I Now Believe in Karma

Before I start receiving emails about my lack of summer posts thus far, I just want all you good people to know that there is a reason. Really. It was imperative that I waited until my blood pressure had gone down enough to sit at a keyboard and type out the whole sordid affair. I also needed about 17 hours of uninterrupted sleep and possibly that many beers to try to forget about it.

Ok. So. My attempt to get to Rochester on Wednesday afternoon. I left my place a little before 11 a.m. , after talking to The Boy and mentioning I was not looking forward to this long-ass haul. (Note: I didn't know it at the time, but this was karmic retribution, Take 1- don't complain about things that could be a thousand times worse). Regardless, the six hour drive had started off normally, the sky was overcast and a little menacing, but nothing my little Civic couldn't handle. I had packed away a granola bar and a diet cherry vanilla Coke as a reserve snack and I was grooving to some shuffled tunes thanks to my little nano. The Mass Pike was smooth sailing, despite the spitting rain, and I made it to NY in just a couple of hours.

As I cruised down the Thruway towards Albany I noticed a giant blinking sign on the side of the highway. THRUWAY CLOSED FROM 25A TO 36. SEEK ALTERNATE ROUTE. "Well that can't be right," I thought to myself. "That's like a 150 mile stretch. They must mean 25 to 26." In retrospect, this is where it all started to fall apart; the beginning of my downward spiral into a horrendous NY State folly.

Because as soon as I had that thought, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid the bumper to bumper standstill on the highway. (Good thing, too, since I was behind a state trooper. Actually, a trip to jail is probably the only thing that could have made this journey worse.) Still in my naively optimistic mood I thought: must be an accident, it'll clear up soon enough. It took about a half hour of not moving for me to even start to get concerned, and I textmessaged The Boy. "What's up with the Thruway being closed?" No immediate response. Hmm.

Another half hour went by of us sloooowly crawling. And another. When The Boy calls back he says, "the website just shows red for traffic the entire length of the Thruway." Something was starting to click in the back of my mind- something very unpleasant. He was trying to tell me other things, but I was concentrating too hard on getting the stupid earpiece that my sister bought me for $1 at a Florida fleamarket in my ear while driving behind a trooper to hear anything. After an hour and a half, I finally got up to the exit and find that the entire highway is being redirected to Route 20, a one lane road with a speed limit of 35, from Albany to Syracuse. You do the math. So, in a moment of genius, I had The Boy Google Map me different directions, thinking that I am so lucky to have the internet at the tips of my fingers. The new route would lead me down to Binghamton, a good 50 miles out of my way on 88, but would at least get me around this shitfest on the Thruway. I laughed a little at everyone getting off on 20 with the bumper to bumper standstill and zoom off down 88. (Karmic retribution, Take 2). I make it about 30 miles when all of a sudden there are orange cones everywhere, directing me off the highway with one small sign: Detour. I was starting to sweat. I didn't even know where I was. Oneonta? What the hell is an Oneonta? I drive around there for a good 30 minutes, since there are no actual detour signs up, talking (read: freaking out) to The Boy. Finally I spied a State Police barrack and pulled in there.

When I pulled open the door I was confronted with a crush of people wedged in amongst two startled police officers and xeroxed papers flying all around. I grabbed at one- a partial map of NY highways. I pushed through the nuns and children to get some information. Why is everything closed? What the hell was going on? (Ok, I didn't swear at the policeman. I should have though, he had a ridiculous mustache.) Officer Snidely Whiplash informed me that 88 had simply been washed away in a storm that morning, creating a 25 foot chasm in the highway, into which two truck drivers had driven their rigs, to their death. The Thruway was also closed due to flooding, and the only possible route that was still open was 20. I got back in my car, cried a little bit, and started out to follow the ridiculous route through Oneonta center that Whiplash had marked out for me through blurry tears. Since they had already closed 88 behind me I went another hour out of my way, past houses submerged in lakes and trailers washed away, just to get back to 20.

Route 20 remained as I had seen it earlier, bumper to bumper. Also of note here: no cell phone reception. I stopped at a pay phone, not even caring that the man before me had been spitting through his two front teeth onto the mouthpiece, and tried calling both The Boy and The Parents. No luck. Tears threatened to leak again, so I bought myself some Chex Party Mix and got back in the driver's seat. Grimly, I steeled myself to sit through anything, and got out a book.

I sat on that stretch of Route 20 for three and a half hours with my car shut off, reading my book. Finally one of the truckers behind me strolled up. "Just heard on the CB, Route 20 is closed. Flooding. They were rerouting people on some side road and that road collapsed. Guess you should turn around. Oh, and the Thruway won't be open until noon tomorrow. They sent out the National Guard. Want a cig for the road?" I politely declined the "cig" and started my car back up. To go where, I didn't know. Back to town? Apparently everyone else had just heard the same news, so getting back to the center of town took another 45 minutes, sitting behind the Oswego police van. I briefly considered faking a heart attack to get them to Medi-Vac me out of that godforsaken area but instead contented myself with the bold flavor of the Chex and studying my map.

To make this story just a little shorter, I tried 4 other routes in this way, with the same results, until 9 p.m. My back hurt, my head hurt, I was sunburnt, tired, thirsty, I had to pee, and if I didn't get out of my car soon I wouldn't need to fake a heart attack. I drove past 6 motels with No Vacancy signs before I got to lucky number 7- KC's Motel and Diner. I actually ran- ran- into the diner to get a room. I almost cried on the waitress's shoulder, I was so relieved, but I noticed the egg bits on her shirt just in time. After I got the key and stepped out of the diner, two huge dudes whistled over to me. "Heeeey chickadee. Wanna smoke a doob with us?" A weak smile and a "no, thanks" as I grabbed all my stuff and shoved in my room, locked and bolted the door, and shoved the dresser in front of it. All I could think of was that someone must have seen me carrying Guitar Hero through the parking lot (a birthday present for The Boy), and they would obviously break into my room to get their hands on it, shooting me in the head in the process. Scenes from A History of Violence ran through my head. I talked to The Boy, who asked if I had any weapons with me (?!), and The Parents, who just said, "Next time you'll check the news before you head out on a trip, won't you?" (?!?!) I turned on some Fresh Prince to calm my nerves and drown out the sounds of drunk men outside my window.

I woke up every 15 minutes to check the traffic outside my window. Finally, at 4:30 a.m., it was magically gone. I grabbed all my stuff up and jumped in my car with my pajamas on, unsure of what to do with the key the motel had given me. Screw it, I took it with me. Giant signs on the side of the road proclaimed the Thruway open from Utica on. Never in my life have I been so happy and relieved. I didn't care that the rest of 90 eastbound was still under water, I was free to go 90 mph on open highway with no one around me. I made it to Rochester by 7:15 a.m., in time to say good morning to The Boy before he went off to work and to promptly fall into a deep, deep sleep.

Which I have been doing up until this point. In fact, even though I woke up an hour ago, I could nap again right now.

Karma's a bitch, people. And that is why I didn't post yesterday. But my long, woeful tale should keep you occupied for a little while, at least, to make up for yesterday's disappointment. Hope none of you were stuck out there with me.


PS- Only one good thing came of this adventure to the Central Leatherstocking Region: I found the Museum of Petrified Creatures. For real, yo.

Little Peanut

I've never posted a picture on here, but I just couldn't help myself. I know, I know... enough about Aidan!



But seriously, could he even be any cuter?

Yay, Me!

This is it, kids. I am officially done school. Don't be hatin'. I can't help it that my life rocks. I've said my goodbyes and I'm heading out to start my summer activities: getting a haircut and pedi, hitting up the 'Bucks, then heading north to see my little Mr. Perfect. And tomorrow: rockin' it in Rochester. NPW, out.

So Close...

Peeps. Not much time to post today, but I didn't want you to cry in my absence. My weekend was jammed full, and I'm sure you've all been hitting refresh on your browser just waiting for me to fill you in, so let's get down to it.

First and foremost, Nahil had her baby, Aidan, on Friday at 10:55 p.m. I got to visit him bright and early on Saturday morning, hooray! He is nothing short of perfection. I must have given him a thousand kisses on his beautiful little peanut head. You know how some babies are wrinkly and look like aliens when they're first born? Well not my Aidan. He came out as beautiful as his mother. (And didn't have his father's orange hair. Phew.)

Also noteworthy but less important, I was named Queen of Sangria on Friday night when I whipped up a batch for a friend's BBQ. It may have rained on our parade a bit (or all weekend), but that didn't stop us from enjoying my fruity wine beverage and various grilled things.

The rest of the weekend was spent cleaning like a banshee (banshees totally clean house, so shut it) and getting stuff ready for some NY time.

Because in case you weren't already insanely jealous of my life, after tomorrow I am on SUMMER VACATION!

True, I had to wake up this morning while both of my roommates were still slumbering pleasantly in their beds because they already finished school. And yes, I had to give a presentation today on search engines. But I am so close to being done I can taste it. Tomorrow the puffer fish will be released into the wild deeps of the Atlantic off the coast of Cape Cod. Tomorrow I will pack up all the summer reading books I want to get through. Tomorrow we will enjoy a teacher luncheon, all together, for one final hurrah before we split up to regroup for a few months. Tomorrow I will wave goodbye to my crumbly, beloved library. For a little while at least.

Tomorrow, tomorrow.

He's Here! (Almost)

A huge shout out to my boo- she will be giving birth to Aidan Joseph today, June 23rd! Props for going 5 days early, Nonnie. I can't wait to meet him! Also: hope you don't mind if I snap a few pictures of him to sell to People, your girl needs mad $$.

WWSNPWD?

Almostdonealmostdonealmostdone!

Good, got that out of my system. I don't think you can quite comprehend my excitement that tomorrow the children will wave goodbye, forever. Or until September. Whatevs.

Moving on, I thought I should let you know that I almost didn't feel like posting today because yesterday was such a crapfest, but then I thought- What Would Summer NPW Do? Because I've decided that the summer version of me is going to be 100% carefree. I'll do what I want, when I want. You see, Summer NPW would definitely post to her blog because she wouldn't care that the day before had been a trying one. So here I am!

Summer NPW = one cool customer. She can spend a day at the beach lounging in a chair with a book or learning to surf the Atlantic waves, it doesn't matter. She's up for anything*. Picnics? Yes. Hiking? Sign me up. Traveling? Yep. Napping by the pool? Uh huh. I'll even get to experience a little something called "being awake past 10:30 p.m.". How novel.

I'm considering having a WWSNPWD bracelet made- and if the demand is high enough, I'll get some bumper stickers printed up for all you SNPW fans out there. We can be like a cult. We'll drink Purplesaurus Rex from Solo cups and sleep out in the desert under the night sky, waiting for Tom Cruise's spaceship to come pick us up on the way to Crazyville.

Best. Summer. Ever.

*Shut up, you pervs.

Summer: An Official Arrival

Countdown: 3 days remaining (+ 2 fakes next week)

It's been hot as a mofo up in this bibliotheque the past week and I'm feeling like an ant trapped under some sadistic little kid's magnifying glass. I guess that's to be expected when you work in a room made entirely of glass? Unpleasant as it is, I've resorted to turning off my office lights and staring dully at a blank Word document, which is only open in case someone finds me sitting here in the dark. In my feverish logic, having Word open ostensibly means I am doing something*.

We Bostoners have welcomed in the official start of summer today by entirely skipping that part of spring where the nights are cool and the days are warm. No, here we do things a little differently. We're a city of extremes, an XCity, if you will. One week it's cold as a witch's tit and you think the rain will never end, the next week you're sweating buckets in the library and wondering when Boston moved to southern Florida. Anyway, the stifling heat and humidity are just a few of the reasons why we should not be forced to stay in school past June 1, but the heat and humidity cause a whole host of other problems not to be taken lightly. For instance, what does one wear to school that is both cool enough to survive the day, but covered enough not to risk 8th graders ogling your breasts? Today I chose a sleeveless shirt- not really a tank top, yet also not a t-shirt. I forgot, however, that I would be cleaning and shelving today and so every time I leeeeaned over to pick up books from the cart, everyone in the library got a great shot of NPW's bra/cleavage. It's especially nice when the principal is reading the newspaper and gets a gratuitous skin shot. Hey, even principals like a little Girls Gone Wild, right?

(Good thing I already signed my contract for next year. Still, memo to myself: sweaters for the remaining days of school.)

Also, did I mention I am sick of school? I love my job and all, but I am done. There are so many other things I should be doing right now, and giving detentions for hucking donuts at each other is ranking pretty low on that list. So you may be asking yourself, "Self? What is NPW doing this summer that she feels she ought to be free from having to work like the rest of us poor saps?" The answer: even NPW doesn't know. Right now it's looking like tennis camp, maybe mix in a few trips to NY, some beach adventures, sipping iced tea at BBQs, and a lot of general lazing about. I loves me some unemployment time.


*Not that I'm complaining about the heat, mind you. It's more the fact that I'm here in school and not lying on the beach or out in the grassy park. (3 days. 3 days. 3 days.)

Exsanguination

I'd like to pose a very important question to my readers, one that I've been pondering all year: why are students constantly running through my library gushing blood from their noses? I mean, I know they are heading to the nurse. But how are so many students bleeding, seemingly on a daily basis? Could this be the reason they chose an orange rug in here? To hide the dull rust stains of thousands of children's blood?

Does OSHA know about this?

I do seem to recall a lot of bloody noses when I was in middle school as well. I just can't think of any specific reason. So help a girl out, people. I needs ta know.

What is the link between middle schools and nose bleeds?

• 
  
  Asbestos-filled walls


• 
  
  "Something in the water"


• 
  
  Lack of fresh air/sunlight


• 
  
  Nose picking


• 
  
  The sudden surging hormones of puberty


• 
  
  Stupidity

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And I Could See The Squirrels, And They Were Merry

Well hello again, my good friend Monday morning. So nice to see you- up and at 'em, ready to start the week off right. I just wanted to let you know that even though I may not be seeing you for a while, your memory will live on in my heart until September.

Did I mention this is my last week of school?!

All right, I suppose technically the above is not a true statement, as I do have to come back to school next Monday and Tuesday as penance for God flooding our state. But the students are all done on Friday and we will finally wave good riddance to the 8th graders, so Mon. and Tues. will be "staff development" days. I honestly thought these two days would be a breeze- you know, teacher keggers out back, get a couple of grills going, maybe some poker tourneys in the library.

Alas, it is not to be. My principal cornered me just the other day and asked me to do a presentation on the effective use of search engines. Umm, for real? On the second to last day of school? With teachers who think Google is some kind of new-fangled slang word? So now not only do I have to prepare a powerpoint presentation in my last week of getting things done, but I will be the most hated teacher in all the lands for forcing the others to sit through it on a 90 degree day in late June. Awesome.

Do they think there is nothing to do here in LibraryLand? This place has been a madhouse ever since the teachers decided they were done with actually teaching the kids anything and started assigning "research" projects. Even after I stopped checking out books, there's still an overwhelming pile of crap to do. For instance, tending to my stapler graveyard. Here in one of the wealthiest towns in Massachusetts, my library has been fortunate enough to receive an endowment of at least 53 staplers a year. What is unfortunate is that there is only one that works, and it is actually one of those mini-staplers that was left here by a student some time back in September. Despite their dysfunctionality, I've so far been unable to bring myself to throw away the taxpayer's staplers.

Well, sucker no longer. Today marks the First Annual Broken Stapler Sweepstakes. All you have to do is correctly guess what my favorite Dewey number is and you- yes, you- could win an entire box of brand-new, albeit defunct staplers. They may not be able to keep your papers together, but they sure do look pretty all lined up on a shelf.

If You Want to Keep Your Friends, Never Look At Their License Photo

A few years back I accompanied my friend L to get her license renewed in the lovely state of New Hampshire. As we were waiting in the cramped DMV office with the toothless, bearded, ripped Harley-Davidson t-shirt wearing crowd (both men and women), we amused ourselves with a running commentary on what the daily lives of these people must be like. While I don't remember the exact banter, I do remember amusing ourselves so much that by the time it was L's turn to get her picture taken we were doing that silent, gasping for air, tears streaming down our faces kind of laugh where you almost wished you had never been so funny in the first place. She got up and giggled her way over to the very unamused DMV worker, still clutching her stomach as if to hold in the derisive laughter.

L quickly stopped laughing once the DMV lady had snapped the photo that was to be laminated onto her license for the next 3 years. Mouth open with a half-snort, eyes both squinty and lazy, chins like crazy, skin a translucent white. The ride back to her apartment was silent, new license clutched tightly in her hand. And so for the last 3 years L has had to endure 30 seconds of torture at every bar and every show we've been to as bouncer after bouncer glared at her, stared down at the picture, glanced back up her with a little less hostility and a little more curiosity, and finally smirked to themselves and waved us in.

After making the move down to Boston, I tried to assuage my lingering feelings of guilt over the crazed-laughter picture by being overly enthusiastic about her new Mass license. "It'll be so great. Just think- you'll be recognizable!" It seemed to cheer her up some.

So I was more than a little surprised when this morning L looked up from her coffee mug with red-rimmed eyes and dully intoned, "I got my Massachusetts license in the mail." It was then I noticed it, the innocent-seeming little rectangle sitting there on the table next to her bag, as if she was unable to put it in her wallet just yet. I cautiously ventured over to pick it up and before I could register the shock of the picture, words were already coming out of my mouth. "But... why? How? Your eyes... they're so... dead. And why are you smiling only on the left side, like Katie Holmes? Your hair... was it raining? Were you angry? I just don't... I don't think I understand."

The death glare I received in return was worse than the silent car ride home 3 years ago. Snapping my mouth shut, I gently laid the license next to her now-empty coffee mug and backed away, muttering incoherent things like "not so bad" and "quite presentable" and "at least you can buy beer at Fenway without actually bringing the doctors that pulled you out for proof of birthdate".

Thank the good lord bird I had to be at work and I managed to escape. Lessons learned:

1. Never comment on a license photo. Ever. Ever, ever, ever.
2. Under no circumstances should you agree to accompany a friend to the DMV, even if you think you are helping.
3. No matter how bad you think something is, it can always get way worse.

At least I can't be blamed for this one.

A Grounded Viewpoint

Ok, let me explain. It all started on Tuesday night when I got knocked the eff out at frisbee. Not like a "oops, I took a tumble" knockout, but a "what the hell just happened and why am I on the ground and why is my head ringing" type knockout. I don't even know what happened, all I know is someone ran full-out into me while I was stationary and that was that.

Being the tough-ass (read: idiotic) girl that I am I just got up and kept playing for the rest of the game. It wasn't until I got home that night when my head was pounding and I was feeling vaguely nauseous that I thought something could actually be wrong. And all of a sudden everything seemed to be closing in, magnified. Harder. Rattling my brain was upsetting.

Eventually the headache cleared and I felt better. That knockout made me realize something- I can't control everything. Work is busy, I have a lot going on. Some situations are less than ideal. But... I can control my actions and my choices. I can choose to be happy and to try my best to make others happy, or I can choose to be miserable and in turn make others unhappy. So my new outlook is gracious patience. I'm going to make like AA and accept things I can't change. Because, really, there isn't any other choice but unhappiness. And that would be unacceptable.

I've always been a glass half-full person. I'd have to be, to end up where I've ended up. But it's true that the glass half-empty is usually funnier and so I mostly choose to write about things that way. And so I missed a post yesterday. Chalk it up to a mild concussion and a general need to re-evaluate my viewpoint. I think you'll forgive me.

Nice To Meet You, Kitchen Sink

Last night as I was washing some lunch dishes, my mind was wandering and my gaze was staring blankly out the window into the neighbor's pretty little garden. Lost in a lovely reverie in which I was being handed the Printz award in front of thousands of adoring fans, I was unhappily startled back to reality when I heard the most horrible noise and smelled the most horrible smell I could possibly have imagined at that moment.

My sink, which is normally a happy sort of sink, had apparently decided that it had had enough of grinding up our leftover quinoa and raw vegetables and fruit peels, and so started spewing said items back up into the sink onto my freshly washed tupperware. As I fiddled with the disposal switch and cleaned up the mess, I happened to look at the sink- I mean really look at it- much more closely than normal, and I noticed that my sink has an actual name. The In-Sink-Erator. Six months living in this place and I finally know my sink's name. And I couldn't help but think In-Sink-Erator was a fitting title for such a sink- usually mild-mannered and bland, but will blow shit up with a vengeance if you mess with it.

+plus



=equals

I Want Candy!

Lots and lots to tell you about, so little time. Nine more days of school and I'm running out of hours to get my shizzy done.

Breakitdown: another excellent weekend with The Boy and various friends about town. Went to an MC Chris show at Harper's Ferry on Saturday night, along with a motley group of Storm Troopers, Comic-Con-style nerds, and wannabe white rapper boys. Awesome. It was a fashion nightmare but a fun show, and I was v. excited to find out that MC Chris's real voice is exactly the voice of MC Pee Pants from Aqua Teen. No joke. He doesn't even need to alter it. It's like he took a little sucky from a helium tank and went out on stage for a rap battle. The guy is also about 4'8". I could leapfrog over him without him even bending over. I could rest my elbow on his head when I stood next to him. Funny makes up for a lot, no?

Sunday: walked over to the Dragon Boat Festival on the Charles, where we got hooked up with RockStar energy drinks, free McDonald's iced coffee coupons, and all the energy bars we could carry home with us. We had just devised a plan to take down the McDonald's dude that had on an iced coffee-dispensing backpack (!!!) but once the plan was finalized the guy was nowhere to be found. He must have sensed us closing in on him.

Last night we made sushi and sangria at D & L's place. D showed me how to play World of Warcraft and if I really wanted an excuse to spend the entire summer indoors hunched at a computer desk, I could become a World of Warcraft expert in no time. NE-eeeerd. Good thing it wouldn't hold my interest for long, esp. with the Nintendo DS Lite coming out this week.

Anyway, that's that. Did you all do as I said and enjoy your respective weekends? Glad to hear it. Now get back to work.



Oh, and also: I know the blogger comments thingy was broken for a few days. Now it's not. So leave a comment before I get a complex or something.

Friday Smackdown

Everyone: have a fun weekend. I demand it. Yes, I know the weather blows. Suck it up and treat yourself to some indoor fun! If I can make a suggestion, why don't you try this place? (Anyplace you get to wear flame retardant suits and helmets = maximum fun.) Another brilliant recommendation- Ikea's annual summer sale ends this weekend and some of their stuff is 50 off%! How do those crazy Swedes do it? I also need to try Shabu Village, I've heard it's both fun and delicious.

And that's really all I've got for you today. I myself had out-of-doors plans lined up for the whole weekend, so I can either park it inside, huddled against the elements, or I can find some alternaplans for these few days of freedomosity.

Adieu. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Air kisses.

So Perchance You Can... Dance

Last night after our hip hop class*, L and I sat down to watch So You Think You Can Dance on Fox. I have to say, I like this show way more than American Idol or Dance 360, if only because the people on it are so much more ridiculous and dramatic. Everyone is crying all over the place, there are numerous hospital visits (like, if you've been a dancer for 13 years, why are you collapsing down in a dehydrated heap halfway through a workout? How did you never learn about the benefits of water?), and the outfits and makeup are hilarious.

One woman wrote with magic marker all over her stomach: "Were did you go today?" Her misspelling made me cringe, but that was just the beginning. Her hair, makeup, outfit, and dancing were nothing short of horrendous. When the judges called her immature, she just kept repeating, "I think I'm beautiful! I think I'm so beautiful!" Well, everyone else thinks you're a loon. Get off the stage.

Another contestant stated, "I've been dancing for 13 years, literally 24/7. I literally watch myself dancing in the mirror every second." Oh, really? You literally dance 24/7? How are you not dead? Do you eat while you're dancing? Are your legs doing the lambada while you sleep (with your eyes open to look at yourself in the mirror)? When he was booted off for falling directly onto his face, his comment: "I literally gave 200% in this competition". First of all, you can't give more than 100%, it's impossible. Second, get a dictionary and look up the definition of the word literally, or better yet, just strike it from your vocab entirely.

While explaining the choreography of one of the lyrical dances, one of the contestants was confused and asked, "Should my arm be straight, or bent?" The most ridiculous of judges, Mia, firmly stated that his arm movement should be "human", and left it at that. Nice direction there, Mia. Thanks for the clear instructions.

I kept confusing contestants with last year's show because they all seemed eerily similar. The Asian dude with the funky hair and no real dance training. The blond girl who looks like a punk but has a heart of gold and dance circles around everyone. The African-American street dancer whose "dangerous" moves might keep him from making it to the end, but he'll win America's affection trying. When I asked L if they all seemed the same to her, she paused a beat and then sang... "So I Think I For... Got". Ha! Awesome.


*Rest assured, L and I do not think we can dance.

Rain, How About a Truce?

This morning I calculated that roughly 85% of June thus far has been drowned in a deluge of chilly, gusty rain. I know it's only been a week, but it's a week following the month of May, during which parts of Massachusetts actually shut down for an entire week due to flooding, which was of course due to- how did you guess? - more rain. Seriously, why does Mother Nature hate us? June is for lovers, not for haters. Please bring back the sunshine! I should be wearing skirts and sandals, not cords and wellies. If I promise not to complain about the heat or humidity or the electric bill from the air conditioner, willyoupleasejuststopwiththiseffingrain?!

Anyway, because I've been cooped up inside for the majority of the last two months you can imagine the kinds of things I've resorted to doing to occupy my time. Yesterday I found myself stacking toothpicks in a teepee formation and sticking it together at the top with the gummy stuff you get on the envelopes full of Valu-Pak coupons. This was only to distract me from my roommate's perverse obsession with reruns of Gilmore Girls, and I was very grateful when the sun came out and I could head off to frisbee.

At least work provides a little respite from the boredom. My work days are nothing if not diverse. I spent the first half of today working on the following tasks:

• Searching for books on Jerry Lewis's fundraisers, Botticelli's Birth of Venus, and topographical maps of the Alps.
• Helping a very old man (who lisps) make double-sided copies on the finicky risograph machine and then fetching him paper towels to wipe toner ink off his pleated khakis.
• Nervously wondering how one of the puffer fish's giant front teeth got broken off.
• Finding fantasy baseball scores and Red Sox video clips for an enrichment class.
• Telling a kid off for running around the library with a book about the life of Christ held up in front of his face, yelling "I am the son of God! I am the SON OF GOD!" (even though it was kind of funny, and also- why do I have a book on the life of Christ? This library is just full of surprises.)
• Filling out end-of-year logs for the exceedingly useless mentor program and the semi-useless Library Council meetings.
• Kicking the crap out of the old Canon scanner because it froze no fewer than 4 times while trying to load pictures for the 8th grade mural project.
• Handing out pizza and ice cream and soda at the volunteer party while the health class watched films about nutrition next door. (I think one kid topped out at 10 slices- I informed him that if I found piles of pizza puke around the building I would know where to find him for clean-up duty.)
• Asking a 6th grader why the bottom of his backpack was chalk white, only to discover he had spilled orange juice in it the week before and when it started to smell, he coated the entire bottom of the bag in his father's roll-on deodorant.

I can't wait to see what the latter part of the day brings. For real, is there any other job that requires such strange shifts throughout the course of one day? If you think you can match it, I'd love to hear about it because I can't imagine a much stranger occupation than this.

Countdown: Only 12 more days!

Shout Out

Some very special birthday wishes go out to The Boy on his 29th. Since he claims to have heard every possible combination of jokes re: having a birthday on 6/6/06, I will refrain from making anymore. But don't think I didn't notice.

On a side note, I love having a functioning mouse again. The world seems a better place when you can point and click with accuracy and precision. And in case you were wondering, you too can have awesome MS Paint drawings for your blog, as I am now accepting contracts. All for only $97.50 an hour!

...And Let the Countdown Begin

Did anyone ever see that old black and white movie, The Lost Weekend? As I recall, the basic plot line was about this dude that went on an alcoholic binge for an entire weekend and hallucinated lots of strange things and then couldn't remember most of what happened. Well that's what this weekend felt like to me. Minus the alcohol and the hallucinations. Where did it go? I couldn't have been folding laundry for an entire 48 hours, could I?

But the official NPW Summer Countdown has begun: 15 days left of school. That means only two more weekends dealing with Sunday dread. Two more Mondays that I have to drag myself out of bed to start another week (I've already got today covered so I'm not even counting it!). Three more classes with the 8th grade goons before we can send them off to get beaten up at the high school. Plus, that whole last week is pretty much field trips and pizza parties and graduations and socials, so it's not like a regular old work week anyway.

And then... freedom. When people ask me what I'll be doing this summer and I just close my eyes and shake my head slightly, almost imperceptibly, replying, "Shhhhh. Shh. Summer is not for doing things," and go back to calmly checking in books.

So 15 days to get all my final stuff done. Whoa... 15 days? I have so much to do! I better get my ass in gear. You enjoy your Monday, I've got mad books to index.

Oh, Hey. Welcome to June.

I've been a somewhat boring blogger as of late. Not that I've been missing bunches of posts or anything, but I feel like my comedic level has dropped from Comic Gold to Comic Bronze over the past few weeks. While considering the possible reasons for this, I realized: it's June! June, the month of summer breezes and salty ocean air. Of ice cream and fireworks and sandals. Of lazy long days.

There it is! That's it exactly. Lazy.

After working in a "normal" job for two years, staring out the window at passersby licking fro-yo cones and strolling idly down the street while I frantically worked out mail merges, I came to the conclusion that summer is no time to be slaving away in an office doing some menial paperwork. Thus I reentered the academic world so that I could emerge with a job that would provide me with at least two solid months of free time throughout the loveliness of summer. So why am I still here? And why am I so freaking busy?!

Anywizzle, this blogging ennui got me thinking. Am I going to be motivated enough to write posts all summer long? And if I do, will people want to read about non-library things? I mean, I know my daily discourses are what keeps people going throughout the day and all, but is it because of their innate fascination with the library, or my own delightful personality? I still have a few weeks before I have to decide on a blog course of action for the summer, but I'm pretty sure I'll keep up the best I can, in between bocce at the beach, canoeing and camping, weddings and showers, and visiting my far-flung friends.

Happy Friday. Keep cool, stay dry, and I'll rap at ya some more on Monday.

Library Warming

Once again, NPW = uncommonly busy. It must be that it's June and the end of the school year is looming closer, but I've had classes in to do "research" all day long for the last week or so. And by research I mean cutting and pasting from Google searches directly into Word documents. Honestly, if these teachers can't tell that their 12 year old angels did not write a doctoral thesis on plant biodiversity on their own, I don't know what else to do.

Anyway, besides having classes in all day long (you'd think they actually expect me to do some work around this place), I've been cataloging the newest installment of about 100 books that I scored from the Book Fair last week. I assure you, nothing is more satisfying than knowing your library owns a biography of Hilary Duff.

The library also has the dazzling and oppressive heat of a greenhouse today. I can practically see the sheen of moisture glistening on the pink walls. As I was stumbling around in a dazed and sluggish torpor, I saw that someone had left a random little bird whistle on my circulation computer. First thought- I was hallucinating, some kind of dehydration-induced illusion. Second thought- it was an actual little bird. Last thought- oh. Weird. It sounds nothing like any bird I've ever heard, but his little orange beak did make me smile. I named him Golly.

This steam bath is getting to me. I think I'll turn off the lights, lock my office doors, lay down next to the cool, cool computer servers, and take a little nap. Close the door on the way out, will you?