Clareified

Don’t know why, but pretty much every part of this article makes me throw up in my mouth just a little bit.
A dozen girls, some perched awkwardly with their pregnant bellies flush against the desks, were struggling over a high school geometry assignment on a recent afternoon.

That is what passes for math in one of New York City’s four high schools for pregnant girls, this one in Harlem. “It ties into geometry,” said Patricia Martin, the principal. “They’re cutting shapes.”

I had a nightmare yesterday that somebody changed my myspace Top Eight to make Tom number 1 and changed my song! First thing I did when I woke up…

I’m just getting sick at this game and really, nobody appreciates my talents. I almost made a grown man cry today when I bingoed with echoing by hooking the e in front of later to make ‘elater,’ he challenged, even though I tried to convince him that one that makes another happy is an elater. Turns out, I was wrong, but the word was still good…it’s evidently some kind of beetle. HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA

I evidently have a good ear. Or a bad ear, not sure what the technical term is for when you can’t hear squat out of your left right ear.

“Dawn, left is a whole other thing.” - Ron Lad

Why did I think Jordin was a guy and Blake was a girl?

So, Karol sent me this link from Peter’s new myspace blog. In it he says:

Forget about dogs, I want a monkey! …
First of all, I’d have miniature versions of all of my shirts made so we’d always be in matching outfits. Although he wouldn’t wear pants because, let’s face it, a monkey in pants looks creepy. Second of all, I’d give him a fun name, like Lil’ Pete. Third of all, he’d go everywhere with me. We’d be an unstoppable and inseparable duo, Lil’ Pete and I. We’d walk down the street together in our matching shirts and people would stop and say, “There goes Mr. Peter and Lil’ Pete.”

Now, while humourous, to be sure, this dream is completely ridiculous and wholly unfeasible, unlike my latest dream.

I want to open up a business and only hire dwarves….I mean little people, so that I could feel like a giant whenever I went to work. I would stretch out my arms, stomp around and say “rahr” whenever I walked out to the main floor to supervise their work. Hey, I bet I could get government grants and stuff, too. And I’m sue that they’d always be well behaved because of the constant implied threat that I’d crush them.

Hmmm, I suddenly understand Nike’s foothold in Indonesia.

And whoever it is, your father’s an asshole

Twin brothers Raymon and Richard Miller are the father and uncle to a 3-year-old little girl. The problem is, they don’t know which is which. Or who is who.

The identical Missouri twins say they were unknowingly having sex with the same woman. And according to the woman’s testimony, she had sex with each man on the same day. Within hours of each other.

My surrograte grandma died yesterday.
Her last name started with a D and since I liked Scrooge McDuck, I’d always call her Miss McD. She had a bunch of grandkids nearish to my age, so I spent countless after school and weekend hours at her house.
Her kitchen had a diner counter instead of a table and so her real grandchildren and I would always slide our glasses down to one another like we saw on TV and talk like actors from 50s movies. (They were plastic, so she didn’t much care about when we missed.)
She was the only person who I knew in my youth that lived in an actual house. She had a wood paneled basement and during parties, the kids would hang out and play games there.
She was a million years old, but I spoke to her a few months ago and her voice was just exactly as it was when she’d call me to the kitchen when I was a little kid and she’d rub my head and call me a smart cookie.
Rest in Peace, Miss McD.

My mother was brutally honest with me when I was growing up.
“This macaroni is not glued on straight,” “you missed your second to last line in the Christmas pageant,” “no, that is definitely not where babies come from.”
An unusally high number of my friends share this “telling it like it is” trait.
Like if they saw an ugly baby and the mom was all “isn’t my baby adorable?”
They’d say “not really.”
This leads me to shake my head and cover my face. As such blunt honesty, or any honesty at all, is not the Dawn Summers way. Over the past year, I have tried to explain to these people why the ability to actively hold your tongue or even lie outright is not only good, but sometimes the most humane way to handle a situation.
“But I don’t want to be fake,” they’ll say.
“It’s not about fake or genuine, it’s about mercy…empathy…society. Welcome to it.” I’d say between horrified expressions.
And sure, the stories that they tell of their interactions with others— funniest stuff you’ll ever hear, but there’s a reason that they say “Honesty is the cruelest game of all, because not only can you hurt someone - and hurt them to the bone - you can feel self-righteous about it at the same time.”
There’s a time and place for honesty…like…um…well, even if I can’t think of it right now, I’m sure there is, but it’s certainly not something anyone needs all the time.
Or even most of the time.
Discuss amongst yourselves.

A couple of days ago, I was teasing someone for not charging their ipod overnight. “Rookie mistake,” I called it. Well lo and behold, if the ipod veteran didn’t arrive to work today and notice that her ipod was only half full AND her charger is sitting on her couch at home because she didn’t want to make her bag heavier by bringing it.