definition of a true friend

I'm talking the other day with the Wonka about how much I hate the thought of being the center of attention at the wedding next Saturday (next Saturday!). I hate all of the expectations that come with it, even if my friends really don't expect me to play the role of "bride," I've internalized--we all have--those expectations and they make me sick.

Julie Wonka is the friend who, when I told her that I wouldn't mind going to look at dresses if it weren't for the goddamn people who work in these places with all that emotional labor they're paid to do, told me she'd be my buffer, and she wouldn't let them near me unless it was to bring me a dress in another size or something. Save the bullshit for other customers.

So when I was talking with her about my issues with being the center of attention and such, she said, and I quote, "Do you want us to look away?"

oh thee of the curved ass, speak to me

S. and I recently bought two twin beds, which we've pushed together to pretend that we actually sleep in the same bed. Same size as a king, see. But I get to have my own blankets and I don't feel when he twitches in his sleep. Also, when one of us is sick, we can push the other away. All kinds of benefits, these beds.

The other morning Belly jumped up on the beds to snuggle up with us. But really she just wanted to lick S. to death. I swear she thinks he needs to be bathed by her at least three times a day. Vigorously. Oh, that tongue of hers. She'll give him a couple kisses on his face and then start in on his hands and arms. She will clean him until I tell him to stop because, well, I need snuggles too. As she was coming over to my side of the bed, one of her legs fell into the crevasse between the beds.

"Honey, Belly just fell into the crevasse."

"The curved ass?"

"Who has a curved ass?"

"Everyone has a curved ass."

"Everyone but the Julie Wonka. She's got that tortilla butt."

Later when I tell the Wonka this little funny, she tells me that with all the spinning she's been doing, her butt's developing not a curve so much as a swerve.

She nearly made me spit my diet coke all over the newly painted walls. A swerved ass. That's a reach if I've ever heard one.

make mine a double

Coffeehouse, yesterday morning. Julie and I are working diligently away in anticipation of the reward at noon: lunch. Last week when we had lunch at the Coffeehouse, she had a bagel egg sandwich and I had French toast. Breakfast for lunch. Mmmmmm.....

At 11:00 yesterday, I whisper to the Wonka, "What're you gonna have for lunchers?"

W: Well, that sandwich last week was good, but it wasn't enough FOOD.

Meanwhile, a very pregnant woman walks in and I can't help but point her out to the Wonka. Cuz, well, she's huge. Julie doesn't care. She's still thinking about her lunch.

Me: There's gotta be at least two in there.

W: Hmmm... Maybe I'll have two sandwiches.

one more thing I could write an essay about

Office hours.

The setting: yesterday I met with all of the students in my advanced exposition (personal essay) course to brainstorm/discuss ideas for their final personal essays. I met with 2 or 3 students at a time a) to get more students in to see me in a shorter amount of time; and b) to give them the chance to hear others' ideas and help one another. So it's about 9:25, and the first conference is wrapping itself up. I've got three young women in my office, so it's kinda cramped.

OUT OF NOWHERE appears the Julie Wonka. No hello, no greeting, no nothing. Simply, "I need you to cut my bangs RIGHT NOW."

I look at my students. They are in a bit of shock. I shrug my shoulders and grab my industrial scissors. I squeeze between the students and go to the Wonka, scissors in hand. And I trim her bangs. Right then and there. And she walks away without even a thank you. Nothing.

I sit back down and one of my students says, "That's the strangest thing I've ever seen during office hours."

I say, "Imagine an essay in which I write about my wacky relationships with my colleagues."

Pause.

"I should've cut more off."

in which she reports on having a little mini emotional breakdown of sorts

It's Saturday night. It had been raining very very hard. S. and I joined up with a group of friends at a teeny tiny bar in a teeny tiny town called Merna (I had been picturing the town as though it were spelled Myrna, and I was a bit disheartened to see that I was wrong about that 'y'). When we sat down to listen to the band play, the band in which three of our dear friends played, we were both cold and wet. I drank beer to warm myself up, S. an Irish coffee. Or two.

I can't remember the last time I had three beers in one sitting. It was not in the year 2007. The effects were, in part, the little mini emotional breakdown of sorts referenced in this post's title. Of course, the beer was not the only or even the primary cause. I'd been feeling emotionally out of sorts since I returned from NYC. Tired. Old before my time. That kind of thing. And this book I'm reading--that I actually just finished--it makes me yearn and it makes me cry.

I should also mention one more factor. I asked my friend Bill how his baby girl's doing. Brooklyn was born in December, so she's about 4 months old. He told me about how happy she is every morning just to be alive, how vulnerable and how much of a joy she is. Not that he ever tended toward depression, but if he had, this baby girl would be the cure.

Back at S.'s place afterwards, around 11:30 or so. I'm lying on the couch, he's slumped on the chair. We're both exhausted. I begin a weepy conversation with, "I think I want a baby."

S.: Um, you've been saying since Day 1 how much you don't want kids.

A.: I know. I don't. But talking to Bill tonight about Brooklyn and reading this book. I don't know. It makes me want to give myself to something bigger. Belly's not gonna live forever. After work, where does a person put her energy?

NOTE: This was not all said at once, but I'm trying to get the gist of it down here. So I can remember.

S.: You put it into other people and other interests. You use it for good.

A.: I want something little to put all my energy into.

S.: I guess we could talk about this some more, though I'm not sure I really want this at this point in my life.

A., weepy: I want a baby.

S.: What's this book about again?

A.: A woman who loses her newborn baby after only one day at home. I'm haunted by it.

A few moments of silence.

A.: I don't really want a baby. I don't know what I want.

Today, in my office, I told Wonka about this conversation. Her response: You'd get a lemon. You want that happy smiling baby, but you'd get the one that stares off into space.

Me: No, I'd get the one that is so depressed she can't even lift herself up off the couch to get another Suzy Q.

Tonight I told S. that I'd told Julie about my little meltdown.

Later in the conversation:

S.: What're you gonna do tonight?

A.: Probably finish that book.

S.: Good.

what men don't get about women's hair

The following is a telephone conversation that took place yesterday, after I spent all of $12.95 on my Supercut:

Moi: I got my hairs cut after school today.

S.: Don't you usually just do it yourself?

Moi: Yeah, but I couldn't stand it anymore. It was driving me nuts.

S.: So why didn't you just cut it when you got home?

Moi: Because I couldn't take it anymore.

S.: How much did they cut off?

Moi: It was just a trim: probably about a half inch.

S.: A half inch was enough to drive you crazy?

The poor boy.

The following is a conversation I had yesterday with Julie Wonka before I got my haircut.

Moi: My hair is driving me crazy. I have to get it cut NOW.

JW: I know. I totally know the feeling.

We then engage in other, ultra significant conversation.

Three minutes later:

Moi: God my hair is horrible. You do know the feeling when you just have to get it cut immediately, right?

JW: What about the time I called my hairdresser and told her it was an emergency because a colleague just told me I had a mullet? Uh, yeah, I understand.

office hour

In the last hour I

1. helped a student with ideas for her presentation--then she told me a story about a customer who brought her an entire bag of mint M&Ms when she (the student) worked at a gas station. She had mentioned to this customer that she remembers these M&Ms from her childhood, but that clearly they don't make them anymore. When the customer brought her the big bag of them, she said to the customer, "I'd hug you if it didn't get me fired."

2. granted an incomplete to a student who is suffering from depression. I wanted to give her a hug because I UNDERSTAND. That is, I'd've hugged her if it wouldn't get me fired.

3. turned down the opportunity to talk with a reporter from the student newspaper about plagiarism. Irresponsible, I know. But a) I really don't have the time (but I have time to blog about it) and b) every other faculty member I know who's granted an interview to this paper has regretted it. One student quoted Julie Wonka as saying that she once wanted to be a doctor, but BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T LIKE TO TOUCH THINGS, she went into rhetoric. Um, yeah.

4. listened to a colleague recite this week's (THIS WEEK'S) poem that she's written for her kitty, whose name is, drum roll, Miss Kitty. I nearly peed during this performance.