Sunday, July 24, 2005

The Unbearable Blondeness of Being

9:09 AM: I am in my Big Girl Professor Office. One of my hall-neighbors knocks softly. “Good morning!”

Because true academcs not only post regulary on Internet forums, they do so on threads discussing Season Two of Saved By the Bell, I have been engrossed in the registering my opinion as to whether Slater was compensating for his father’s expectations of him, or simply just over-testosteroned, or what. “Ahhummmmhi!”

It is a member of the tenure committee. “Are you Mary Beth?”


“You… are Mary Beth, right? Are you Mary Beth?”

“Yes! Hi! I’m fine, thanks.”

11:22 PM: It’s Grammar Day here in the class in which I am constantly reminding the students that precision and attention to detail are absolutely essential in this industry.

“Does anybody have any questions? Yes?”

“You said that people who don’t pay attention to contractions should be disemboweled.”

“That is correct.”

“Then why in the lecture notes did you put ‘Its never appropriate to use a personal pronoun after a linking verb’?”

2:19 PM: Post office. The person in front of me has invited the entire free world and certain sections of Cuba to her wedding, and she would like the all the stamps to have hearts on them, please, because the ones with the flags will ruin her entire marriage. The person behind me, judging from the odor emanating from his parcel, is shipping a decomposing wombat.

I take my envelope to the counter. There is a problem with the ZIP code, in the sense that most ZIP codes tend to consist of five numbers, which is three more than I have written on the address label. I am thus corrected, and cheerfully pat the envelope goodbye, then begin to walk away from the counter. “Thank you for your help!” I tell the postofficeboxworkerperson, who pointedly calls back, “That will be seven dollars and forty-seven cents, ma’am.”

5:48 PM: It’s Josh the Pilot’s birthday! Fortune man to have captured a gem such as I. Because birthdays are for lashing out, I am making dinner for him. I take a shower, set the water to boil and trot to the bathroom to dry my hair.

6:07 PM: What’s that smell?

6:10 PM: No… seriously… what is that smell?

6:11 PM: The hair dryer must be shorting out.

6:11.17 PM: It’s not the hair dryer.

6:12 PM: I bet water’s boiling over.

6:12.28 PM: Huh. The last time the water boiled over, the living room didn’t fill up with smoke like this.

6:12.41 PM: $&^@.

6:13 PM: $&^@!!

6:13.11 PM: Transit to kitchen.


6:18: PM: Remove charred cover from incorrectly ignited burner.

6:20 PM: Ignite burner actually containing pot of water.

11:47 PM: Josh the Pilot has begun his drive home. He has left his cell behind. I pick up my phone to call him and tell him to turn around.

1:04 AM: Late night snack: Paint chips.

Aunt Beth loves you! “Guck!” at:

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