My 10-year high school reunion is seven months away, but that is primarily all that was discussed in a recent phone conversation between me and Joy. I don't really want to go, whereas Joy thinks it's going to be a blast and that I'd regret it if I didn't go. I was not totally swayed by her argument. I just don't know what I have to offer these people - or even more than that, what do they have to offer me? Every time I visit Santa Maria, I do my best to hide out and if I do have to venture out, I pray that I won't run into anyone that I knew from high school or earlier years. Perhaps if I had a psychiatrist they might help me to analyze why this is. It isn't like I have anything to be ashamed of - in fact, I'm probably at the happiest I've been in my whole life. So why shouldn't I seek out someone I knew and brag my ass off?!?! I guess because it just isn't me. And that is what reunions are all about - brag, brag a little more, and then get drunk and brag even more. Not my style - but it will be fun to see people's reaction when Adrian tells them that he is an aspiring NFL field goal kicker. Amanda with a jock? Boy, has she changed!

I have decided that it's completely pointless to have a half-day work day. Not that I don't appreciate them, but really now - does anyone get any sort of work done on a half-day? Okay, maybe teachers, but then again, I can remember somewhat slacking off on half-days back when I was teaching. I think the problem is that most half-day work days occur somewhere near a holiday or a vacation day and most of us are too excited to even think about work once we get to the big day-before-the-holiday. I would say the majority of us even start to zone out the day before the half-day! Maybe even two days before! Which would very rightly explain why I spent most of today paging Sy and others in the hopes that it would soon be Tuesday which in my world is the big day-before-the-half-day. Tomorrow I will do all I can to get to the half-day as fast as possible and spend that half-day goofing off and pushing papers around on my desk to get to 12 pm which is when this ole girl can get in the car and go!

Poor Missouri - my colleagues and I just spent the majority of our lunch trying to figure out what Missouri's capital is and we asked a large amount of passers-by and no one could nail it. Guesses included St. Louis, Columbia, Springfield, Joplin, Kansas City and of course, Jefferson City - yet even when we heard Jefferson City, it didn't really sound right (though it is the true capital). We could pretty much name every other state capital, but Missouri's capital somehow has fallen from our collective memories.

p.s. I bet Ms. Picked by the Bachelor Helene now knows the capital of Missouri

Adrian's recent insight on vegetarianism:

"Just because the vegetables don't bleed, doesn't mean they don't hurt."

IKEA - what a great store. A Swedish Costco for every wanna-be housewife/home decorator. Without the crowds, it would be heaven.

Since I've been in the nostalgic kind of mood these past few days (and since I recently recounted these events to Adrian), I thought I'd share with you all how my brothers and I used to spend the night of Christmas Eve when we were young and carefree.

By the night of Christmas Eve, the only presents under the tree would be those from relatives and friends - so basically one or two gifts total for each of us. We would get to open one on Christmas Eve and we all would usually pick the one from my Tia Suzie because her gifts were always eccentric (like the year she gave me three different watches). Then it would be time to go to bed and the three of us would pile into Paul's room - me in the bed and Steven and Paul in sleeping bags on the floor. Sometime in the night, one of us would wake up and then wake the others. We would head downstairs with our flashlights and find, underneath the tree, a massive amount of "new" presents from Santa (though Santa must have taken quite a few calligraphy lessons in his day - I wonder if he was in my mom's classes?). For some reason, we had designated seats for Christmas morning (and we still sit in the same places to this day) and so we would go about in the light from the flashlights placing our presents in our designated areas until someone had the good sense to run to the living room and check out the stockings. We would congregate in front of the fireplace and go through our stockings, but eventually put everything back the way it had been so as to not give away our nighttime escapades. Happy and sedated, we would climb back up the stairs and try to sleep, knowing that the morning was so far away.

I've seen my mom run into a swimming pool fully clothed to save my little brother from drowning. The funny thing was that my older brother and I were swimming right next to Steven when his little turtle floatie-thingie flipped over and we didn't do anything about it. When he flipped over, his full-of-baby-fat legs just couldn't get past the leg holes and instead of slipping right out, Steven was stuck upside down with his legs flapping wildly in the air. I don't know how this spectacle gained the attention of my mom, but it sure as hell wan't from me and Paul yelling "Help! Help!" Either we were too stunned or too unaware to do anything - I don't really remember, but I do remember my mom coming barreling out of the house and straight into the pool and turning Steven over. Poor kid was crying for days - while Paul and I were yelled at probably quite as long.

p.s. The reason some people think they have no cavities is because they don't go to the dentist - and that way the dentist can't tell them that their teeth are all yucky from all the chlorine that was soaked into them from that one time they were underwater for all of a minute.

Dinner Club (D.C.) was always about two things - getting drunk and talking deep. Members ranged wide and far, and on any given Wednesday you could have a group of three to seven of us, but the core was Lee, Neal, yours truly, and Mr. Alcohol. I can't remember the exact day or time we held our first D.C., but the meetings were always on Wednesday nights and the host always had to provide dinner. Lee was good at making a 2-gallon pot of postickers, Neal was great at ordering pizza, and I was able to provide some damn good homemade meals to the crew. Alcohol could range from beer to wine to sake - it didn't really matter as long as you drank enough of it. Our conversations were at times enlightening and at times just plain silly (Top Secret, anyone?), but we had a blast. Oftentimes, poor, unsuspecting housemates were dragged down into the mire of our group, but most of the time, they came willingly. I learned that it doesn't take much to outdrink some of my male friends and that sleeping three to a bed is only comfortable if you're passed out. I learned that it really sucks to have to go to work the next day with a bad-ass hangover and big black circles under your eyes that a student can comment on - "Miss Santana, you look really tired." But above all else, I learned that you shouldn't place a sake cup with a metal rim into a microwave and that passing out first was the biggest sin of all. Here's to D.C. and the reunions to come.

Let's say that right after you finish reading this post, a genie appears and grants you your dream job - no strings attached. And don't worry about the money or the location or any of those other technicalities - they're all covered. What would it be? Your dream job.

I am so bad - today I ate a cookie at a health and wellness fair! But then I did leave with free passes to 24 hour fitness - so that makes up for the cookie, right?

Happy Birthday to two of my favorite girlz - Katie Carson and Sy Anukul!!