Strange Little Collecting Project

Why do some people think that “No offense, but…” or “I’m not trying to be rude, but…” allows them to say whatever they want? It’s almost always followed by something offensive and/or rude. I’ve run into this with my students a lot, which is somewhat acceptable (but no less annoying) because scientifically their brains are still developing. The filters that adults have, that (usually) keep us from blurting out everything that we think as soon as it comes to us, haven’t fully developed yet in the teenage brain. This is one of the things that makes working with teenagers so “exciting.” It’s also contributed to me being on a first name basis with a few local bartenders. In my classroom, I have heard things like, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” or “No offense, but I hate your class,” or “I’m not trying to be mean, but your outfit doesn’t match at all,” or “No offense, but the sound of your voice is starting to make me want to throw up....

Last week I decided to go dress shopping, inspired by the tan I’m starting to grow on my usually pasty-white legs, and the fact that I’ve recently lost a little weight. Nothing major because after all, slow and steady wins the race, but I have been able to go down a couple dress sizes in the last few months. (Who knew that exercising on a daily basis and changing your diet actually made you lose weight…it’s almost like it’s a science or something). I found this absolutely beautiful tuxedo-style black and white dress and it looked like we were made for each other. We both liked punk music (especially Bad Brains and Rancid), Chinese Food, expensive coffee, and how sometimes it rains when the sun is still out. When I locked eyes on this beautiful garment from across the room at Ross, Dress for Less, the song “Dream Weaver” started playing on my internal radio that soundtracks my life. I couldn’t wait to get her into my arms as I ran over with the speed of Flo Jo and the joy of that ...

The other day while I was cleaning out some desk drawers in my office, I made the mistake of opening up the drawer that I keep all my old journals in. I’ve kept a journal consistently since I was 11 years old, so I knew from the very moment that I saw the first journal, the spiral notebook with the psychedelic print on the front, that my cleaning adventures for the day were over. Sure enough, I sat on the floor of my office for the next four hours reading through the past 15 years of my life, laughing, crying, and cringing. I relived my first kiss, my first dance, my parents’ divorce, taking my brother to college, my first heartbreak, my first time really getting into trouble, my entire college experience…and I was reminded again of why I am so thankful for my mother who bought me that first journal so long ago. I got to sit in the middle of my office surrounded by my bills and papers for work, and watch myself develop into a person. Some of the stuff that I found I should probably bur...

Why is my life so embarrassing? Why am I prone to such mortifying and humiliating experiences? Is this some type of karmic character building thing because if it is, I feel like I have plenty of character at this point. I’m totally fine with taking a character building breather, even if it’s just for a few days. I decided last night at around 9:30 that I needed gummy worms. Not wanted…NEEDED. Like if I didn’t get gummy worms last night, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. It was weird; it was random; it was hormonal. I grabbed a Fiona Apple CD (this is how I know this whole endeavor was hormonal), and then I drove my pajama wearing self up to the Harris Teeter. And these weren’t just any pajamas. These were my most conspicuous pajamas ever, bright pink and white pants with cupcakes all over them, and a waist band with the word “Sweet” printed across it. Of course, after the week I’ve had, the waistband actually read more like, “Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.” So after I grabbed my fat fre...

This past week I went out to dinner with my mother. We were driving by Shadybrook Elementary, my old school, and my mother said, “Man. I spent more time than I can count in that parking lot.” Every day from around 1:50 to 2:30, my mother would sit in the car-rider line waiting for me and my brother to get out of school. Her burgundy station wagon was always one of the first cars there, so I never had to wait long. It didn’t occur to me until this week that my mom existed in that car for 30 to 40 minutes a day before I climbed into it, ready to tell her what I made in art class. Never, in the past 20years, have I thought about this fact. I know in elementary school egocentrism is raging, but it should have occurred to me in the last 10 years at least. How have I never thought about this before? It’s like I didn’t realize that she even existed until I got into the car. What did she do every day for half an hour? Did she listen to music or talk radio? Did she read or cross stitch? Did she...

I know that I live in the modern, virtual world. I understand that more than half of the things that I do exist in a way that is completely abstract and intangible and wouldn’t even have existed 100 years ago. (What would I have done 100 years ago with all that time? What would I have been capable of?) Despite my love of Jane Austen characters, I have accepted this fact and I enjoy the conveniences that come along with all of this. But there is one thing that I just cannot accept as a part of this modern world. There is one thing that makes me say, “We’ve come too far.” No, it’s not space travel and the trillions of dollars that we spend on it. No, it’s not modern day weapons of mass destruction (nevermind the idea that according to the late, great, and exceptionally angry Bill Hicks we could, “take all that money that we spend on weapons and defense each year, and instead spend it feeding, clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would many times over, not one human bein...

Public restrooms are not exactly my favorite place to be, for obvious reasons, but something is happening that is making them almost unbearable. I am speaking not only from the perspective of a lady that has to use public restrooms, but also as a former retail and food industry employee that had to clean them. Either way, something has to give. Ladies: you have got to stop with the hovering. I understand that I am offending some of you. I am stepping on your toes. I am making you gasp and roll your eyes. Please just hear me out. I went to Target today to buy something aesthetically pleasing and minimally useful when I realized Sweet Baby Moses, (in a wicker basket…floating down the Nile) I had to pee. I’m really bad about drinking a gallon of water and forgetting that my bladder is only so big. Plus, many of my closest friends and family members know that my bladder control is only so-so. There was an incident with a giant hug from my giant cousin Wesley that ended with me being called...