TMIF?

I appeared to have signed myself up for Applied Calculus, rather than the painless Math For Poets class I was aiming at. The sane person, knowing she damn near failed every math class she ever took and only passed Physics by copying all the equations from the hapless Jason Fong every day at lunch, would take this opportunity to drop the class. Me? I bought the book.

There’s a blank white card in there somewhere, and I think it goes like this:

MATH FOR POETS IS FULL.

THE GEEKS IN APPLIED CALCULUS EAT YOUR LIVING BRAIN.

MINUS 60 POINTS FROM YOUR G.P.A. AND 60 DOLLARS FROM YOUR BANK ACCOUNT.

SUCKA.

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Who’s the cutest?

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You’s the cutest!

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Swimming in Soup, Hair Sticky

Found in my e-mail archive, from a letter to KTV:

It's raining. It gives me a warm feeling inside. I look out the window into the parking lot and think to myself, "It's raining. God is washing my car."

It just started to hail. I looked out my window again. "God is throwing rocks at my car," I thought. "God hates me."

I got a job. You’ll all be relieved to hear it, I know. In the staff meeting this morning, Boss looked at me kindly and said “I’m SO glad you found a job that’s right for you!”

“Well,” I said. “It’s less money. And it’s mindless idiotic work. So yeah, I guess I found my level.”

“I just wish we could keep you,” said Boss.

“You can!” I said, brightening. “Don’t you remember? I applied for this job! Remember, you had my resume, and you said we would talk about it?”

“Mm,” said Boss.

“And then we never did talk about it though,” I said, darkening. “You just handed me a stack of resumes to schedule for interviews and mine wasn’t in it.”

“Ah,” said Boss.

“You did interview my best friend though,” I said.

“Urm,” said Boss, and that was the end of it. In my fantasy staff meeting, where I spoke my mind.

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We’d Make Great Pets

Okay, but my replacement receptionist has abnormally straight teeth. Her top teeth just go straight across in a perfectly-engineered line, like a little kid’s drawing where teeth are just gridwork. It was this perfect line of teeth flashing at me as she talked which helped me to understand that she is an alien.

I will behave accordingly from here on out.

Don’t you worry.

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Three Days to Lad

There were little white flecks in my coffee. The grad student in the office peered into my cup in a myopic kind of way and said “That’s disgusting. I can’t believe you would actually put that in your mouth and swallow it.”

“Oh,” I said calmly, “I’ll swallow anything.”

Pause.

Big smile.

The song I’m singing is the Two Weeks Left song. Then I go to another job. Do you know of one? I need it.

In State and Main, there’s a heart-stopping car crash. Afterwards, one of the ubiquitous Baldwins crawls out of the car, stands looking around, then very calmly says “So that happened!” DING! Check that off my list. It is a brilliant line, something totally believable, and I wish I’d written it.

Something else I wish I’d written: Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. I hate the plug – who reads something on the strength of recommendation? – but here, I plug. *plug*patchett*plug*. Do it, Rockapella.

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And no birds sing

ME: It’s wrong, it’s wrong to go to war, it’s wrong.

DAD: Well what choice do we have, then? I just don’t see another option.

ME: Yeah, but isn’t that what YOUR parents said when you were protesting the ‘Nam?

DAD: That was totally different, they agreed with us.

ME: Grandad, what’d you think of the ‘Nam?

GRANDAD: Well I think we had to go, to stop communism.

DAD: *blink.* …Really?

GRANDAD: Yep.

ME: Zing!

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What Michele Found

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We’re on the web!

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Warning: Gooey Lad Talk Herein

It’s settled. Freshman Composition, Creative Writing, and either Women in Government or Statistics.

“Oh,” said Michele knowledgeably, or was it Erica? “You’re taking graph graph monkey graph.”

“No,” I said, confused but firm. “I am taking statistics.”

“Jason took statistics,” said Michele. “Apparently one of the questions on the test was ‘Which of these things does not belong?’ And it was pictures: A graph, a graph, a monkey, a graph.”

“Hm,” I said.

“He circled the second graph.”

We all talked to the lad last night. He’s on the same coast now – it won’t be long. It’s making me giddy, like he’s in the next room and if I yell he’ll hear me. It’s not so far, really. He and I have done that drive, often enough. If I really needed to, I could whisk up to Seattle and there he’d be.

Apologies to Jason, Michele, Erica and Jacob, all of whom deserve to tell the graph monkey story much more than I.

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WOO-HOO!!!

ALL HAIL THE LAD!

THE LAD IS RAD!

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So bored I might die from it.

I don’t know if this is funny. I do know I’m just bored enough to post twice today. Anyway, yesterday Nuala and Michele and I were discussing how Nuala’s cousin, Jenn, who has a show on Canadian MTV, is considered cool and glamorous by the rest of her family. Next after her on the glamour train comes Nuala’s sister, Adrienne (no website alas), who’s living in NY hobnobbing with movie stars. Probably. So here is a conversation you would get at a typical reunion:

NUALA: “Yeah so I’m dating this guy Sumit…”

GRANDMA: “Jenn, was that the NAKED CHEF you interviewed last week?”

JENN: “Yep! In’t he dreamy?”

NUALA: “He’s an Indian. From India, like. Not Irish or Catholic.”

GRANDMA: “Oh my lord! I would like to lay that naked chef down and beat his batter!”

NUALA: “A heathen, you might say.”

JENN: “I know! I’d like to curry HIS chicken!”

NUALA: “In fact, we’ve had premarital sex numerous times.”

GRANDMA: “Oh, Adrienne’s here! Tell me, dear, how is the glamorous New York scene?”

NUALA: “Sigh.”

Later…

GRANDMA: “I find the naked chef strangely attractive.”

JENN: “He’s a dish all right.”

GRANDMA: “He IS a dish.”

JENN: “Yep.”

GRANDMA (To herself): “A delicious dish.”

JENN: “Grandma?”

GRANDMA (To herself): “A delicious dish to have with some pie.”

JENN: “Hello?”

GRANDMA: “Mmmm.”

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