Please, I Don't Want To See You One Two Step
I've been back at work for a while now and all I can say is that I must have blocked out a lot of the more scarring memories of last summer. I vaguely recall the intense boredom, sweating and the occasional sunburn, but my memory had been wiped of anything to do with skanky 13-year-olds that make me want to hurl.
Emphasis on *had*.
Today I worked an eight-grade graduation party at the club where I lifeguard.
(An aside, what is the big hoopla about graduating eighth grade, it’s not like you won’t see everybody three months later in high school?)
My first impression when I saw the swarm of pubescent boys and girls heading my way was, “I am so screwed.” Later I discovered that first impressions are generally correct as I watched in awe as four bikini-clad eighth graders shook their groove things to the sweet crooning of Beyonce Knowles. The rest of their classmates watched on as well, some with obvious envy (a green-nailed brat tried to start up her own little side show, but to no avail) while others grimaced and swam on. I made gestures mimicking vomiting in the pursuit of expressing my inner feelings. It’s very healthy to do so, I’m told-not vomit, express one's feelings.
Other news in the work world involves incessant phone calls from my quasi-boss which have the girls thinking I may be the object of his affections (um…no), the rehiring of just about everybody who swore they would never, ever return to spend another summer there, the taking away of our chairs in an attempt to make us seem “more professional” and mayhem in general.
Another remnant of last summer’s work experience is that Meggie is once again using her time on the stand (or just standing now, since our chairs were so rudely stolen) to make up an elaborate fantasy life…for me. Last summer I was dating a southern senator’s son and constantly embarrassing myself as I entered into catastrophe after catastrophe at his parents’ house. Now, however, Preston Brooks and I are taking the break as I travel the Italian countryside and go gallivanting around with handsome Australian strangers and Stephania. She keeps getting mad at me for giving her my opinion on these fantasies, forcing me to remind her that it might be her daydream but it’s my fictional life.
Also, I was tagged by serenitysea.
*List your current six favorite songs, then pick six other people that have to do the same.*
The Blower’s Daughter - Damien Rice
Linger - The Cranberries
La Belle Et Le Bad Boy - MC Solaar
Annie Waits - Ben Folds
New York, New York - Ryan Adams
I’m not tagging anybody since I’m more of a lurker in other people’s journals, but Meg, I’d like to see Vallombrosa feature this.
Emphasis on *had*.
Today I worked an eight-grade graduation party at the club where I lifeguard.
(An aside, what is the big hoopla about graduating eighth grade, it’s not like you won’t see everybody three months later in high school?)
My first impression when I saw the swarm of pubescent boys and girls heading my way was, “I am so screwed.” Later I discovered that first impressions are generally correct as I watched in awe as four bikini-clad eighth graders shook their groove things to the sweet crooning of Beyonce Knowles. The rest of their classmates watched on as well, some with obvious envy (a green-nailed brat tried to start up her own little side show, but to no avail) while others grimaced and swam on. I made gestures mimicking vomiting in the pursuit of expressing my inner feelings. It’s very healthy to do so, I’m told-not vomit, express one's feelings.
Other news in the work world involves incessant phone calls from my quasi-boss which have the girls thinking I may be the object of his affections (um…no), the rehiring of just about everybody who swore they would never, ever return to spend another summer there, the taking away of our chairs in an attempt to make us seem “more professional” and mayhem in general.
Another remnant of last summer’s work experience is that Meggie is once again using her time on the stand (or just standing now, since our chairs were so rudely stolen) to make up an elaborate fantasy life…for me. Last summer I was dating a southern senator’s son and constantly embarrassing myself as I entered into catastrophe after catastrophe at his parents’ house. Now, however, Preston Brooks and I are taking the break as I travel the Italian countryside and go gallivanting around with handsome Australian strangers and Stephania. She keeps getting mad at me for giving her my opinion on these fantasies, forcing me to remind her that it might be her daydream but it’s my fictional life.
Also, I was tagged by serenitysea.
*List your current six favorite songs, then pick six other people that have to do the same.*
The Blower’s Daughter - Damien Rice
Linger - The Cranberries
La Belle Et Le Bad Boy - MC Solaar
Annie Waits - Ben Folds
New York, New York - Ryan Adams
I’m not tagging anybody since I’m more of a lurker in other people’s journals, but Meg, I’d like to see Vallombrosa feature this.