Chemistry...

When I was home for my best friend's wedding, I found myself unwinding from the crazy weekend late on a Sunday night. I was watching one of the best television shows EVER, The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search, with my youngest sister and her good friend. We were flipping through the channels during the commercials and stumbled upon the other best television show EVER, Talk Sex with Sue Johanson on Oxygen. My youngest sister had never seen it and I thought that as her older sister it was necessary to introduce her to it (now that she's 21, I figure it's okay). While I think the show is great in many ways, there is something particularly disturbing about listening to a woman who resembles my grandmother talking about cock rings, and apparently the episode haunted my sister's mind as I received this email a few days later...

"Today I started my chemistry class. I love the professor; he is absolutely hilarious. I think that his class is going to be a lot of fun. But really, what I wanted to share with you was that we checked into the lab today. We got our lockers, and we had to do an inventory of the items before we could leave to make sure that we had everything we needed. I was going down the list, and you know, it was all the normal stuff, "250 ml beaker, watch glass, thermometer, graduated pipet..." and then I turn the page over and see "one large cock ring." Well, I nearly lost it... upon closer inspection, it actually said "on large cork ring," but I thought of you and of Talk Sex with Grandma aka Sue Johanson, and I wanted you to know.

Just one of the many ways that you have made my life more amusing..."

Chemistry will never look the same to me.

Best email EVER!

So today I got an email from a friend who just got back from London. Here's my reply, though I really should be ashamed to post this:

My favorite word is juxtaposition. I think you had an interesting juxtaposition in your last email that is worth highlighting..."it's a hard life I lead. I wish I were back in London." Are you kidding me? Here's how that would have read if I had written it. "It's a hard life I lead. I wish I were back in bed." But then there wouldn't be any juxtaposition, and, hence, no joy.

I'm a nerd...but you knew that already.

What I Hate

Girls who...

1. are afraid of everything around them.
2. can't be satisfied with where they are...EVER.
3. parade into a bar only to turn around and walk right back out.
4. parade in and out of five bars only to walk right back out of each one....into the cold weather.
5. ask the bartender if he'll pour shots for you and your friends on the house before you ever buy a drink from him.
6. insist on finding a guy that you met at the beginning of the night even though you don't have his number or know which bar he went to when he left yours.
7. ask you what you want to do and then do exactly the opposite.
8. ask a guy to take a picture of both of you DURING a play at an NFL game.
9. yell, "c'mon guys...score a touchdown or something" at the NFL team (cause I think they know what the objective is.)

It was a good weekend. Can you tell?

Luck be an old lady

So the other day at the gym, I was doing my normal weight routine. Nothing new, nothing fancy. Suddenly, in the middle of my thirty-third squat, I felt a sharp cramping pain in the upper middle of my back. It was sudden and then, as quickly as it came, it went away. I, of course, ignored the momentary pain and kept going. Then yesterday when I wanted to get out of bed, I could hardly move. My back hurt so bad that my neck was stiff and consequently, my head was throbbing. While I was gingerly trying to get dressed, I went to carry the laundry basket across the room and was paralyzed by the pain in my back. Really, paralyzed. I couldn't move and it almost felt like I couldn't breathe. (Any doctors out there who want to provide a diagnosis?) I was informed by a co-worker that I probably threw my back out. When I told my students that I hurt my back, the first comment was, "But you're not even that old." Well, apparently I am because I'm shuffling around now since it hurts to walk.

Oh, and did I mention that I was preparing for a trip to the hospital on Saturday because I was convinced that I was having a heartattack. Seriously. I was giving my sister the details of when the pain started and what it felt like so that when she had to rush me to the hospital, she could give the doctors all the pertinent information. One has to worry about these things as they begin to advance in age.

And, if you're laughing at me for being a hypochondriac, remember that they say that laughter is the best medicine. So really my diseases are saving your life. Or something like that.

Hey...how you doin'?

What do you do when you're at a concert, trying to enjoy the show, but feeling a creepy sixty year old man encroaching upon your space? Well, my solution this past Saturday night was to ask a younger, cuter guy to stand behind me to shield me from the creepy old man. But, then what do you do when that younger, cuter guy is so drunk that every three minutes he breathes into your ear the words, "how you doin'?" I solved that problem first by reminding him that he had already asked me that question, then when that didn't work, I just smiled so that he would still serve as a barrier between me and the creepy guy.

But, what do you do when the guy who's your shield tells you that his friend wants you? I responded by asking what grade we were in and why his friend wasn't talking to me of his own accord. What do you do, then, when the guy gets mad at you for talking to the friend with whom he was trying to set you up? I gave up at that point. There's no way to solve that problem. So, I smiled at the first guy and said "how you doin'?"

My team went to the champion chips...

Yes, that's right. Yet another humorous entry in a student's college essay. Yes, COLLEGE essay. I'm just not even sure that there's anything else to say about that. I mean where you do you go from there? Can't top that. Unless maybe you were to offer me a champion chip cookie.

What's my job anyway?

So today I made a parent cry. Yes, that's right...C-R-Y. And what's worse is that it was in front of an office full of people. I can honestly say that was a new experience for me. Then, after the tears started pouring down her perfectly painted cheeks, she started pouring out all of her frustrations about her child and her work. I'm trained to work with kids. I've even practiced counseling some of my friends (sometimes with great success and sometimes with disasterous consequences). But, NEVER, and I repeat NEVER, have I had to be the shoulder for a crying parent...an adult. Yes, I may be twenty-five, but no, I do not consider myself an adult. Sometimes I feel like my problems are so petty that they are actually more like those of my fourteen year old students than of these forty year old parents. I'm not qualified to give real adult advice.

What am I supposed to say to the mother who wants sympathy from me about the difficulties of raising a child while being responsible for an entire department at her office? What am I supposed to say to the mother who is crying her eyes out because her only child is pulling away from her as he enters high school? What am I supposed to say to the mother who is trying to raise her child and maintain her career without the help of her child's father?

Well, I sat in my chair across from her, offered her a tissue, composed a thorough and thoughtful response in my head, opened my mouth and said, "have you talked to the counselors here? They might be able to help." Talk about passing the buck. See, there's more of the fourteen year old in me and less of the adult.

I think it's my job to grow up. Time to get back to work.

You know it's bedtime when...

...your sorority sisters start fighting Beowulf. The other night, I knew it was time to give up on the fight to finish my reading when members of my sorority miraculously appeared as characters in one of the oldest English texts. You know you have problems when your girlfriends decide to fight one of the greatest heroes in all of literature. You know you're not going to win the battle with sleep when the ridiculous moves headlong into the absurd. And, yes, I was in a sorority.

Spiritual Blunder

So today at school, I spent some time complaining to one of my more spiritual colleagues. I was complaining about these Tuesday morning assemblies where we pack all 1200 of our kids into the hot, hot, humid gym and expect them to know how to use a microphone to make their announcement audible and interesting for the student body, to most of whom their announcement does not apply. There's plenty to complain about. So at the end of my complaint, my colleague says, "Well, girl, you've just got to keep in mind that better days are coming." So, in all of my logical, non-spirtitual doubt I say, "and just when are those days going to come about because we have these assemblies all year." Well, you should have seen the look on her face when she had to explain to me that the "better days" weren't going to grace me with their presence until I'm dead. And then, they're only going to be better IF I get into heaven, and I'm just not sure that's going to happen at the spiritual rate that I'm going. God help me.

Back and Better Than Ever

So, the hermit days are over. I can finally show my face to the world again. I can take whatever crap the little brats throw at me this school year. Why? Because I got into Georgetown for a master's degree in English! There are few things that I take enough pride in to tell other people about them without hesitation (and even fewer that inspire the use of an exclamation point). This is one. I usually don't consider myself to be a supremely intelligent person, mostly because I recognize how much knowledge there is in the world that I don't have. When I told one of my friends that I got into Georgetown, his response was "well that's not a surprise. You're smart, don't be stupid, K." I think I've just found my motto for my graduate school experience. When I'm tired and I have to both grade kids papers and write my own and I'm not sure what I have to say about these literary works by these literary geniuses, I'm going to say to myself, "self, you're smart. Don't be stupid."

So, faithful readers (not that I expect faithfulness from you when I have denied you of my geniusness for months), come August, my postings, few and far between as they may be, will ooze with the knowledge that I will have acquired from my re-entry into academia. I will finally be around people who care again, and I'm sure most of you know what a wonderful feeling that will be. I'm going to Georgetown, baby!