I got a job so now I won't have to google how to make crack.

The past several days have been insane. First of all, my parents and sister came in town on Friday night. It was refreshing to hear their influx of politically incorrect terminology, have my apartment turned into an obstacle course (air mattress, bedding, suitcases, shoes, sunglasses, bras hanging on door knobs, crap strewn everywhere), and have to pull into an eating establishment every five seconds because someone was "starving" to death. I don't say this in jest. I really loved them being here. It wasn't the same without my older sister being with us, but my family was loud, sarcastic, insensitive and feuding, and I loved every second of it. So, when they left on Sunday night, I was left Monday to do laundry, windex the mank off of everything, and vacuum. And vacuum. And vacuum. Because I suck (Get it?!). I think that I have a mild case of OCD. I have to vacuum the carpet and get those little teepees on the nap in order to feel complete. If I don't have a consistent pattern in the fibers, I get pissed off. Insane, I know. Add it to my list of why people are scared of me.

I was flipping through about 230 different channels last night (including the UCLA/UT game. I never thought that I'd EVER watch a UT game unless they were playing LSU because everyone I've ever known who has gone there has been a complete butt face, but there I was, hooked at overtime) when I hit a pivotal point in "Madea's Family Reunion" (if you haven't seen it, your homework is to rent it. "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" is way better, so rent them both). Cicely Tyson is standing on the front porch of an old shack and preaching at her family and telling them about how disappointed she is in them for acting like tard pockets. Then she starts talking about the importance of family and where they'd all come from (sorry for ending a sentence in a preposition). So, I had my first cry since I've moved to L.A. It wasn't even really a sad cry. I just got a little misty eyed. I started thinking about how fortunate I am to have the family that I have. They are insane and they scare off all of my boyfriends and all they want to do is eat and take naps (are they all felines?), but they are so great. So. That's my emotional little bit of the weekend.

Now, let me tell you about my awesome day. I had an interview in Malibu today. I drove up the PCH (Pacific Coast Highway. You have to use the cool acronym or else you will be judged) on my way to my interview and was looking at the pacific ocean on my left and the mountains on my right. I had the windows cracked down about half way and had Jack Johnson cranked up. I watched young, sculpted, tan people playing beach volleyball and surfing. I drove through the rows of palm trees and stucco beach homes that had crazy metal numbers attached to the sides of their garages. All I could think was, "Is this really my life? Thank you, GOD!" Now, before you go thinking that I'm on the TV preacher band wagon, I need to put up my disclaimer: I don't want to sound like a sappy Sunday school teacher. Nothing was more obnoxious to me as a kid than some Mary Kay pancake faced fat woman in a floral print dress with big fake pearls saying "God" and "The Lord" every five seconds in a thick, saccharine Tammy Fay sing-a-long voice. Until I was in the tenth grade, I was forced to suffer under the tyranny of obnoxious, ignorant Sunday school teachers (When I was 12, one of them told me that I was the worst kid that she had ever taught. If only back then I had the nerve to use my mouth the way that I do now. Not like that's anything for me to be proud of. I need some house cleaning in the language department. Oh well, I guess that's neither here nor there. I hope that her stupid vegetative kids wind up in my office one day. I'll brain wash them into complete mutant guerrillas). So, as hypocritical as this will sound now that I've gone off on a completely bitter rant, I couldn't stop thinking about how God has turned my life around over and over again. I believe in God with everything in me and I believe that He has blessed me radically, despite my horrible run-ins with the church (P.S. I've had some wonderful run-ins with churches, too, so I'm not in any way claiming to be a church hater).

So... I drive to this beautiful little gated community where I had to get a parking pass to enter. There were signs everywhere that said "10 MPH," which I thought was hilarious. 10 whole miles? Per HOUR? Really? It made me think of Germantown. For those of you who don't know me well, I grew up in Germantown, where you get a ticket if your garage door is open or your grass is taller than an inch high. So, I drove around to this cute little blue house overlooking the beach, and was greeted by the coolest lady I've ever met. She wore a light blue cotton peasant blouse and white linen pants. She had a pixie haircut and her hair was bleached and messy. She was completely modest and pleasant and I hope that I look as fit and healthy as she does when I'm her age. Of course, I'll be more glam though. I'll still be experimenting with whatever trends are hot and I'll be way too old for them. So, moving right along. For confidentiality's sake, we'll call her Dr. Julie. (Not like I couldn't use her real name. It isn't like I signed a waver. I'd just be scared if all of a sudden I walked into work before I ever even started and was handed a pink slip because I blogged about a real person). After she introduced herself, she walked across her lawn, the sprinklers came on, and her pants got soaked. So she changed into some navy blue pants and wore matching blue Vans. So cool. Dr. Julie and I talked in her office about this job that I'd be doing working with learning disabled students. She asked me about my experience, and when I told her that I have dabbled a little bit in the special ed population and how I've worked with autistic kids, she said,

"Oh gaaah. I will take a pissed off, angry, AD/HD teenager ANY day over an autistic kid. They demand waaaaay too much attention."

I just about jumped out of my chair and made out with her. Not really.

"Really!?!? Because seriously, I can't handle it. I love those teens with attitude/behavior problems, but those kids who really need one-on-one Annie Sullivan help aren't really my forte."

We hit it off and talked for over an hour. She wrapped up our interview with asking if I could start next week and told me,

"I realize that everyone under 30 has a tattoo, so if you have one and it's visible, that's fine, I just ask that you don't wear anything revealing."

So cool. Maybe I could adopt her as a surrogate mom. Not like my mom isn't up-to-par, 'cause she totally is, but this lady is like that really cool aunt in your family who kind of got away and broke all of the norms but still remained true to herself. You know? I actually don't have an aunt like that. Maybe I'll just call her Aunt Julie. Because THAT wouldn't be weird at all...

I will wrap this up with saying that I need anger management. There's this lady in my class (I just came home from class an hour ago) who gets on my last EFFING NERVE. She coos like a pigeon. All the time. Nonstop. This lady sits in her seat and coos every freaking second. Any time she feels like our professor says something deep and philosophical, she coos. If someone asks a question, she coos. If I went up to her and said, "Lady, you can kiss my butt." She'd coo. I know she would. So, in addition to the cooing, she also says very smartalic things all the time, which is just obnoxious. Being a smart ass only works if you use it at the appropriate times with the appropriate audience. If you're being a donkey face to your professor, it better be at a bar off campus behind his back. And we all know that unless your prof. is a complete ass face, you shouldn't even do that. I'm going to go ahead and say that there's just no excuse. So, she always adds her two cents and she's always cooing. So, tonight, our professor was trying to make a comment about clients who live life like a pin ball in a pin ball machine. The only problem was that he kept saying ping pong ball, but we knew what he meant. So my professor says,

"What's that thing I'm thinking of.. Not ping pong... But..."

So, the pigeon lady blurts out (get ready for this. She's an idiot.)

"SPONGE!!!!!"

I'm sorry. What did you just say? Yes, the complete dim wit in the third row just said "sponge" for "pin ball." I'm sorry ma'am, but you did not make the Daily Double. I do NOT understand how some people get into grad school. Hell, this lady not only got into grad school, but she has a DEGREE, she drives A CAR, and (Lord hep us) SHE REPRODUCED. She has two KIDS! How depressing.

One last thought... I had this momma dove and her two babies hanging out on a potted plant on my back porch, and they all flew the coop today. I would like to give a very warm round of applause to Doris, Donna Kay, and Nita Ray for their new adventures out in the West Los Angeles community. Good luck, girls.