Reunion

This weekend Victor and I are headed down to our hometown for my 10-year high school reunion. I am so freaking excited!

I went to an all-girls boarding school (I was a day student for the first three years but boarded my senior year). Think Catholic school, except without the nuns (it was Episcopalian). Also, the only time we wore plaid skirts and knee socks was during field hockey games. I LOVED high school. Loved it. It wasn't just that we had a more college-like schedule or a beautiful campus with perks like lounges, a yummy cafeteria, and a bowling alley. The atmosphere was the perfect balance of freedom and structure. Sure, there were lots of rules, especially when I was a boarder. Every night at 7:30 a resident director would come down the hall screaming "Study Hall! Phones in the hall, doors open please!" We had to sign in and out every time we left or returned to campus. Once a week we had to get dressed up for dinner and sit with some faculty members. And 1-4x/week (it varied year-to-year) we had chapel. Ah, chapel. I'm fairly certain our chaplain smoked some feel-good substances, but even though her homilies generally had nothing at all to do with the scripture reading, they were always entertaining (in the raised eyebrows, side-eye kind of way). At the end of every chapel service we draped our arms around each other, swayed, and sang the school hymn. And this was what I loved about high school.

Tradition. ("Traditiooooon, tradition!) (sorry, I got carried away) (bonus points if you know that song). Not just the big traditions, like at Christmas when they put luminaries out around the front of campus and light up a large tree. Those were great, but it was the small things that made me glad everyday I was there. The tradition of our ninth grade advisor sitting with us during breaks while she did her crosswords and asked us about our lives. The tradition of the honor code, enabling us to leave our stuff laying around without worrying if it would still be there when we returned. And the tradition of the faculty and staff really KNOWING the students. Some of the most important discussions of my life were had with my history teacher and she even recommended for me to check out the college I eventually attended (and loved) because she just thought it would be a place that would suit me.

The fact that there were no boys immediately made things like clothes and makeup less important so we could be more relaxed, more "us". We could go to class in our pajamas, ask lots of questions in class, and sing Emily Dickinson poems jazz lounge-style in the middle of the cafeteria (true story, but only once). We were at home and most of us cried like babies the last time we sang that school hymn at graduation.

This weekend is sure to be full of lots of memories. And craziness.

Frankie Manning

I think I've mentioned before that Victor and I are pretty avid swing dancers. More specifically, we lindy hop. Lindy Hop was a dance that began in Harlem (like most kick-ass dances) in the 1920s. After the 1940s or so, it dissipated in the United States in favor of other swing varieties but in the 80s a few dancers went looking for the old-school performers who had starred in movies like A Day at the Races. And they found this guy. Frankie Manning had been a superstar dancer back in his day, but eventually moved back to Harlem and worked in a post office. When he was "re-discovered", dancers who had found his movies convinced him to come out of retirement and teach them how to lindy hop.

Did he ever. The lindy hop movement was the largest in the late 1990s (remember those Gap commercials?) but it still goes strong. Frankie traveled all over the world for the past two decades sharing his love of dance and his love of life. Victor and I were fortunate enough to take some classes with him a few years ago and at the age of 93, Frankie stayed standing (and dancing!) for an entire day of workshops. His energy was contagious and quite honestly, makes me ashamed to think of the times I didn't go dancing because I was "too tired" or even danced in half time to a fast song. Frankie never complained and always said that dancing kept him young.

Frankie Manning passed away today, shortly before his 95th birthday. He had planned to celebrate at a four day festival in New York and, as was his tradition, dance with 95 women consecutively to commemorate each year of his life. His death is being felt tremendously by the international community of dancers.

I'll be dancing tonight to honor Frankie, may he swing out in peace.

You know what sucks?

When a flash drive that was working on your computer decides to stop working sometime between the time that you leave your office and arrive at the other office where you're supposed to give a presentation on the project that you've slaved over for a year and one half.

And when it takes you ten minutes to get up with someone at your office to break into your computer and email the presentation to you.

And when you realize that you did some fairly extensive editing to the presentation but only saved it on the flash drive and not on your computer and thus not to the file that you're using. In the middle of your presentation.

And when it's so hot in the room that you sweat through your shirt during your talk.

And when you have to go back to work after the presentation to return the computer that you didn't even need to borrow.

You know what doesn't suck? Two-for-one margaritas at the Austin Grill Happy Hour.

Happy Bottom of the Totem Pole Day!

Today I'd like to report on what I perceive to be a great injustice in the world of Hallmark Holidays. National Administrative Assistant Day was yesterday. Administrative assistants all over the country received flowers, gift certificates, and free lunches. I think that's just great because heaven knows what kind of crap those ladies and gentlemen take from the big bosses. And then on October 16 we celebrate National Boss Day. I'm not exactly sure what bosses receive for this day, but I'm sure it's something good. Again, I have no problem with this holiday because I'm sure it's stressful to manage other people. What bothers me is that these two holidays leave out the vast majority of workers who also deserve some recognition.

Like me!

I am not an administrative assistant (a fact my boss forgets sometimes), but I do not have anyone working for me. In my department at work, at least half of the employees fall into this category. We do the vast majority of the hands-on science that makes money for our company and I imagine that most companies are in the same situation. So what about us? Why is there no holiday honoring the majority of the workforce?

I think I know...

It's because those darn folks at Hallmark couldn't think of an appropriate and catchy name for the holiday. So I'd like to offer some ideas.

National People Who Really Know What is Going On Day
National Overworked/Underpaid Day
National Workers who Get No Credit Day
National Workers who aren't Administrative Assistants but Get Treated like Them Day
National Cubicle-Dwellers Day

Any other suggestions? We can compile them and send them to Hallmark. We won't charge for our services, as long as they promise to market the new holiday aggressively.

Lock Me Up and Throw Away the Key

Forgive me Internet (and parking authority), for I have sinned. I have forsaken the narrow path of good and turned to a life of crime.

Yesterday was Free Cone Day at Ben and Jerry's. Because we are jaded slackers such hard workers who deserve a break, my coworker Gwynn and I decided around 2:30 to leave work to go get some ice cream. The trip hit a bump fairly quickly as our dear friend Google Maps suggested we drive down a sidewalk to find our destination. Seeing how we were still law-abiding citizens at this point, we found another way to go. Parking was limited, as always in our particular part of the country, but we found a lot with a very clear sign that said "Parking after 11am: $1/hr". Internet, I promise you that's what it said.

So, we waited in line with hundreds dozens of screaming kids in private school uniforms, got our ice cream (peanut butter cookie dough, yum yum), and then headed back to the car. When we pulled up to the pay booth and hand the man our ticket he says, "three dolla". No, we were not there for three hours, or even for two hours and one minute. We were there for 35 minutes. Ordinarily I would not have argued about this unannounced price hike.

But, um, we didn't HAVE $3. Between us we were only able to scrounge up $2. Actually, Gwynn had $1.99 and I provided the last penny. Because I was only carrying about seven pennies with me. I mean, who needs cash on FREE CONE DAY? When I tried to point out to the man that what he said was contradicting the sign below him, he only repeated his mantra: "three dolla!". I was tempted to get out of my car and go pan-handling for the rest but unfortunately, I had left my permit at home.

(that was a joke)

Finally I explained that we did not have enough cash with us he told me I had to write my name and phone number on our ticket so that he wouldn't lose his job. Over $1. As I held that pen and ticket, I had a moral dilemma. Because how would he possibly know if I wrote the wrong name? But, I am proud to say that I decided to return to the straight and narrow and face the consequences of my parking theft. I wrote my REAL NAME and phone number (at work, just in case).

Today I'm not answering the phone for any numbers I don't know. Also, I'm going to the ATM. Because now I'm down to only 6 pennies and that's a lot scarier than 7 pennies.

Futility

"A note to those who can't read..."

(I found a post-it starting with this phrase written by an agitated CW).

Pass the Tums

Victor got back from his interview on Saturday. He is really excited about the job and thinks it went well. Hooray!

Oh, and the company said they can't let him know about the job until they find out if they are receiving a contract from the government. On June 1. That is 6 WEEKS PEOPLE. More probably, seeing how they won't call on the actual day they find out about the contract. Victor said they were optimistic they'd get the contract, but there is no way for us to know if they intend to hire him until they find out for sure.

Shoot me now. With a tranquilizer gun.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a wee-bit prone to anxiety. Before my wedding last year I lost eight pounds in two weeks because of all the stress (note: I was also writing the masters thesis I turned in exactly eight days before I got married). It's not just a mental thing either, my stomach decides to reject pretty much anything I offer it when I'm feeling anxious. And I burp. A lot. Internet, I could win contests with these burps. But seeing how I try to at least pretend I'm a refined lady, I'm not really bragging about my burping skills (except to Victor, cause it's sexy) (or not). Right now I'm actually getting anxious about the impending anxiety. I'm meta-anxious, if you will. And I'm not sure how I am going to get through the next several weeks.