Joe took me out to my all-time favorite restaurant for dinner last night. It was actually the second time we went in the last 3 days, but the chance to eat at Radio Maria comes but few times a year so I didn’t mind taking generous advantage of it.
We decided to sit outside to enjoy the Champaign air and our last evening together before corporate training held him captive for the next few weeks. Near the end of dinner Joe left for a few moments and I sat alone contemplating my day. Slyly checking the area I decided it was about time I got rid of that annoying booger that was ailing me. A quick swipe to the nose and then a brush to the napkin and I was free and clear of that nostril-clogging monstrosity.
I look around again and there is Joe, catching a glace at me through the window on the way back to his seat. In his adoring love he’d also decided to capture the evening, including his fiancee, on film. This was just about the time I was checking around for onlookers, completely not thinking to look inside the restaurant.
Not only did he catch me digging for gold, he also caught it on camera.
I. am. so. awkward.
I’ve been working on finding a job like its my job. Last week when attempting to apply for a position at a small Christian school I was asked to answer additional application questions concerning my teaching methodology and ability to serve the school’s mission.
What motivates you to teach at a liberal arts college? What positive qualities do you have to offer students as a teacher and a mentor?
I thought I was be’n all sophisticated when I pulled together this answer:
I desire to share my excitement for learning with students through my own enthusiasm for librarianship. Information should be accessible to students for their own pursuits and is the first step to a liberal arts education: I have worked for this through applications of Library2.0 and teaching metaphors applicable to daily life. I am to provide students tools, skills, and goals that make research accessible. From a personal perspective, a liberal arts education holds great value. Although I hold a Bachelors of Science, it was important to me to learn as much I could from numerous disciplines: my undergraduate college courses focused on media trends, but I voluntarily took classes concerning American authors, feminism and popular culture, floral arrangements, modern Catholic thought, and sexual ethics. I often draw on this vast array of knowledge while at the reference desk, preparing lessons, or simply discussing politics with friends. I could certainly discuss the library or media history at length, but the antidotes I picked up from Ginsberg and Burroughs are what make me feel like I can contribute something beyond myself and speak more to society in which I take part.
It wasn’t until later long after I’d submitted the response, that I thought about it again. Let me highlight these words: feminism. popular culture. sexual ethics. Ginsberg. Burroughs.
Withing 1,200 words I’d managed to make myself sound like a flaming liberal who revels in the work of gay Beat authors above all other American authors.
Need I remind you about the school?: Small. Christian. Conservative.
Well, shit. I hope they like diversity.
In the past few weeks I’ve noticed that food has been getting stuck in my front teeth with increasing frequency. This, of course, is rather embarrassing. But more than that, what concerns me is that fact that food hadn’t gotten stuck before and this can only mean that the orthodontia is failing. My teeth are moving and those thousands of dollars my parents spent to give me a celebrity glint are doing down the drain.
And I’ve got the awkward spinach-smile to prove it.
If you work in my office this morning just so happen to have the unfortunate thought of “ooooh What did the cat dragged in?” the answer to this pondering would be, me!
When I left the apartment around 6:15 this morning, trudging my way across town on foot to get to mass, it was lightly raining. Luckily I’d remembered an umbrella. About a block away from my place there was a loud crack of thunder and suddenly the skies opened and it rain. A lot. For a long time.
When I finally arrived at church my skirt was completely soaked, as was my bag and flip flops and the sleeves of my dress. I sat in the back in the dark so as to avoid anyone seeing me–or through my lightly colored attire, for that matter.
By the time I left it was bright and sunny and only the puddles gave any indication as to the fact that it had been raining. In fact, I would bet that most people didn’t even know that my town had nearly been swept away in the flooding earlier that morning. I imagined that the churchladies and the passeres by were wondering, “Who would wear wet clothes?” “Did that girl go through a carwash?”
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In the car this evening Stephanie voiced her want for a Moon Jump at her next birthday party. She wondered if there was a weight limit–would it be okay for a number of adults to be in it at the same time?
All of us agreed that there wasn’t a reason we could think of NOT to have numerous adults at the same time. “I sincerely hope,” I said, “that you get it the day before the party so we can all camp out inside. No. Even better. We should have some brews at the party, jump, and THEN camp out.”
This thought developed into the concept of a Moon Jump Society, who, for no real event other than to jump, gets together bi-annually to have a adult beverages followed by jumping followed by camping under the stars that are above the protective net.
In fact, why don’t we just buy one? Those things are freakishly expensive to rent. I’m sure after three rentals it would practically pay for itself…much like a Six Flags season pass. Only…it’s a pass to your BACK YARD. This way we could jump when ever we want. Except when we’re loaning it out to friends, at which point we would charge them too much money, which would encourage them to buy their own and then we could have multiple moon jumps at the SAME TIME.
It is probably just a better idea in theory.
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I’m in a class called Storytelling, which is, in fact, a class that teaches students to be better storytellers. Although I took it with the desire for a more light-hearted summer course I admit that I’m really enjoying it.
This week we’ve been working on family and personal stories. Although I feel that I’ve got some pretty good zingers, I realized that making them universal for all audiences will be a bit of a struggle. So many of my stories are funnier when you know something about what it means to be Catholic–and for any person that needs me to define “cassock” or “adoration” or “offer-it-up” I feel that the meaning would be lost in translation.
Welp. There goes all my good ones.
But I’m going to tell you anyway. We were doing exercises in class and had to draw a number of squares. We would label each square with a trait or characteristic (optimist, black sheep, jack-of-all-trades, ect) and we were then asked to fill in each box with someone in our family that fit the description. “Remember,” the teacher reminded us, “‘family’ can be defined however you wish. So, as traits like “the rock,” “persistent,” “eccentric” came up, I started filling in the names of saints while laughing to myself.
And really, even if I would try to explain it I don’ t think anyone else would have found it humorous.
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I know it looks like I’m rock’n a new shade of red eye-shadow, but the reality is that it is just irritated skin. Every time I look in the mirror I wonder when I took the time to put on make-up…but then I realize that it actually looks quite awful.
Keep on keep’n on!
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