All I Want Is a Pair of Madras Bermuda Shorts

is that too much to ask?

for some reason, i have chosen plaid bermuda shorts as my distraction from submitting final grades and various other pressures currently in my life. last week i looked in gap and old navy with no luck. today, after finishing my morning's work, i rewarded myself with a trip to the mall.

but wait, was it the tennessee strip on saturday night? no. it was the governor's square mall. i have never before braved the intimidating doors of hollister and abercrombie and fitch, but i had to because they have plaid bermuda shorts. they also have dim lighting, blaring music, and teenagey fashion models with low IQs manning the various clothing stops. i felt really OLD.

i found a pair of shorts on sale at hollister and finally found the dressing room for "bettys" in the maze of palm trees and trendy furniture. the guy opened the door and said what sounded like, "how many?" but i couldn't make it out over the techno rave, so i said, "WHAT?" and he said, "HOW MANY?" and i said, "TWO!" and then i said, "hey, sonny, what color are these shorts anyway? IT'S SO FREAKIN' DARK IN HERE!"

the shorts fit, to which i snub my nose at the teenagey fashion models, but they were tapered in the thigh, to which i say, if i wanted to accentuate my thighs, i would get short shorts. isn't that the point of bermuda shorts, to cover up the thigh in a loose, beachy manner?

needless to say, i found my dream pair at american eagle (and they had the lights on) but they cost $45. my new obsession - waiting for them to go on sale.

It's Not Easy Getting B's

the last three days have been absolutely exhausting, physically, emotionally, mentally... typing even a sentence of my vic lit paper was like wringing out my brain, and it had very little to give. never have i struggled so much writing a paper, and in the end, it was half a page short and seven hours late. and for what? probably a B.

i said this in the beginning of the semester, i don't care if i get a B or two, and here it is, the end of the semester, and i'm probably looking at two. and i do care. just a little. not because i'm a grade freak. well, okay, i'm a little bit of a grade freak. but it's okay. i'm getting over it.

but if i had not done such extensive research, i would not know that victorians found a cure for the artificial anus, were obsessed with the uterus, and invented intricate belts to serve as anti-masturbation devices for both men and women. you can learn a lot scanning microfilm in dirac.

Am I Horrible?

i have no time or energy to blog on the topic at the current moment, but i'll provide a preview. i am certain i should not think this will ferrell video is funny. but i do.

the landlord

this graph is from my site meter. note the spike in the last few days.

have i been discovered? does the world finally appreciate my funny? did oprah link me up on her evil website?

none of the above. apparently, there are LOTS of google image searches for ugly babies. all the more reason to start the show.

Ugly Baby No More!

this week's theme, chosen by danielle: reality makeover shows.

hmmm. i don't really watch any. i've seen extreme home makeover and pimp my ride a few times. while waiting for channel 61 to appear on the tv guide channel to see if law and order is coming on, i occasionally get sucked into look alike. my parents are hooked on dr. 90210, which, although i've never seen it, i find slightly disturbing.

i'd like to propose my own idea for a reality makeover show. i'd call it ugly baby no more! parents of really ugly babies would be counseled in the first segment to admit that, indeed, their baby is ugly. they must confess that the obnoxious lacy hair bows, baseball caps, pastel smocks, and over-sized pacifiers were fruitless attempts to mask the obvious - baby is ugly. then, a computer artist would take a picture of ugly baby and digitally age it to confirm that indeed, baby will only get uglier as he/she grows older, causing him/her and parents more distress. once the evidence is irrefutable, the surgeon enters with a magic marker.

of course the surgery is dangerous - it is a baby. but parents must weigh this against the possibility that baby will be made fun of, never get married, and possibly end up on a more humiliating program like the swan. the camera will be delicate as it shows baby getting liposuction, nose job, hair plugs, and lip implants. then, while baby is recovering, parents are taken to gymboree to pick out a new wardrobe for soon-to-be-cute baby. puke stained onesies and faded glory overalls are thrown into an incinerator with glee and tears.

in the end, baby goes home bandaged, confused, and scarred for life, but he/she will be much better looking. i imagine a follow-up show. it could be big.

i am at all saints. i just overheard this conversation between two young men:

"knock, knock."

"who's there?"

"not dale earnhardt. (pause) you know, cause he's dead."

"uh-huh."

"did you you know dale earnhardt has a son?"

"yeah."

"what's better than being in the daytona 500?"

"what?"

"having a father."

"man. that's pretty mean."

The Ant Bully

our most excellent friend, will, chose this week's topic: bullying.

i am aware there is a movie called the ant bully, but i've not seen it, and this is not what my title refers to. friends, i am a bully magnet. from birth, i have been bullied by my sisters and then their friends. in school, mean people (like carolyn shinsky) could verbally assault me (by saying doctors are all greedy jerks and their daughters are rich spoiled brats) and not only would i not retaliate, i would make efforts to win the bully's favor. in high school, i was often the "best friend" of the moody, pushy girl who would turn on me in a moment's notice, accusing me of not calling her back, not saving her a seat at lunch, or whatever. i have learned to live with pain in my stomach over the stress and walking on eggshells so as to not provoke the wrath of bullies.

but what does a lonely, stepped-on young girl do with all her rage? i took it out on ants.

frequently while growing up, i would step in an anthill and have to run and jump in the pool (yes, i had a pool - i was a spoiled doctor's daughter) to get the swarming fire ants off of my feet. our backyard was like a minefield of dirt mounds filled with the biting pests. in the evenings before dinner, i often armed myself with a bag of doritos, a metal stake, and a can of raid and entered my backyard on a mission to seek and destroy the pure evil that awaited me - fire ants.

i used the stake to disrupt the mound. i then threw a few doritos on top of the mess, and the ants would gather and cling to them, sucking in all the processed cheese powder they could. i waited. i watched them carrying eggs, scurrying around, wondering what had happened to their peace and quiet, pleased at the free gift of junk food. once the ants were out in full force, and the doritos were covered with little red bodies, i sprayed. not lightly - i sprayed until little pools of poison collected on the doritos and ants were curled up and floating. i sprayed every ant i could see, holding the button down until my finger turned white, and it hurt, and the mound was wet, the fumes invading my nose with deep pleasure. i think i clenched my teeth.

the problem was, i never killed the queen. in a day or so, the mound would resurface a few feet away, and my process would repeat. but i suppose my anger never went away, only worsened, and my attempted solution failed because i never really got at the root of the problem. i could still kill ants today, with no less momentary satisfaction.

perhaps i could imagine all my bullies as ants, biting at my feet, leaving sore, itchy blisters. i could offer them a dorito, then spray them in the face with raid. but then again, they would probably just resurface a day or two later.

The Student Who Must Not Be Named

grading papers stinks. there's no two ways about it. however, occasionally there are viewpoints expressed that serve to amuse me to no end. for instance, the boy who wrote a paper promoting the legalization of prostitution ending with the question, "after all, everyone likes sex, so what's not to like about prostitutes?"

this semester, i have shared about a student who expressed the opinion that transgender surgeries will wipe out the human race. for her research paper, this same student chose to write about abortion. other than the fact that abortion is an overwritten, cliched topic, i don't mind opposing opinions as long as they are well thought out. it is not a hot button for me. but this one... let me share.

first, she discusses abortion in the case of rape. she knows "lots" of people who have been raped and kept their babies and are doing fine. thus, she says, women who are raped and have abortions are "selfish and lazy."

next, date rape. according to her, women should be more careful about who they go out with and not be alone with a guy if they aren't sure about him. okay, fair enough, but certainly not all-encompassing. furthermore, she says, they were probably scantily clad, and were thus "asking for it." no joke. she said, "asking for it." and then, what are women doing walking alone? and if they must walk alone, have they never heard of mace?? yes ladies, if you are assaulted and raped, it is your fault for not carrying mace or getting to it fast enough.

i was gentle in conference. i told her if her purpose was to convince people on the fence, she might want to tone down the angry, judgmental rhetoric.

i then told her to go stroll down a dark alley.

so i emailed the democrat yesterday and they called me around 4pm. my name is in the paper today - i now wish i'd said something more exciting or controversial.

note how they say the driver isn't named because he's a juvenile. no mention of how they named him yesterday. or how they got it wrong. dorks.

TDO has it all wrong...

on the front page of the democrat online is this article about a high speed chase and teenager pulled from a flaming car. this is not exactly accurate. how do i know? i saw it happen.

i was loitering outside my home last night and heard a strange noise - maybe a car accelerating. i walked towards the noise, then heard tires squealing, a loud male scream, heard a loud crash, then saw a car plow into the concrete electrical pole in my neighbor's backyard. next - an explosion.

i ran inside, got my phone and dialed 911 - i did not realize that tallahassee drive dead-ended behind my street so i told them i thought it might be clare drive. my neighbors came outside and we saw a crumpled up patrol car (it hit the pole) next to a crumpled up black mustang with a bald young man inside. the engine of the patrol car was on fire, not the mustang. the fire was put out by us with fire extinguishers before the fire dept. even got there.

i watched them pull the boy from his car - he was bloody and limp. my neighbor got his camcorder. the officer in the article indeed tended to the driver, but did not pull him out of the car - ems did, securing him on a board, a bloody oxygen mask over his face.

very weird. why was i outside when it actually happened? maybe i'll write about it someday.

Drool on the Pillow

v (not to be confused with b, or the old television program about reptilian aliens, or the movie with bald natalie portman, or this) has joined our blog ring and chosen this week's topic: guilty pleasures.

the first thing that comes to my mind is, of course, miller's cheese fries. but i don't actually feel guilty after i eat them. just happy. sometimes a little sick. i suppose the same goes for any food indulgence. i perhaps get a pang of "i shouldn't have eaten that" but rarely is this a guilty feeling. unless i stole the food from someone else, but i don't steal food. just rocks and lamps. sometimes pepper grinders.

i do however feel somewhat guilty after a nap. oh, i know, that isn't the forbidden fruit you were hoping for, but i love naps like linus loves his blanket, like edmund loves his turkish delight, like mr. krabbs loves money. sometimes i think i could sleep all day. for this, i feel guilty.

there are so many things to be done, so many responsibilities pulling me every which way, when i give myself an hour or two to indulge in a nap, i rise disoriented, frustrated that i have wasted time, and my list begins to weigh on my chest. things are dirty. children have homework. i have homework. things should be sent off for publication. today, i needed to go to the library but i instead raced home to grab an hour on my couch before i had to resume responsibilities. where is the alison winter book i desperately need? at the library. do i feel rested? not really.

in my defense, i don't sleep well at night. but lots of people don't sleep well at night. do they sprawl out on their office floor at the college of engineering while on the clock? keep a red squishy pillow on their office desk? drool all over b's couch? i can remember naptime in kindergarten when i was forced to lie down for half an hour on a cot but i never could sleep. how foolish i was to not appreciate the golden opportunities of my youth.

that was exhausting. i think i'm going to go lie down.

MAKE IT STOP!

since the week's theme has not expired yet, i have something new to add.

currently, i am sitting at my desk trying to read for my class at 12:30. danielle is conferencing, mya is writing, katie is loitering. a car alarm outside (a repetitive honk) has been going off for about twenty minutes now. sometimes it stops, and we sigh in relief, then it starts back up again. WTF?

we did make up a dance to the noise. we call it "honking the horn."

sarah has noticed that the po-po are on the scene. we are looking out the window, watching them helplessly inspect the car. one has left a note on the windshield on a torn out piece of notebook paper. it has now taken three police officers to realize that it is indeed a car alarm.

the owner has now gotten in his gray sedan - an uncrippled frat boy with a buzz cut. the po-po may have determined that he is indeed not handicapped. the po-po are now conferencing at their suv while the non-handicapped driver waits in his now silent car. the shorts-wearing po-po is on the cell phone.

they gave him back his license and confiscated his handicapped parking pass. this is so much more exciting than the moonstone.