HOW I SPENDED MY SUMMER VAYKASHUN

In random order, or else this post would take nine years to write. (And thanks for all the gaps between pictures to make this super-annoying, blogger, you big, ugly douche):

Watchin' a Southern belle eat marshmallows:


Gettin' postcards from Turdy, who is "on vacation at the beach with a bunch of assholes":


Takin' pictures of Truckers' Dreams:
Hangin' out with guys who are saddened by small-dick holes (and who totally got the same glasses as me because he knows Jenny likes me better):

As a partner to the Amazin' Tie Man! (he can tie that shit in seconds! Fuck yeah!):

Watchin' Darren fall in love with a goose:

And quickly gettin' his heart broken:
Lookin' for land with Sailor Liz:

Ridin' Jenny the turtle:

(Um.) I guess, pushin' out farts? While drinkin' High Life:

Bein' as lazy as this porcupine:

Not dumpin':
Watchin' Mark poop snakes, ignoring the no dumpin' rule:

Watchin' Darren eat it with fine woodsy chopsticks:

Minkin': Eatin' gyros at a food festival with this piece of bitch: Lookin' good:
Lightin' snakes:
Ridin' in a goose:
Wonderin' if this was Jill or Jenny:

Pictionaryin':

Welcomin' Darren the salesman "in from port":

Watchin' Liz get goosed:

Avoidin' bites:

Hangin' out by big chickens (Jenny and I considred stealing this chicken and putting it in the yard with GO AWAY written on the side of it in bloody red paint--this chicken is evil):

Gettin' sexually aroused:


Climbin' a fire tower:

Spottin' a fire!:

Buildin' a fire (pit):
Drinkin' with this slut:

[Scottish accent] DRINKIN' OUT THE WINDY! Yessssssssssss!:

Makin' as many poop jokes as possible:

Froggin':

Air punchin' (while wearing a tank top found in the kids' section at Goodwill and Jamaican swim trunks that were probably formerly owned by a hairy guy with gold chains and long toenails):

Barfin':

Clownin' around--HARHAR (And isn't it ridiculous how many ceramic figures we've seen this summer of '08?!):Chasin':

Winnin' cornhole:
Book huntin' and hidin':

Cavein':

Togain':

Beer flaggin':
Dancin' at the duck shack (baby duck shack!):

Peasantin':
Gettin' attacked by the neighbor's animals:

Takin' band photos:
Summer 2008, please don't end.

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PART TWO FOR CHRISTINA (ahem, Christino):

Stevie Wonderin':

Sweepin':
Terry Davisin': Mama Cassin':

You can't leave me opportunities to use this picture. You know this. Really, sorry, kid, I didn't see you much on my vaykashun. Thought these old photo gems would do. Hey, remember in March when we tried to get that fucking fake snow off the windows? NEVER AGAIN.

Wish I was in GR right now.

PART THREE FOR THE FUTURE MR. JENNY:

I obviously have a lot of free time today.

Mr. Jenny, I'll be moving in shortly. You and the Penguin shall hire me as your maid/nanny. It will be just like Mr. Belvedere! Except all you'll make me do is clean your fish tank.

reasons we might hate your kids.

Jenny and I were searching through some old emails this week, mostly laughing about how clever the Highland girls + AV can be, and it took awhile--but we found the megalist of baby names that we hate.

Names say a lot about a person. For example, for obvious reasons, I will never like anyone named Reed, and because of my high school arch nemesis, if you're named Alison, you are going to start your day out on my shit list and then have to move yourself over to the "tolerable" list.

Sorry if I offend anyone with this list. Mostly, it's just a matter of opinion. All of us didn't even agree. It's just like the Kool-Aid fight. Jenny thinks grape tastes good, and I think grape tastes like old horse piss. She hates tropical punch, while I think it was taken from the rivers in heaven.

Here are some snippets:

Why I'm writing back already, though, is to talk to you two about names. This school has a very diverse population--less than 50% white. While I've been wanting to email the two of you--especially you, P, with your always-keen stubborn conclusions on names--is a list of these names.

But I haven't been keeping a list other than in my head, because I'm certain someone would find it, and then I'd have to make up some lie like I was pregnant and keeping a list of names that I liked and could name my new baby. If I had been keeping a list, and if I put new names on it, the new suggestions for my baby's name would include:
1) Shirlicia (sure-li-sha) and
2) Phylisa (fill-i-sa or fill-ee-sa)
3) Pearstina.

These are tame compared to some. Is it just me, or is it hard to trust someone named Phylisa who has a PhD? if you were taking a business class from Phylisa, wouldn't you think, yeah, but your name is Phylisa.

Also, since P mentioned her student Chelsea yesterday, I've been thinking how much I hate the name Chelsea. Don't Chelsea's always just seem like 13-year-ols girls who are inevitably going to have a lisp and remain 13 forever? (Chel-thee).

I also think the name Crystal ranks at the top of my list for trashy names. Maybe because I went to elementary school with a girl named Crystal who had a greasy mullet; maybe because there is a city in MN called Crystal that is near-ghetto and dirty and has a gross airport. But who has a baby and thinks: let's name her Crystal. Like after the type of stemware?

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I think it's because there are so many BAD girls' names. Boys' names aren't really BAD, per se, they're usually just really dull. There are a lot of bland boys' names out there.

I used to like the name Lucy, but then I met a Lucy. Here's snapshot:

35;
lives at home with her parents;
weighs upwards of 200 pounds and is not much taller than me;
carries around a small, irritating dog named Bibble who wears sweaters and dresses up for every holiday;
is obsessed with Pooh, the Lion King, and anything Disney;
still wears tight, revealing clothing despite her body size.

I hate it when people kill names.

I actually like Lily as well. I guess back in the day I used to like Tyler as well, but you're right that now it's kind of out of the question. Thank God I never liked the name Reed. Reed. Who names their kid after that stuff that grows in the muck of a swamp?

Blech, Carla. Let's add "Erin" to this list. Now we've officially named all the gross kids of my babysitter from when I was seven, the one that made me take that throw-up medicine because her kids ate those berries in the front yard.

The name "Todd" is ridiculous. As is "Lyle" and "Randy." Mark and I are both fans of the name Dominic for a boy, but I'm afraid it's becoming too popular. That's why my allegiance is primarily to Simon.
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I like Lucy, P.

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It’s no surprise to me that the people we met in workshop happened to have names I hate: Melody, Patricia, Marge.

Sadly, I used to sort of like the name Tyler. That’s been killed and buried. I like Simon, George, Thom (only Thom, not Tom or Thomas). Girls are much harder for me. I can’t come up with a good one to save my life. Maybe it’s because I think preschool boys are cuter?

Brandi
Janine
Jamie
Andrea (or any different emphasis on the various syllables)
Mandy
Becky
Leslie
Tami
Amanda
Jennie
Kay
Marcia
Rhonda
Callee, Caylee, Kayla, or Krista, and especially "Christa"
Kathy
Joanne
Melody

Also: why would you name your son Adam? Have you EVER met a nice guy named Adam? They're all so greasy! All of them!

Right now mine are Simon (boy) and Samantha or Caroline (girl--only I'm sketchy about this one, because I don't want a "Sam" or a "Carol"--actually girl's names are hard in general, there are so many of them). Thank god you emailed me! I was bored enough to be googling "Tahitian Treat." Remember Tahitian Treat?

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Crystal
Brianna, Briana, Bri, Bree
Fallan
Courtney
Monica
Mackenzie
Madison
Kimberly (Kim will do, thank you)
Meredith
Krystyna
Chris, Chrissy, or any variation on Christina
Jessica
Nikki
Misty
Summer
Angela
Lindsey, Lyndsey, Lyndsie
April
Kayla
Valerie

I hate fewer guy’s names.
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What would you add to the list, eh? Go ahead. Nobody will get mad at you. I'll name some of my cousins and aunts:

Cindy
Becky
Patty
Karen
Jeanette
Nancy
Shelly
Nikki
Carla
Gaylon
Scott
Keith
Stacy

My brother Travis was almost Adam, but my aunt gave birth to her boy a couple of months before my mom did. She named him Adam. I'm glad I don't have a brother named Adam.

Also, hated from last year's most popular names:

Aidan
Bradan
Kadan
Jaden
Elijah
Galvin
Tristan
Chase (honey, let's name our boy after the dog in that Homeward Bound movie!)
Keegan
Sebastian
Hayden
Zander
Micah
Asher
Maddox
Hunter
Gage
Colton
Finn (?)

Cailyn
Caitlyn
Kaylee
Addison
Aleah
Arianna
Kylie
Alanna
Annalise
Sadie
Faith
Riley
Ashlen
Payton
Avery
Autumn
Brooke
Aaralyn
Aurora
Taylor
Alexia

Kind of pessimisstic, I suppose. Let's guess how many of these kids will be in my classes this fall. Actually, these will be my students:

TOP NAMES OF 1992

Michael
Ashley
Christopher
Jessica
Matthew
Amanda
Joshua
Brittany
Andrew
Sarah
Brandon
Samantha
Daniel
Emily
Tyler
Stephanie
James
Elizabeth
David
Megan

Hi, August. Welcome.

A year ago, I was half-packing, starting my second day at Graywolf, sitting in that St. Paul loft-like office in the dog day heat, addressing hundreds of envelopes to famous author's addresses across the country, mostly to East coast cities, exploring new books from the "Hurt Books" shelf, shoving them in my bag before walking the couple of blocks to my car, thinking of writing websites the next day, wishing I could write a poem, thinking of how I'd handle the call at work, the criticism, the time managed with the publishing house versus the job. I was listening to MPR all day, still listening for updates on the bridge collapse. I wasn't thinking of lesson plans or books to read, I wasn't thinking of checking my grades, or financial aid, or painting a room blue and an adjacent room some sort of cream coffee color, I wasn't thinking of finding cats under my porch, or appreciating thunderstorms because there are no sounds in the country, and I wasn't sure where I was going, I wasn't in love with anybody, and I wasn't having such vivid nightmares every night, and I was thinner, and I was just finding out about a Graywolf editing job I was qualified for and wouldn't get because so many people were qualified for it, and I was wondering, if offered, whether I'd take it because it paid only 20K a year.

He keeps his socks on.

I'm at Caribou, in Albertville, sort of waiting for the day to end so I can go to bed and wake up and drive over to the Jenny in Green Bay tomorrow, embark on another summer, another August adventure, which we embrace because soon school is starting. I wasn't going to blog today, but then I read X's post about home, and I'm not thinking of home, persay, but I'm thinking of school and I'm thinking of last year, and I'm thinking of where I am, was, whatever. And now I'm next to two girls at the coffee shop, and they're reminding me of the students I don't have yet. There is drama, drama, drama. Dra-ma.

In almost exactly a month, I'll be listening to girls like these telling stories, I'll be eyeing them as they walk through the hallways in their "booty shorts," with their young-girl asses hanging out of them, which are against school policy, and I'll be an adult authority. I will be the boss. I will be in charge of establishing my rules of authority of gaining the respect someone in my place of authority deserves. I'll be listening to a girl who just got played by her boyfriend, that he cheated on her, and I'll be listening to them in the hallways as they call the new girlfriend to inform her that he keeps his socks on. Tell her he keeps his socks on! She says to her friend, on the phone. She jumps up and almost spills her coffee, jumps in front of her friend as she is such a bitch! on the phone. I'll be wondering how different I feel in my teacher clothes, in my classroom, in my teacher role, I'll be trying to remember how I thought of my high school teachers when I was that age. And already, I'm thinking as I walk around in public--I am not a civilian, I am a teacher. If these girls knew I was a high school teacher, would they act differently right now? Would they say sorry, Miss P, as I gave them disapproving looks from up here on my high heels and my tiny pedastal that they try to knock down everyday? These girls don't stop talking, talking, talking. Imagine homecoming week. Imagine once prom comes. I am an adult, and I am old, and they are just talking, talking, talking.

In a month, I'll be on bus duty, lunch duty, hallway duty. I'll supervise field trips, and say things like your brain is a muscle. We're starting from the beginning in this class, and you need to know that the more you work your brain, the stronger it will become and this class is meant to prepare you and don't be afraid of Shakespeare/poetry/novels/essay tests. My students will worry about AP tests, but only when their cell phones aren't ringing in class and their booty shorts aren't going up their asses and someone in the hallway is talking about them, from behind them. They'll use the words drama and whatever and phrases like bitch, let's step outside, and they will light up cigarettes to their post-school jobs. They will get coffee on the way to school, just because they've discovered coffee as 16 and 18-year-olds, and they will rush out when the bell rings in order to savor as much daylight as possible. They will have after-school sports and won't get their assignments done. They will still be talking about each other. There will still be drama. I will be their teacher. They will be the first thing on my mind, I'll be the last on theirs. I sort of can't wait. I have an impulse to buy little positive stickers and aggressive red pens.

We've got a month before it goes down. Two weeks before then I'm in new-teacher training, learning how to break up student fights, handle threats from otherwise quiet students, manage parent/teacher conferences. Until then, I've got too much time, and then, when I'm there, I'll be wondering where all of the time went.