school dais, pt. 2
conversation at work
mark: watcha reading?
me: some article makin fun of my friends. seems to be a general theme here.
mark: what exactly do your friends do?
me: my friends run a wide gamut of occupations, from kiling iraqis to fronting noisepunk bands
mark: i like your style
every time ken gets drunk, he tells me I should go into politics, and I'd be really good at politics and he wants to see me as the next great outsider politician. I'm really enjoying my current job. I tutor columbia college students in math and writing. I never thought I'd take after my mother, and not my father. The warning signs were all there, that I'd ruin myself with law. Genetics play really odd tricks on you sometines.
a student came in the other day, and he didn't have any work, so I helped him edit a love letter. Her name was Jacinda and her parents didn't want her to see him because he was older and black. Ulysses. The letter turned out well. He'll get laid this weekend and later on, she'll surely break his heart.
I wrote a second journal for my yoga class:
Dear friends, friends-of-friends, colleagues and family, as you know I've been taking yoga classes. Adding another element to my already overburdoned schedule will require patience on both our parts. With that in mind, I have one request for you: Please stop asking if I can suck my own cock yet.
As someone who has trouble holding downward-facing dog, I'm relatively sure that this will not happen. So stop getting my hopes up. It has recently come to my attention that when you are asking this question, you're making allusions to some Will Ferrell sketch. I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed.
There is good news. Yoga is beginning to bolster my other exercises where, a few weeks ago, it made me too sore to lift my arms. This is good, as Saturday, September 24th, I turned 23. Old men at punk rock shows are teasing me about joining their ilk. "Yes. I do realize that the good thing about high school girls is they stay the same age." "No. I don't want people to start calling me Grampa Rat."
At 18, I didn't know how these 23-year old motherfuckers weren't out of Columbia yet.
Yet, here I am.
Hopefully, this is my last semester, and I need my yoga training to be more than just a preservative. I want to be better than the strong man I was a year ago, better than the lean man I was two ears ago, and never again the fat bulimic I was at 20.
mark: watcha reading?
me: some article makin fun of my friends. seems to be a general theme here.
mark: what exactly do your friends do?
me: my friends run a wide gamut of occupations, from kiling iraqis to fronting noisepunk bands
mark: i like your style
every time ken gets drunk, he tells me I should go into politics, and I'd be really good at politics and he wants to see me as the next great outsider politician. I'm really enjoying my current job. I tutor columbia college students in math and writing. I never thought I'd take after my mother, and not my father. The warning signs were all there, that I'd ruin myself with law. Genetics play really odd tricks on you sometines.
a student came in the other day, and he didn't have any work, so I helped him edit a love letter. Her name was Jacinda and her parents didn't want her to see him because he was older and black. Ulysses. The letter turned out well. He'll get laid this weekend and later on, she'll surely break his heart.
I wrote a second journal for my yoga class:
Dear friends, friends-of-friends, colleagues and family, as you know I've been taking yoga classes. Adding another element to my already overburdoned schedule will require patience on both our parts. With that in mind, I have one request for you: Please stop asking if I can suck my own cock yet.
As someone who has trouble holding downward-facing dog, I'm relatively sure that this will not happen. So stop getting my hopes up. It has recently come to my attention that when you are asking this question, you're making allusions to some Will Ferrell sketch. I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed.
There is good news. Yoga is beginning to bolster my other exercises where, a few weeks ago, it made me too sore to lift my arms. This is good, as Saturday, September 24th, I turned 23. Old men at punk rock shows are teasing me about joining their ilk. "Yes. I do realize that the good thing about high school girls is they stay the same age." "No. I don't want people to start calling me Grampa Rat."
At 18, I didn't know how these 23-year old motherfuckers weren't out of Columbia yet.
Yet, here I am.
Hopefully, this is my last semester, and I need my yoga training to be more than just a preservative. I want to be better than the strong man I was a year ago, better than the lean man I was two ears ago, and never again the fat bulimic I was at 20.
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