A Fly on the Wall...

Conversation I overheard last week:

"...I haven't learned anything in college. I think college is a joke. If I could make a decent wage at my job as a bank teller I'd just keep doing that and forget this [expletive.]"

As a professional working in higher education, I'd like to amend his statement.

"...I haven't learned anything in college because I don't read anything I'm assigned and I don't try. Even now--we're supposed to be working on textbook problems but I'm complaining about my bank teller coworkers and gossiping with you. I think college is a joke that everyone around me seems to get and enjoy but I stare blankly because I don't want to think too hard. If I could make a decent wage at my job as a bank teller I'd just keep doing that and forget this [expletive] and make room in classes for people who actually care about their future and care enough to make the class interesting. Instead, I come to class unprepared and make my classmates reteach me everything and then copy their work.

Alice

Another commencement exercise has come and gone and 380-ish young women went off into the world with no idea how good they had it for four years. They THINK they know and appreciate their time in the bubble...but they don't. They don't know yet what a safe place they were in. How many worries were taken care of for them. How many people were looking out for them.

When they realize that not everyone wants them to succeed, that friends are harder to make when you don't share bathrooms and classes and meals and EVERYTHING, and that people will not always give them second chances...they will look back with a longing so strong that their chest will hurt. They will cry for the memories they made. They will physically ache to see their friends again. They will search their apartments and houses for something without really knowing what exactly they're looking for. But I know what they're looking for because I looked for it a long time. They're looking for the secret trap door that will send them down the rabbit hole and back to Day One, when everything was ahead of them. When decisions were easy and time was infinite.

I hope the graduates of 2011 find their next Wonderland.

Har Har Pickle Food Factory

I need to get in the business of naming things. The Har Har Pickle Food Factory is genius.

I Need a Robot

This week is one of those weeks where I wish I had a robot. There are dozens of reasons to wish for a robot:

• You need to go back in time to murder someone who invents something that destroys humanity and you're just too busy to do it yourself.

That's about the only reason I can think or right now besides the reason that *I* need a robot. I need a robot to clean my house. And mow my yard. The house needs to sparkle by Thursday morning. I need that cartoon robot who wears a maid's outfit and sasses back. No. Actually, 86 the sass. I'm the boss of my cartoon robot and I'm not afraid to show it the back of my hand.

Kitty Fight!

So I tried to log on earlier because I had something hilarious to tell you. But the stupid Blogger was unavailable. So now you'll never know the most hilarious story I never got to tell. You can send your angry hate mail to Blogger Owner, c/o Sometimes We Choose Not to Work Blog.

I tried to have a play date last night with Roni and George Clooney's cats. Take a guess at how well that went?? It was like mixing oil and water. Snookie and Angelina. Homer and Selma. The Iron Sheik and Hulk Hogan.

Everyone survived and the only one with a war wound is George.

You Know Your Cat is Awesome When...

even the plumber tells you your cat is a character and pretty cool.

My bathtub was draining slowly so I called the plumbers. They're nice enough to give me a 20 minute heads up so I don't have to be away from work for long. The two guys were so nice and even laughed as we walked up the stairs and Roni stared them down, then dashed around them to race into the living room.

Roni then raced upstairs and into the bathroom, to check things out and make sure everything was on the up and up. I picked her up and walked downstairs and as soon as we got downstairs she wiggled and strained to be let down. And then ran right back upstairs. I sat in the sun room and listened to the big tattooed plumber coo at her. He was saying "HI! Hi there!" in this high pitched voice.

When they left Roni was sitting on top of the coffetable/ottoman. He leaned down to say goodbye to her (how often do you see that??) and she reached up with one paw and touched his face. Like she was giving him a high-paw. To his face.

Have a good weekend everyone! High Paw!

Play or Get Played

Omar Little. The scariest drug thief I would LOVE to have dinner with.

George Clooney and I have been watching the HBO series The Wire, via Netflix for a couple of months now. We're wrapping up the 5th and final season. It's probably the best tv drama I've ever seen (I can't say "program" because that would force me to decide between The Wire and The Office.) I recommend it whole-heartedly--it can be tough to watch but you'll be hooked. Like one of the drug fiends on the show.

It's gotten into my (and George's) head so much that in almost every conversation with George there is a Wire reference. I've begun talking like the folks on The Wire (NOT a good thing, since every other word on the show is an F bomb) and all things that happen to me now are mentally checked against the plot in the show.

Examples:

• We see a homeless person on the street and automatically refer to him as "Bubbles."


• Getting seconds for dinner is not "getting seconds." It's a "re-up."


• Someone dying is not "dying." It's "they got got."


• George plans to give the 5 month-old son of our mutual friends a bottle of Jameson whiskey, because he has the same name of the lovable yet unfaithful, lying, drunk cop on the show. Jimmyyyyyyyy!


• The democratic nominee for mayor of South Bend reminds me of Tommy Carcetti, promising a "new day" in Baltimore. Let's hope Pete can clean up South Bend better than Carcetti cleaned up Baltimore.


• A hat is not a hat. It's a "crown." And the drug dealing code says that all "play" suspends on Sunday.


• I don't trust public school, politicians, unions, the police, the newspaper, or drug dealers anymore.

Yogi

I think a lot. A LOT. I can analyze something to death. I will mull it over and over and frontwards and backwards until I annoy everyone around me. I make lots of mental lists that I promptly forget. I can think of a thousand things that need to get done or should get done. And at least a dozen things that I DON'T do that I wish I did because I think I'd be a better person.

I bring this up because I took a yoga class last week. And I enjoyed it. I was surprised. I took a yoga class a few years ago at a local college and thought ti was just ok. It was a great ab workout but otherwise, I did not experience the relaxation I think I was supposed to. My brain just wouldn't shut off! I was thinking about my posture and if I looked stupid, I was thinking about the other people in the class with me, I was thinking about grocery shopping and how much more I'd be sweating and working out if I was out running or at the gym.

But last week I was able to really focus on my breathing and stretching. I was able to shut my brain off for awhile. I still worried that my t-shirt was riding up and that I wasn't holding my arms the exact right way. But I didn't think once about the things I COULD be doing in that hour. Or worry about work that I didn't get finished. Or make lists of cleaning projects. I think I might be a convert.

Oh, and the guy next to me tooted. :) So I wasn't the MOST embarrassed person there!