Dialogue with my inner 5-year-old

5 Year Old Me: I want that.

Me: I'm sorry, there's no way that's gonna work out.

5YOM: Really?

Me: Really. Sorry.

5YOM: Really Really?

Me: Really.

5YOM: What if I tried really hard and gave up this and did that?

Me: Nope. No way means no way.

5YOM: Oh. What if I waited? Then would it happen?

Me: I'm sorry, but that's never gonna happen.

5YOM: Never?

Me: Never ever.

5YOM: What if I waited a month? Then would it happen?

Me: sigh. No. It's never gonna happen.

5YOM: Never ever?

Me: Never.

5YOM: What if I waited a whole year? Would it be alright then?

Me: No. I'm sorry but never means that no matter how long you wait or how hard you try, the answer is still going to be no, no matter how many times you ask.

5YOM: oh.

Five minutes or five days pass.

5YOM: I want that.

Miscellaneous thoughts

Yes, I do love grocery shopping at two or three in the morning. The aisles are empty, people whistle along to the music, and sometimes we late-night shoppers smile at each other in sympathy. Chances are, if I'm grocery shopping that late, it means I've got everything else I had to do done for the day, so whether this grocery trip takes ten minutes or twenty won't make that much difference, so why not sift through the bargain bins?

Nat King Cole did a multi-lingual version of L-O-V-E. His Japanese is atrocious. Seriously sickening.

I'm wondering what country I should teach in next year. Any suggestions? And yes, the US is still an option.

I had an attitude adjustment this weekend. Thank heaven, I sure needed it. You know something? I like my life. Take that world. I intend to live it up and down and backwards and sideways and all over. I'm done sitting and watching.

I'm going to start chasing dreams again. Because I can, and because I want to.

A toast

I just skipped grading papers to read The Gospel According to Larry in one sitting. I don't regret it at all. That's my advice. Smile. Drink in rain and tears because each drop is a private moment between you and God. Smile because you can.

Hurrah for snow!

I like living where I do. I don't mind the twenty minute commute to work that much, and I like being able to go to the grocery store or the coffee shop without running into my students. But today, as I watched the glorious snow fall in soft but determined globs all around me and turn brown as it hit the slush filled freeway where cars moved slowly forward like cows wading through mud, I wished I lived closer to work. It took me forty minutes to get there, and I barely made it by contract time. Looks like I'll be leaving earlier tomorrow.

But still, hurrah for snow! Maceys is collecting a letters to Santa, and for each one that it receives it will donate $1 to the Make a Wish Foundation. Because my students have been reading letters, and because we've writing letters to the editor today, this morning's warm-up activity is writing letters to Santa while listening to Christmas music and watching the snow drift past the window of our classroom.

Hurrah for snow!

My favorite literary device

"Caution: Slow, Ironic Twists Ahead" was the sign on my friend's door growing up.

"Isn't ironic, dontcha think?"

"Life is funny; life's a mess. Sometimes a curse sometimes a blesssing."

"Roll the bones. The night has a thousand saxophones so get out there and rock and roll the bones!"

I think my love for irony is a defense mechanism I have developed so that I can laugh at my life.

As I told my students the other day, "Real life can be so much weirder than fiction."

If someone were to write a book about my weekend, they would probably be criticized for making things "too coincidental," for having irony almost too perfect to believable. It has to be the trick of the filmaker to make them movie better. But no. Ladies and gentlemen, this exercise in irony is my life.

Transportation Woes

Last Monday:

A split hose caused an incontinece problem for my car, Gigi the Jeta, and she "peed her pants" all over the parking lot. I limped her to the mechanics and was able to get it fixed the next day, for the easy price of $115.

Friday night:

Someone steals Gigi the Bike.

This Morning:

Another door has broken on Gigi the car. It wasn't even cold this time. Now I have two doors that don't open from the outside, one door that will break anyday, and a driver's door that doesn't open at all. Soon I'll be crawling in and out of windows. I'll have to stay at school until everyone leaves in order to not to damage my dignity.

But apparently I have it easy. My mom told me this story:

We had a car like that just before (and after) Aaron was born. After strapping Isaac in through the window, I climbed in myself, 9 months along. I tried to go out when noone was around!

wow. :)

Just now I returned home a friend's house to notice that there were more bikes than usual chained to the stairs outside my apartment. Absentmindedly I studied the little crowd of bikes while I fumbled for my keys. Then I realized that Gigi the Bike was not in that crowd. Gigi the bike has been in that crowd since May. I quickly checked around, thinking that somehow my bike had been in someone's way and so they had magically unlocked it and moved it. Then I noticed that there was one more lock dangling from the staircase than there were bikes. My lock. Cut. My bike. Gone.

Worth calling the cops at 2:30 in the morning? Probably not. Gigi the Bike is gone I think. Yes, I'm angry. Mine wasn't even the nicest bike there, just the most convenient. Wouldn't it have been easier to go steal someone's bike on campus where they have less chance of being seen. Oh well, poor Gigi won't get them much drug money, or help them pay for their new entertainment center or college. She wasn't that nice. But she was a lot nice than any other bike I ever owned. Well. I guess I don't need to worry about the fact that her back brakes don't work anymore. It is now someone else's problem.