn cute. Sure, they do all sorts of mean things to each other - but they're 16, can we really expect much better behavior from them, really? Methinks not. Methinks they're adorable, just as they are.

In other, related news, we chaperoned Patrick Henry High School's homecoming dance this weekend. Hilarity. Ensued. My feministy free-expression-of-sexuality-esque sensibilities make me a particularly poor choice of dance chaperon, it seems, since grindydancing doesn't really seem that unnecessarily scandalous to me. I mean, sure, I'll do a lot of head-wagging at what seems unclassy behavior but...neither Mary nor I could muster quite the unrepentant disgust and ire that many of our colleagues carried through the dance floor like a shield. The thing that bothered us both most, really, was that we could only come down on girls for dance-scandal, since the boys job in The Grindydance was usually just to stand there and get ground allupons. Also, boys were rarely flashing their panties while grinding in microminis.

Since "dance rules" were up to the discretion of the chaperon, ours developed as such:

Her hands can't touch the floor
Both her feet can't leave the floor
No crotch shots
No crowd surfing
No touching, with your hands, the bikini regions of your dance partner

We did NOT make "no makeyouty" a rule. I don't know what Mary's rationale was, but mine was definitely that hilarity factor coupled with shame will probably squelch the problem before it gets out of hand. And really, if you've never seen a 16-17 year old boy pull his ladylove in for an "I'm grabbing the back of your head like I'm trying to suck your brains out, fo' real I'm a zombie I forgot to tell you" kiss - you haven't known how hard you could laugh.

I know, in a few years, these feelings of "hey, children, you should know about BEDROOM STYLE DANCING" that are sort of bubbling around in my brain will probably take over and I'll be all horrified and scandalized by The GrindyDance as well (and really - it isn't particularly classy... but neither are frat parties or dance clubs, the two types of dance floor these children appear desperately to want to approximate). Some day, these kids will look a lot younger than they do now. But I don't really want to expend a grand amount of my energy being scandalized at awkward, adolescent expressions of exploratory sexuality, really. It seems like kind of a waste of time, as well as a puritan sex ethic I'm fairly positive I don't want to buy into, implications about the death of childhood be damned. Childhood as we now know it is a Victorian ideal anyway - perhaps it's time we let it exist in a more complex realm.

Ms. R - the Principal of our high school, perhaps shares my opinion. She, too, shook her head at a lot of the dance, but it was a head-shake-accompanied-by-chuckle. She's a Running-A-Tight-Ship esque woman to begin with. Maybe Grindydancing doesn't bother her that much because she, too, is a sexually liberated feministy woman. Maybe it's because she's the one the seriously bad behavior goes to, so the grindydance isn't that big of a deal. Who knows?

It just seems like a lot of energy to expend over a little good, clean dirty dancing.

OMGz, my family is teh awesomz

2008-10-17T12:24:00.000-04:00

If you see any film coverage of the Obama rally in Roanoke, and you see a DASHINGLY HANDSOME boy who looks like he's probably from southern India standing behind Obama on stage, THAT'S MY BROTHER.

So. Cool. Oh Benjam, always out there, bein' the coolest.

It's an adventure - OF YOUR CHOOSING!

2008-10-12T10:32:00.002-04:00

Hello four loyal readers, I blog to you today from a wonderful Hampton Inn in Sterling, VA after attending my friend-since-kindergarten Megan's wedding-reception. I blog to you today with a new and innovative type of entry: Choose your own Blogventure! It's like choose your own adventure...but using the internetz so slang is required! Lol 2damax. Here's the story, morning glory:

You are a Pretty Cute Dude attending the totally alternative and delightfully vegan wedding reception of two of your closest friends from college. You become aware that Some Chick Who Grew Up With The Bride is all trying to talk to you 'n stuff. She's pretty friendly. And Loud. And, if you do say so yourself, she looks kind of fierce and her mask is tres snappy (it is a Masquerade themed wedding gathering -which is way more fun and classier sounding than it suddenly seems right now. I promise). This chick, should you give yourself the opportunity to get to know her, is probably a Cool Dude. Do you:

1. Talk to her like a normal person. Engage her in the totally normal-person conversation that she's attempting to initiate and see if you two can be Normal Friends on a Normal Friendly level. Hey - no one ever died of a 20 minute conversation, right? If it's awkward and you don't enjoy one another, it's cool. She'll probably get it too, then you never have to speak again. If you choose this option, go to paragraph FOUR (4).

2. Talk to her like a person who is very frightened and has been cornered here, in the bathroom line, by someone who is about to attack him with venomous snakes. How do you like your job as a paralegal? SHIT! THIS IS PROBABLY A TRAP OF THE MOST NEFARIOUS NATURE! If you choose this option, go to paragraph FIVE (5).

3. RUN AWAY. OH SHIT GIRLS!

4. Alright, so you're talking, you have many things in common, you are funny, she is funny, the funny is just rolling along at lightning speed. Wow - it's almost like girls are people too - not just scary monsters! You start thinking to yourself, hey, this girl may be flirting with me. Ooh la-la and tres extreme. You can't possibly be that surprised because, as anyone with any sense knows, floppy hair, a scruffy beard, and an obvious terror of women are total turn ons for some people. Some people who may be associated with this blog in some ways or other. Anyway - that chick is totally thinking about digging you. Do you (A) decide that some makey-outy wouldn't be the worst thing in the world? If so, go to paragraph SIX (6). Or do you (B) decide that "just friends" is probably best, all things considered? If so, go to paragraph SEVEN (7).

5. Shit. She continues to be at this party despite your not wanting to talk to her. Sometimes, you're even in the same room. This is clearly a trap. RUN AWAY. OH SHIT, GIRLS!

6. You, your floppy hair, and this foxy lady find yourselves "accidentally" alone outside. She says, "oh, sorry...am I making you uncomfortable?" during an awkward silence, "you say yes...well...no...well...it's just that...I can't stop myself from thinking about kissing you..." She says, "Oh...is that a problem?" MAKEY-OUTY OF THE BEST ROMANCE NOVEL TYPE ENSUES. Then she gets all attached to you, probably, and stalks you on facebook like a million times a day. She's not a creeper...just a specific type of romantic? Regardless it was probably a good wedding-time makey-outy, right? Sucess! You win!

7. Hey, this friends thing works out pretty well, probably! You two have a lovely time chatting and keep loosely in touch for years to come, especially when the chick visits your mutual friends. Congratulations - you made a new friend! Success! You win!

8. WHY ARE THERE SILL GIRLS HERE?! RUN. AWAY.

Quick summary of my life, for me, so that when I look back on my blog, I'll remember that I do things:
- I visited C'ville 2 weeks ago and had a fabulous time and stayed with my fabulous little and played a fabulous kareoke game. Then I met Mary at a fabulous wine festival where we tasted fabulous wines and saw crafts. FABULOUS!
- Jobz = nothing too new to report, except that I adore the kids (still) and don't always adore the bureaucracy.
- Megan and Nathan's wedding reception was beyond beautiful, and super fun, and I love them immensely and am so honored to have been included in this terrific festivity.

Pile, I tell you! Pile!

2008-10-07T14:10:00.003-04:00

Remiss on the posts, this I know, I know! There is much to say and little time to say it in, so instead, I give you Today's Pile Of Excuses I Don't Update My Blog Enough:

1. We don't have internet in the apartment right now. Fo' realz yo'. It's rough.
2. JDate e-mails me all the time. I am not even kidding, dudes. All the time. It's gotten to the point where I become moderately wary of opening my inbox every time I do enter an internet zone (aka: work) because I know there are goign to be a lot of e-mails there, from JDate. Judging me.
2b. I knew I wouldn't be able to contain my BlogSelf and would, invariably, mention JDate within approximately 4 secons of opening the blog screen. Then I'd have to be all like, "no, it's not what you think!" and then I'd feel like a creeper. A sad, sad, sad creeper.
3. Work is exhaustingly busy most days, which is a positive in the long run, but leaves no time con los internet-os for blogging.

If those don't constitute as a pile-o-excuses, I don't know what do.

This is why they don't let me out in public.

2008-09-26T01:02:00.003-04:00

The hazards of coming back to your Small City are numerous. Many of these hazards can really be boiled down, for me, to "YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S EYES ARE EVERYWHERE" or, for the goy, "why aren't you married yet? I CAN SEE YOU! I CAN SEE YOU WILLFULLY NOT BEING MARRIED OVER THERE."

Other hazardous situations: running into old high school teachers in the grocery store but not being sure if they remember you. Not being as motivated to find Cool Things To Do because you're already So Over This Town. Feeling like you're 12.

Or, as tonight illustrated: going out and seeing random people you grew up with but with whom you now have a murky and difficult to define relationship that you feel should maybe be a friendship but it's not like you know each other or anything it's more, "Holy crap! We did high school theater together!" or, you know, "holy crap - I HAD A CRUSH ON YOU IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL! You were so rebellious!" or even, "holy crap - I had a crush on YOU, TOO in elementary school...no seriously. I think I dooodled your name with a heart around it. I hope you cannot see that in my expression. This one time, I took YOUR school picture and ANDY'S school picture and I taped them to different soccer statues and pretended that they were you guys and you were my boyfriends which, REALLY, was kind of creative for a second grader...and also sort of like I built a freaky shrine to you. So...how's that tattoo coming along now...buddy?"

These, my friends, are the hazards of moving back to your small town.

In other news, when we accidentally ended up at this hole-in-the-wall-barbecue-resturaunt-turned-bar tonight, I was pleased. I was doubly pleased because the dude playing SOULFUL ACCOUSTIC GUITAR was totally square-jaw-perfect-teeth-ed and smiled at us. Then he played some more. Soulfully. I bought his CD and we talked about how he met his girlfriend at a college hypnotist's show and then his shirt was a Shakespeare reference and we are totally going to be friends, you don't even know, guys! You don't even know.

Soulful. Acoustic. Guitar.

So, sometimes when my friend Will plays guitar while sitting under trees in quads and things, I go up to him and say stuff like, "Oh, hello ladies. I did not even notice you standing there, ladies, listening to my soulful guitar. I suppose, ladies, if you so choose you can, like, you know, stay and listen. Whatever. I don't care, it's all about the music. I was certainly not playing for you - but more for my soul. You may notice I play the acoustic guitar - I feel it expresses me...soulfully."

This is not exactly the emotion I feel towards Adorable Russell Howard. ARH does not appear to be a douche at all, really.

I think we should, you know, hold hands and talk about our feelings.

Jacket weather, AHOY!

2008-09-23T00:27:00.003-04:00

I never know how to write electrified posts - posts that I sort of want to just...emit. Virginia's been smelling like fall off and on since a few days before the last time I went up to visit Kate and talked with that guy, Rick, on their back porch. I can't remember exactly which weekend it was, some time in August and we, being good party guests, were attempting to talk about the weather. It was just starting to get chilly at night - the way Virginia can tease you with fall weeks before you're ready for summer to be over, charging the nights with something that only dances around the subject in late afternoons. I love these seasons.

Happy first day of fall is, in essence, the moral of that story.

Mary and I began meeting with students last week and so far it's an exercise in hoping I actually know as much as I pretend to know. While there's part of me which says, "honey - you're doing your best, and you've been through this process, and you're reading. You know as much as you can, don't fret." There's this other part of me that can't shake the feeling that I'm playing ball with these kids lives. And that's the thing - they're kids, they're four years younger than I am and kids. I just want to wrap them all up in hugs and say, "don't you dare forget a minute of the next few years of your life - you're growing so much faster than you realize. Don't you dare take the hardship and the heartache for granted. It's pretty rad, all things considered."

The first kid who came to see us, all of his own accord, (let's call him "Matt" - and understand from here on out, all students will receive pseudonyms) will still probably always be my favorite. His enthusiasm and his complete trust that we knew something he didn't, he couldn't, were just so enchanting - he is the reason I'm in this job, in so many ways. He's also (one of) the (many) reasons this job petrifies me. What do I know, really? I still have huge doubts about my own college choice, delighted as I was with the experience. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I have no 5 year plans. Matt has a plan up through the PhD - and, yes, I know his Sparkly Little Plan (full of life and twinkle guys - you have no idea. These kids twinkle like none others, they all do - just full of sparkle in this mischievous and excited way) will probably change between know and the English PhD + masters in teaching but, geez, at least the kid has a goal!

My life plans include:
- Being happy
- Maybe writing along the way
- Interacting with people
- Never aging because I cannot fathom this kind of indecision in anyone much older than I, but can also not fathom any sort of decisive action. Also I don't like that the pop icons keep getting younger. WHIPPERSNAPPRERS!

Just FYI: I also need to write an entry about TEENAGE VAMPIRES IN LOVE but, you know, I'm getting tired. And I can really only listen to that one deadlines song a few hundred times a day.

The rumors are true!

2008-09-18T17:12:00.005-04:00

Yes, Dear Readers, the rumors are true. It is safe to say that I spend a good 10-20% of my life with this song stuck in my head.

No. Joke. Any time you seen me, there's a greater chance that I'm secretly singing this song than almost anything else. (With my carrots, and my celery!)

In other news, I was just remembering this time my good friend "Fauxarly" "lost" this submission to a publication she was working on. At the time, I was upset by these actions - but just the other day I was thinking about it, and I was suddenly filled with the Warmth Of Being Loved. In other news, I was just remembering that Fauxarly is pretty much a Rad Friend, 2damax.

There are lots of updates about The Job - which is auspicious sounding indeed, but I am exhausted 24/7 these days, and haven't really made topical-and-relevant blogposts the number 1 priority.

(Captain Vegetable, however, IS always with me. Always. You don't even understand, dudes and dudettes. You don't even understand.)

Did you know those "shake it" boys are (1)boys (2)in some way related to Miley Cyrus?

2008-09-14T03:30:00.004-04:00

I'm hesitant to write this entry because I kind of like the last one, and I don't want it to be overlooked. It is full of ire! Serious ire! It's not that well written or insightful or anything - but it's full of ire! So, yes. There you go.

You know what else I like? Love, even? Country and pop-punk songs written for teenagers.

L.O.V.E. I am a sucker for unadulterated emotion. I will make fun of it 'till the cows come home, but I love it with a part of my heart reserved for closet-unconditional-love. I love songs that sound like the accompanying music video should feature Young People Just Like You riding in a car at night with the windows down. I love that Taylor Swift song, "Our Song." I love that Boys Like Girls song, "The Great Escape." I love much of the Guster, Better than Ezra, and Eve 6 canons. [For the record, my father fussed at me the other day for this use of the word "canon." First and foremost, I think it's technically a grammatically acceptable use of the word - I am talking about the entire collection of an artist's work. Secondly, I know that it's not a traditional use of the word - helloooooooo iiiirrroooonnnyyyyyyyyyy. Le duuuuuhhhhhhhhhh.]

I love these songs for the same reason I love many things - their heartfelt passion. Of course it's cliche, that's why it's so damn good. Cliches get a bad rap, all things considered, the reason that they're cliche is that they're true. Cliches don't develop around things we don't all individually (secretly) feel we Feel More Truly Than Anyone Else In The History Of Ever. Cliches develop around things that are, time after time, essentially real and true to all of us.

I challenge the most mature, zen, Above It All person to tell me that teenage love wasn't a roller-coaster of a bitch that they hated but probably wouldn't give up for the world. Pop punk and sweet little country songs just hit that nail on the head - the "oh shit, teenage" nail.

It's cute. I like it. It means something real, even if it doesn't mean something original.

Dudes who think cat-calling is funny, listen up.

2008-09-13T19:03:00.001-04:00

Dear Dudes of the Universe,

I am displeased with you. For realz, yo. Sure, Dudes, I guess it's a little lame to blame you all for the actions of One Dude (or One Dude and ACCOMPLICE) but - dems da breaks. The way we culture you is exceedingly displeasing to me right now.

Dudes, you may be asking yourselves, "what did one of our number do?" I will gladly illuminate. As I was walking Georgia today, one of your number pulled up to a large intersection where I, too, was waiting to cross. He rolled down his window and yelled (across three lanes of traffic), "hey sexy!"

I was kind of freaked out. Cat calling is weird - I used to find it kind of flattering, but now I just find it degrading and like it's mocking me. I am always positive the Cat Calling Dude was triple-dog-dared right before he yelled at me, and THAT doesn't make me feel awesome. It's alarming, it's intimidating, and it makes me feel like by merely existing in the world I am somehow being Too Provocative. It also makes me feel unsafe and like you're really super duper making fun of me. Dudes -Cat Calling is not my favorite. Just, keep that one in mind.

Well, I rolled my eyes and turned to cross the road in the other direction, and Cat Calling Dude shouts, "Don't roll your eyes at me - all you have to do is say 'hi' or something." I, feeling guilty (and threatened! Dudes Who Cat Call - you have loud voices and cars! You have the position of power!) said "hey!"

Cat Calling Dude, "Now was that so hard? You know if I had been a white guy, you would've loved me to say something to you."

Let's pause here for a collective W.T.F.!? For starters, I think you should know - Cat Calling Dude was BY FAR the cutest guy to ever cat call me - except for his jerkitude, he was an attractive guy. So, really, if we're talking about guys I'd respond well to - this guy is topping the list. I responded badly not because there was something empirically physically that I responded poorly to - BUT BECAUSE HE WAS FUCKING HARASSING ME WHILE I WAS TRYING TO WALK MY DOG.

Just because I DO NOT WANT YOU YELLING AT ME ON THE STREET does not make me racist! I want to drop the jokey tone for a second because I'm really fucking offended. The more I think about this, the more offended I become. I cannot control the global gaze as it pertains to my body - I accept this. I can, however, control how I respond to that gaze, and I don't have to love it. To assert that there's NO way I would want to respond positively to any guy who sexualizes me on the street unless I had some more nefarious rationale is positively sickening.

I yelled back, "No. Sorry. I have a boyfriend."

He said, "Oh. Sorry."

1. What the fuck was I supposed to say "Hey - wanna fuck? You just yelled at me on the street, so I'd like to hop in your car and have sex with you now." Huh? What would he have accepted as the "proper" response to something like that?

2. I should not need a make believe boyfriend in order to deflect creepazoids on the street. How the fuck do you make me feel so frightened and guilty?

Gah. GAAAHHH. So freaking obnoxious.

Dudes - do not be like the dude who yelled at me today. You're better than that.

2008-09-08T12:38:00.000-04:00

Day three of Actual Time In The Classroom (not sitting in training meetings or visiting colleges) and the to-do lists are starting to look pathetic.

By noon we're struggling to stretch our last few activities into hour-long ordeals and surfing the College Board and ACT websites for New And Exciting Information for Students that we didn't know we needed to know.

There is a cricket living in the far corner of our office here at Fleming and the melancholy call of an insect who has come inside at the first brush with fall to die here in the warmth is the ideal soundtrack to our activities. That sentence is in desperate need of more punctuation but the depths of my despair are such that I cannot even think about semicolons or commas right now; the writing, it must flow from my despairing fingers! (That semicolon was okay because it was an organic semicolon, not one imposed after the fact. That semicolon was okay, because I am fickle with my punctuation - like I am fickle with my use of the word "despair.")

We want to be productive. We want to be helpful. We want to do this job about which we are so excited. We are, however, but two young women - we can create but so many tasks for ourselves before we're finally allowed to meet students and speak in classrooms and actually talk to our advisers. I know that the beginning of the school year is incredibly stressful for the heads of guidance - it seems like every third student needs his or her schedule changed - but it's also stressful for us if we can't do anything because everyone else is too busy.

Some day...some day we'll have a real job with students and everything.

In the mean time...we wait. We take online assessment tests we will (hypothetically) one day offer to our students. We learn that when we're paid, it's going to be a very small sum and sent to our schools where no one knows who we are or that we have post boxes.

Our cricket chimes in with the sounds of a Spanish I class being taught down the hall. The bell rings so loudly we jump involuntarily. The school day goes on, despite us.

Here's some clip art!

Spread the word, this is Big Time News

2008-09-05T13:09:00.000-04:00

If there was any doubt before about my status as A Person Who Works In The Schools it is now official.

I, School-Faring Woman that I am, just created a document with clip-art to jazz it up. There's a woman with a big question mark and a dude with a graduation cap and EVERYTHING.

I even searched the online clip-art data-base for "question mark" and almost used a stick-figure silhouette doing triumph arms.

Check back - in a few days I bet I'll be super into power-point slide transitions.

Read this entry with a Bye Bye Birdie-esque voice in mind.

2008-09-04T18:49:00.000-04:00

Dear Diary,

Wow! It's been a wild time, this last week! Diary - there's so much going on, I haven't even been sure what to write in you (no! don't worry! I haven't forgotten about you!)! I just don't know where to start, Diary! Since I know how much you love pop-culturally-relevant organizational structures, let's categorize this entry into the good, the bad, and the ugly, shall we?

The Good:
Well, Diary, there's been a lot of good this past week! For starters Mary and I met up with some of my friends from Arlington and trucked down to the beach for Labor Day weekend. Oh, Diary, you would have loved it - there was taboo, and ill-advised-night-swimming, and a hot tub and EVERYTHING. Diary - it was an x-treme slumber party, only...with 20 people in a house many of whom I didn't know and one of whom I accidentally got nicknamed "Hot Kevin." I...I don't believe "Hot Kevin" and I ever actually exchanged words. Diary, trust me, that story is nowhere near as interesting as it sounds - but I like to pretend anyway.

Anyhoo, Diary, after the Fun Times And Constant Adventures of our Totally Radical Beach Bonanza, Mary and I returned to the 'noke for the official First Day Of School. We sat in our office and told kids we weren't the math department and EVERYTHING. The first day was a littel scary, Diary, I'll admit (wait for "the bad"), but we survived. Yesterday and today we spent in training related to our job - we've now got more concrete goals in place, as well as access to student records and official passwords and such. Before long I think we're going to be rolling along at a good clip here, Diary. Before long, we're actually going to feel like we are Real Employees with Real Jobs. Maybe they'll even actually send us a pay check, one of these days. Diary - a girl can dream.

The Bad:
Diary, I have a confession to make: this label is deceptive! I'm just going to talk about things I already mentioned in "the good" but show their flip sides. Diary, I am not good at artificially imposed organizational structures.

While, at the end of the day, I think we were able to make pretty good use of Tuesday at Fleming, amongst the student hoards, things were looking pretty rocky there for a little while. After we spent a good hour cleaning and organizing our office, Mary and I looked around and tried to figure out what our next step should be upon which we came to a series of realizations. In short no one:

Knew who we were
Knew what we were doing there
Knew where we were supposed to be
Knew when we were supposed to be there
Knew what we needed from them
Knew what they needed from us
Knew that we really really really aren't interns

This, Diary, could have been scary timez. Similarly, but differently, this could have been Slacker Timez. Thwarting both the scary and the slacker, Miss Mary and I cooly, calmly, and collectedly compiled a to-do list, and went about to-doing it. Furthermore we discovered several of our direct allies on the Fleming campus, the college and carreers sections of the library, that we are in love with everyone we've met so far, and that the class-change bell rings unnecessarily loudly. Diary, it could have been The Bad, but instead, it was The Productive.

Diary, you may feel a bit as if I am tooting our own horn. To that I say merely: toot-toot.

The Ugly:
Diary, I got a little extra sun on my face, and it's lightly peeling these days. This is not metaphorically ugly - but literally so!

Also, Mary and I convinced ourselves that we wanted to watch Drew Barrymore and Eric "There is nothing interesting, compelling, or talented about me - but I do have very nice hair" Bana in Lucky You last night. This, Diary, was a poor choice of great magintude.

Now, Mary and I knew that Lucky You probably wasn't going to be great, and we also have fairly high standards when it comes to our Chick Flicks. We don't like to boast but, well, I'd consider us Chick Flick connosiours. But, Diary, much as even a seasoned fancy-resturaunt-reviewer (those people have job titles, but I can't be bothered to look it up) still probably likes chicken nuggets and jell-o salad from time to time, we can appreciate a truely bad flick of the chick variety. Lucky You wasn't bad in the, "so bad it's good" way, though...it was just bad. Really bad. Drew Barrymore was cute, but also her wardrobe was often brought to you by The Nineties. And, while I know my feelings on Eric Bana are so difficult to decipher, I just do not get why people find him interesting, compelling, or talented. (Dear Cor: I know I haven't seen Munich. BUT I HAVE SEEN Troy, The Hulk, and Lucky You. THREE STRIKES!) Also the writing wasn't great. Also I think they cut out all the scenes where relationships were built believably. Also I do not understand poker well enough to get it as a detailed metaphoric structure. Also, I was too busy whining about how I didn't like the movie to enjoy the good parts, I am betting.

Finally, and non-relatedly, my need to be A Real Grown Up Who Is Older And More Mature Than High School Students during the day has led me to drastic, drastic measures in my off time. Today, I wrote out this phrase: "kute boiz." Yes, Diary, it was in irony - but "kute"?! That's...that's not even actual teen slang. That's just dumb.

We keep visiting these technical colleges

2008-08-29T10:20:00.000-04:00

...and I keep thinking to myself, "HEY SELF! YOU COULD TOTALLY DO A COMPUTER-BASED JOB IT WOULD BE RAD YOU WOULD BE THE RADDEST WEB-DESIGNER TO EVER WEB DESIGN." (My inner self, you may note, is prone to shouting.)

I've been trying to type up notes from our college visits and format them with pictures so we can make nice little hand-outs for our students since about 8:30am.

Life lesson: I HATE FORMATTING SO MUCH IT MAKES MY EYES BLEED.

Perhaps I should reconsider my job future job-o-awesome in web design. It was a nice pipe-dream while it lasted. By "while it lasted" I think I mean "since Tuesday."

A whole new world

2008-08-28T19:35:00.000-04:00

Truth about blogging: the more days you go without blogging, the harder the blogging becomes.

Truth about life: the more you put ANYTHING off, the harder it becomes…unless we’re talking, like, eating a fruit. In the case of fruit-eating, the fruit might become SOFTER, due to rotting and nefarious invasion by THE REALLY ANNOYING FRUIT FLIES THAT LIVE IN MY KITCHEN SOMETIMES. I guess that still makes “eating the fruit” harder, because now it is the picture of gross and disgusting things, but the fruit itself has, in fact, softened. MY ANALOGY IS PRICELESS AND WORKABLE.

Other truth about blogging: "blogging" is a stupid word and I feel sort of dirty whenever I write it. I do. Dirty. Drrrrrty, Xtina style, even. That reference will never get old.

Despite the fact that the students don't arrive until Tuesday, this past week has been an exercise in things that are harder than they seem like they'll be. I can only imagine how hard our job, which we already anticipate rating fairly high on the difficulty scale, will prove to be.

Examples of things with unexpected difficulty levels:

Visiting Colleges: For the last week or so, Mary and I have been spending our days traipsing around the Roanoke Valley area visiting local colleges and universities. Our mission - introduce ourselves and make solid contacts, tell schools what we're all about, learn what schools are all about. Learn where to send our students, and how we can get our students into these institutions. This is difficult and exhausting for several reasons. Firstly, this requires Being On All The Time for lots of hours, with travel time in between. Also, despite it seeming like an organic relationship to form, the relationship we're aiming for is actually a weird one. It's hard to not seem like we're some how either in an adversarial relationship or making a business deal. Lastly, absorbing facts and figures, along with "soft factors" quickly, efficiently, and while also trying to think of relevant questions to ask just becomes exhausting sooner than anticipated. By "sooner than anticipated" I mean "within moments." Dear College Guides: HOW I ENVY YOUR SUPPORT NETWORK.
Telling People What Our Job Is: Under this category, really, fall several things. Thing one: convincing people that we do, in fact, work at their school. Thing two: convincing people that we are full-time employees, not interns. Thing three: convincing people that we do, indeed, have a niche distinct from (or, rather, taking over one of the burdens of) a normal guidance counselor. Thing four: convincing people that we work for Roanoke City, not any college. No, no, we graduated from UVa, but we're not with UVa. No...no, see, we're working for Roanoke City so that means we really report to the Central Administration office - but we're on-site to work directly with the students. Um, actually, we're not so much interns...
Painting cinderblock walls: Our office/hole of despair and no return at one of the high schools we're working with, William Fleming, is a little dreary. Basically, Fleming is slated to be torn down in a year, and they've already started construction on the New, Shiny, Fancy School, so the Old Not Shiny School is being allowed to fall into even greater disrepair than might otherwise be the case. Our office is a rectangle with no windows and cinderblock walls and water leaking through the roof and the smell of mold and despair. Mary, being industrious, suggested that we paint the room (an action we got permission from the principal to undertake). Now, if you know Mary, you know "Mary blue" and you also know that the girl is the most understanding, amazing, loving, caring person you'll ever meet - but she's a stickler when it comes to room colors. Let's...let's just say that our room is now bright turquoise with some darker turquoise accent walls. Really, we had brightening, calming ideas in mind. Instead, managed to decorate our room MERMAID. Fo' serious. Also, painting cinderblock is HATEFUL AND DIFFICULT. We're planning on painting inspriational quotations on top of the darker green accent walls, in an effort to cover up the fact that it is impossible to get an even coat of that darn stuff. We, darlings, are obviously professionals. We're also going to sponge some of the darker turquoise over the lighter, in an effort to counteract the feeling of a 90s TV special.

As with most clouds, our painting not-exactly-debauchal has a few silverlinings. First of all - pretty much anything is better than drab cinder block, and once we stalk enough sales at Wal-Mart, we are confident we can get a $5 floor lamp or two into that room, too and we'll be in business. Also, as far as the people at Fleming are concerned, we're spunky. We're those girls with ideals too big for our britches who just came in an PAINTED THE WALLS, gosh darnit. We've also now begun the valauable process of making friends with the maitence crew. I think they think we're crazy, but in the cute way. If there's one thing that seems like a useful life-skill, it's most certainly making friends with the maitence crew - good job, us.

In short: this whole dealy has a few speed-bumps, but we do not intend to become deterred. We are strong. We are UVa women. We don't take no for an answer! We, yes we are the kind of women who can make mermaid walls work for us. Look out, students - we're getting ready to infuse you with idealism and energy.

Ready or not, difficult and exhausting tasks - we conquored hateful cinderblock walls already, we can take anything else down in our path too.

They gave us nametags and everything

2008-08-21T01:24:00.000-04:00

OH EM GEE NEW JOBZZZZZ.

Warning: this post contains lots of information about my new job, but very little of it is snarky or humorous! There are almost no exclamation marks after the third paragraph! Read warily and forewarned-ly!

It’s official – we are working in the school system. How do I know? There is a small gift bag sitting on my desk right now. Said small gift bag is decorated with pictures of pencils, rulers, stars, and apples and says “Teachers RULE” and inside has a bunch of small, symbolic, inspirational things.

I imagine my writing voice sounds like it’s dripping with “so over it” style sarcasm. It is. But, if you know me, you know this is all a front. I love “teachers RULE” and symbolic inspirational things and power points with high-fiving stick figures. I love “move around the room” activities and learning about the power of small groups. I have, in short, loved the past two days of new teacher orientation.

Simple - and perhaps hyperbolic - love aside, these past two days were the beginning of Actually Having A Job In The Real World. Roanoke City requires all new teachers (new to teaching and new to the school system) attend the New Teacher Orientation in order to be…oriented. After only two days, I feel that we’ve been given an interesting and clear look at the administrative attitude within Roanoke City: energized, focused, and in crisis mode.

Day one consisted, in large part, of training based on and around Ruby Payne’s A Framework for Understanding Poverty – basically “class diversity” training. Now, this is interesting for several reasons. First and foremost, it drives home the attitude that the Roanoke City school system is an “urban” system, versus a suburban or rural system, which faces issues of class differentiation and poverty in a very urban sense of the terms. I just spent the last chunk of my life googling Payne reviews and while I think that there may be some deeply flawed assumptions her theory asks the educator to accept in a large Cultural Studies sense, I actually think the practical aspects of the theory seem sound. (Interestingly, a huge criticism of Payne's work, a work explicitly ON class, is that it is classist.) The basic rules that our training wanted to impart upon us seem to be these:

Do not assume that all students come from similar backgrounds - either to each other, or to you. Furthermore, do not assume that they come from a background in which the school paradigms are universal norms.
All effective teaching/counseling is based on effective relationships with students.
All effective relationships with students are based on mutual respect.

Respect is something a teacher must give in order to receive, but must also expect.

School systems are based on middle class norms and values. If a student does not arrive with middle class norms or values from the home, the educator should do the best to both understand and teach that there can be multiple "languages" or sets of rules for multiple different settings. (This is, understandably, the piece with which reviewers have the most difficulty.)

I think I'd like more time to really think about the Payne work before I make any concrete decisions in regards to my feelings. Regardless, though, I think explicitly stating and reinforcing the importance of both respect and relationships is a good strategy to employ during orientation lessons.

Our presentations today focused mostly around reinforcing reading ("Reading is Everyone's Responsibility") and understanding/dealing with mainstreamed learning disabled children in classrooms. Now, as the product of mainstreaming, I have some pretty strong feelings about LD students and mainstreaming - but those are probably for another day. All this training really reinforces one major point: you are the first and last line of defense.

Like I said: crisis mode. Roanoke City Schools is really trying to pull itself up by its bootstraps, and the tactic it appears to be employing is this: everyone needs to think they're fighting for the system's life.

Starting a new program within this sort of battle zone is certainly going to be an interesting experience - especially our kind of program. We're focusing, hopefully, on retention (keeping kids in high school because they have post-high school options) but also on elevating the system nationally (as we elevate our college stats) and providing for students AFTER they leave a system which identifies itself as in crisis. Ultimately, while I think we're going to be up against some unique challenges, I'm excited. I love the energy everyone from the Central Administration Office carries with her (or him). I love the loyalty you can feel for the superintendent. I love feeling like we're gearing up for war - because I think we're going to win.

We're also making friends with all manner of Sassy Young Teachers (SYTs) and the like. Hopefully we're going to host a SYT dinner party on Friday.

Tomorrow we start visiting colleges. Adventure!

Bad Guys: this post is for you!

2008-08-15T08:55:00.000-04:00

Attention Bad Guys who planned on kidnapping me, in order to make me participate in nefarious capers: I am about to “go on the record!"

Truth: I do not know if “on the record” is actually slang for anything!

Other truth: I’m about to get finger-printed for my job! Now, to the best of my knowledge, my finger prints will be in the system FOR EVER.

Hear that, Bad Guys? If you kidnap me, assuming you will use my DASHING GOOD LOOKS and YOUTHFUL NIEVATE to commit your crimes because there is NO WAY a girl this DASHINGLY GOOD LOOKING AND YOUTHFULLY NAIEVE could possibly have her prints in the system, thus, your scene will be clean – think again!

Finger prints, ID badges, and lots of official paper work: an auspicious beginning to the job, indeed!

In other news, Mary arrived yesterday afternoon with our third half, Corelyn, in tow. (Three halves work, I promise – our math is just a little TOO advanced for most.) My life is no longer craigslist-readingly boring! It’s amazing, really. I…I actually can’t think of a way to appropriately describe how astronomically my quality of life just rose – just take my word for it?

In third, and other OTHER news, Georgia (the puppers) went in yesterday to be spayed. And I hate my vet. And I get to pick her up today. And I feel like a HORRIBLE PERSON for sending her under the knife but – let’s be honest – it’s the better option. I hadn’t realized how intensely bonded to that dog I am, though. Not having her around for 24 hours, even with the arrival of Mary and Corelyn has been cause for intense distress, let me tell you.

Now - off to Official Administrative Business!

When they find me dead in a ditch

2008-08-13T23:52:00.000-04:00

...I want everyone to know, "Nick told me so."

My job does not start until August 19 (so close, yet so far) and, while many might see this as a "priceless opportunity" or "time to be wisely spent" I've chosen to see it as "proof that I flounder without structure." Yeah - go ahead, say I told you so Mr. Smuggysmug - you go enjoy your time alone, and I'll pine for my structure.

Weekend jaunts to the DC and Charlottesville areas, while hilarious, haven't quite been enough to keep me sane during the work week and a girl can go on but SO MANY hikes with her adorable dog before she gets tired of being sweaty all the time. So, after a lot of pacing, several hours of catching up on almost the entire dinosaur comics archive, and infinite youtube surfing I finally found myself sinking to the lowest level of entertainment. No, not pornography folks - I wrote a whole thesis on that junk, it's way better than this - I've become an avid reader of the cragislist personals.

I'm new to the personals business, so I don't think I've quite figured out how to decode them yet - but they provide a heck of a lot of entertainment. I might not know what "bmi" stands for - but I DO know that picture of you in a bathing suit has a 1997 date on it. I'm on to you, Mister! However, as all hilarity in my life, good-natured hilarity slowly leads to Very Bad Ideas.

Very Bad Idea associated with reading the cragislist personals: answering a craigslist personal.

Here is the personal ad in question:

" I know when to use two, too, to or 2... amazing, right? - 32 (Roanoke)

Yep, I know all about to and too, I'm fluent that way.

So anyway, I'm white, into film, well traveled, about 5,9 but sometimes my hair, which is thick and brown, gets a little wavy (70's style) and makes me taller! No kids, no ex wives or anything, and I don't smell weird.

I assume you are bored with eating out with your parents or that one friend that talks about her bf/husband non-stop. Maybe you are a student but want something more than just books to spend time with. Whatever, just be sane please... no more than two cats.

If you don't go out much, that's fine with me. I'm really easy to talk to and specialize in shy people, or at least they gravitate toward me for some reason... so maybe I've got a niche!"

Now - this person sounds adorable. His pick-up line is, in essence, "I can properly manipulate homonyms!" And he says he doesn't smell weird! And...and he acknowledges the existence of cat ladies! How cute! How appropriately adorable and witty! How perfect a match!

The women in my life, namely my mother, best buds, and other consulted female friends, all feel that contacting this dude would be a good idea. His age, we all feel, should not stop OUR POSSIBLE LOVE (or friendship). However, my loving and caring care-taker, Nick feels differently. Emphatically differently. He echoed the fears I will now outline:

- Dude might ax-murder me. Sure, we'd meet in a public place and talk about adorable things, but then he could be an ax murder. And ax murder me later. It could happen. Sure, maybe I can' ACTUALLY live my life in fear of being serial-killed (killed! multiple times! in similar ways!) but...I feel personal ads have an extra high "ax murder fear" attached to them.

- Answering personal ads is creepy. Maybe I've got latent ax-murdering tendencies which will never be realized unless I start doing creepy things like answering craigslist personal ads.

- Dude could be creepy in non-ax murdering ways. And then we live in the same, not exactly large, area. And that could be unfortunate for all sorts of reasons.

- Answering a personal ad makes me feel like I'm very desperate. I don't even really WANT to be dating someone right now - it's not like I'm dying for Male Relationships such that I've resorted to personal ads. I DO want friends, but...do I want the personal ads kind?

OH INTERNAL TURMOIL, WILL YOU EVER RESOLVE YOURSELF?

Certainly not - then what would there to be for me to have all kinds of drama over?

The time has come, the Walrus Said...

2008-08-13T22:19:00.000-04:00

... to superfluously drop quotations into blog posts.

The time has also come (with or without the Walrus' explicit prediction) to face the fact that I have officially Graduated From College and, as such, am expected to Face The Real World. This prospect is a frightening one, one which reeks of "abandoning the bubble," "facing up," and "needing to become a neat and clean person." A few months ago, I could assure myself that things were going to be alright because I, in my infinite wisdom (dumb luck) had secured Real Life Employment in this time of economic depression. However, by this point, so have many (thankfully, most) of my peers. My false sense of potential security has left me, and doubts about my position are creeping in.

Daily, I get e-mails about people's blogs from the wilds of Africa, the heat of Latin America, the hilariously-accented British Isles, and sassy New York. People are flocking to big cities, far away states, and exotic foreign countries. I, on the other hand, am working in Roanoke, Virginia. Excited as I am about my job, I am beginning to worry I signed on for a bum deal here.

Out of these creeping fears was born the idea for this blog. Sure, it's easy to blog about your WACKY ADVENTURES when those adventures are taking place in, say, Malawi, but what about when they're happening in Little 'Ole Roanoke? I'm positive that, around every turn, hilarity is just waiting to ensue - so why not document it? Take that, people who live in intrinsically exciting places - I'm challenging you to an Interesting Things blog war.

Thus, the purpose of this blog is as follows:

- Chronicle the Trials and Tribulations of setting up a new position within the Roanoke City School System (more details to follow).

- Make sure I seize the note-worthy moments in my life by upping the ante from just "note-worthy" to "blog worthy."

- Feed my inflated sense of self worth.

- Keep writing, even though college is over.

To this end I hope to post witty anecdotes, hilarious photographs, and un-whiny rants about the world around me. That third thing probably won't happen - they'll almost certainly be whiny, but you can skip over those.

For those of you who don't know how we got to Roanoke in the first place, let me briefly outline what the next 1-3 years of my life are slated to hold. My college roommate/best friend, Mary, and I signed contracts with the Roanoke City School System to be, officially, "College Counselor Liaisons." In short this means we'll be doing several things:

- Advising kids who know they want to go to college on how to write essays, getting good letters of recommendation, choosing good schools, etc.

- Helping kids who didn't really think college was an option for them, but who want to go to college, figure out what their options are.

- Helping kids of all descriptions find money for college.

- Finding kids who haven't been traditionally "tracked" for college (placed in the advanced classes, etc) but look like they could go and encouraging them to make college-minded choices/consider college as an option, etc.

- Various and sundry tasks I'm sure we'll discover along the way.

I'm excited about the program for a number of reasons. First of all, we essentially get to create this position within the Roanoke City School System which, while also terrifying, is incredibly exciting. Trail blazing, 2themax! Secondly, I feel that this is the sort of position in which we're REALLY going to be helping people, not just ourselves. As much as this will be a learning experience, I think we're going to actually get to make demonstrable changes in people's lives. Thirdly, this is one of the few jobs I looked at in which it truly behooves us to be right out of college. We're full of ideals and vigor...and we can also speak from experience. Lastly, it was about time I faced my Roanoke demons. I've spent far too much time and energy over the past few years hating on a place which actually has a lot going for it - and it's time to give credit where credit is due. I was offered the opportunity to do the exact kind of position I was looking seriously into, in a town I haven't given a fair chance, while allowing my relationship with my parents to grow and mature (via living in my home town but not at home). Sure, it's not Portland, but it's not a bad gig either.

So that's that - what I'm doing in life, what I'm doing online, and what I hope to get out of both. Hopefully this will be the kind of journey we're both glad we signed on for.

Let the shenanigans begin.