if your offer still stands

There was a bee in the car yesteday. It landed on my foot. While I was on the freeway. Rough.

Exactly what kinds of incidents does the Incident Management Vehicle manage? If I spill my drink, can I call? If my computer crashes? I've fallen and I can't get up? I said something awkward? I'm hungry?

Also, the Courtesy Vehicle. What is that? Here's what I hope it is. I hope I can flag down the Courtesy Vehicle and the driver will teach me manners. Cause I think I missed a couple lessons. Like, how to properly eat a roll. And when to stop expressing opinions. And pizza with a fork? Really?

helter skelter

Remember those kids that would come back to the high school after they'd graduated? They'd visit the teachers and walk in the hallways and touch their old lockers as though they held sentimental value. I remember thinking "Get a life. Move on. Can't make friends at your new school?" I was sooooooo much better than them. But wait. I'm not. Tomorrow I'm returning to campus. I'm going to act like a student. I'll attend a student-run function and read an essay for a student-run journal. Should I wear camo? Something to help me fit in? I'm afraid that I'll get too excited. I might say to the other kids "Hey guys! Want to go to the library? We can study!" Or "Who's up for some creamery ice cream?!"  Or "Please let me come back here."  Meanwhile Stephen will have to drag me out of the room, saving what's left of my dignity, and reassuring everyone that the real world is awesome and that they should all graduate soon because really, life outside of school is just the best. And then I'll yell "Liar!" as the final trace of me vanishes out of the JFSB forever. (Room 4188, 7:00 PM, if you care to be a witness).

to remind you

Because the muppets still make me laugh. And cry.

dreamweaver

I usually eat fairly healthy. It's one part vanity (I prefer clothes to hang, not curve) and two parts neuroticism. Say what you will about the public school system: I may not have learned math or science, but man, if I didn't learn the importance of a healthy lifestyle. Year after year we reviewed the Food guide pyramid and exercise regulations, and by the time high school graduation rolled around, I was brainwashed and believed that if I didn't run thirty miles a week and eat seven servings of green veggies a day, I would contract type II diabetes, become morbidly obese and die at age 25. Not long ago Stephen watched my naw on a raw green pepper and asked "Do you have some sort of vitamin deficiency?" Only paranoia. So anyway, often to the puzzlement of coworkers, family and friends, I'll eat cucumbers and almonds and the white part of orange peels. This works for me. I feel good. But then comes Thursday. Thursday is rough. Thursday is the day I skip the morning run. The day I roll out of bed at the last possible minute. It's the day I walk into work late, drink too much diet coke to try and kill the headache until I give in and take excedrin. And it's the day I go to In-N-Out. Because a cheeseburger animal style with fries is just what I need.

don't punch girls and we don't punch a clock

I understand that mosquitoes need blood to survive. And with all the meat I eat, I deserve to be a victim somewhere in the food chain. So although I curse and cry and shake my fist at the heavens when bitten, I get that it's necessary.I always thought the miniature biters had some sort of understanding when it came to boundaries. If it's a muggy evening in July and I'm standing outside in shorts and a T-shirt, I'm not surprised when bitten. If I'm camping in deep woods without repellent, I'm downright asking for it. But when I'm in a buzzing metropolis, fully covered on a chilly September night and my derrier gets that familiar itch, a line has been crossed. Have you know shame, you blasted creatures? Do you not know what it's like to sit on an itch for nine hours? How am I supposed to take care of this? Scratching your arm in public, acceptable. Nose, foot, neck, acceptable. Bum, unaacceptable. It doesn't help that my skin has a freakish reaction to your nibbles. Stephen didn't believe me when I claimed mosquito allergy. Probably because I tell him that I think I have throat cancer, dramatically receding gums or polio at least once a day. But when he saw a small planet sized welt on my leg, he became a believer. Again, if it was on my arm, fine. Whatever. But it's not on my arm. I hope mosquitoes are cannibals and get mosquito bites.

i got two turn tables and a microphone

I bought red lipstick. Not because I'm the kind of girl who looks good wearing red lipstick, but because I want to be the kind of girl who looks good wearing red lipstick. Someone once told me, if I'm going to be wrong, be wrong loudly. And even though looking back I realize this is really horrible advice, it's still engrained in my subconscious, and still causes me to make rather noticable errors. The sales girl told me it looked awesome. Maybe I shouldn't have trusted someone making a living on commission or with eyelashes longer than my thumb. I'm not giving up. I'm hoping with enough feigned confidence I will at least become the kind of girl who thinks she looks good in red lipstick, true or not.

Not how I look.

zombie

Mean Girls taught me that making fun of other people won't get you anywhere. But... I saw a sticker on a car that said "Live to hunt, hunt to live". And that's fine. But it was written in Papyrus. Papyrus. If woodland creatures could type, they would type in Papyrus. And speaking of being hunted, (Mom stop reading) yesterday on my walk I saw a man holding some mettalic object. As I drew nearer to his lawn, I realized it was actually two metallic objects, a bow and an arrow. He stood still, aiming at what seemed to be too close to my head, and I ran. Adventures in P-town.