Teaching In 2020

quill's secret to writing: old Dance Moms reruns

Do you ever wish to not exist?

The Way Smell Evokes Memory

            On a hot summer afternoon, after a day of playing in the sun but before retiring to play video games, my mother would always shower. She loved spending time with us on those rare free days when all five of her girls were home, and she wasn’t working one of many jobs she held down simultaneously to provide. Our job was to set the living room up, since she didn’t understand and wasn’t willing to learn how to work the equipment. She would emerge in a puff of steam and a waft of perfume. Unwilling to wear shorts outside, those days she was even willing to don a light summer nightdress. We each peeled off at different times in the night, smart enough and independent enough to dictate our own bedtimes. With a yawn, I’d announce my departure. My mother was never short on hugs, pulling me in and holding me, understanding of the importance of that contact. Rich vanilla and rose and a creamy, heavy shea butter: the last things I’d smell for the night.

            When riffling through the cabinet before moving out, I discovered the exact lotion she would use. Her ‘yes’ when I asked to take it was distracted, unaware of the significance. Although, I don’t use it much.

A Journey, New Home

In front of me are two steps.

Once taken, two more appear.

Will there ever be

more than two

visible at one time?

Behind me is one step.

On a road I already walked.

Will that step

be any different

if I took it now?

I know what I already walked.

I can strain to see what I have yet to traverse.

Is it better to retreat to the known

when I see one step further

in the unexplored?

Forever Writng

quill rose

If they don’t need you, it’s okay. You do not live for other people.

How-to Pick-Up Chicks

            If you asked Stewart, the best time to pick up a woman is on the beach at night when she’s with her family. He would say, “Make sure to grab her attention as she walks by, preferably with a CD of your latest hit single, recorded in your mother’s basement.” I previously would have said, as someone who is also into women, this is not the way. But the methods in which Stewart uses to pick up women is unique to those like him, and must be studied. He would then continue on to let you know that the CD he’s just forcibly pressed into your hands does, in fact, cost. The women he is about to take home as his will be stunned by his beauty (Once again, it’s pitch black at night by the ocean) and fork over the 30 bucks he asks for.

            When he tries this maneuver, the best thing to do is deflect with uncomfortable laughter. Laugh like he’s your weird, and technically not related -as he tells you every family gathering-, uncle who sits a little too close at family gatherings. Then, break out the excuses. Lucky for me, I am always on the verge of needing to pee. This excuse is good if you’re attempting to not be followed. Why would he follow you, you may ask?

            Don’t. Don’t ask. It is imprudent to try to discover what Stewart’s might do. It ruins their good vibes and swanky demeanor. And besides, men make you feel safe, right? No need to cover this topic any further.

            He may, if you’re lucky, follow you anyways and ‘stand guard’ outside the porta-potty. Thankfully he’s very strong, and you’re not worried at all, and you haven’t lost track of your family, and Stewart has perfectly gentlemanly motives. Turns out he only wanted to make sure he got your social media username. Now, here’s where things get tricky, so pay attention to the instructions. Although you may think that the numerous pictures you have posted of your wife (holding her hand, kissing her, and getting married to her) would certainly catch Stewart’s attention, it may not. Or perhaps it does interest him greatly, and you’ve made a critical mistake. Either way, he’ll add you and scroll through them as you walk back to your family, and of course he’ll ask how old you are. The age difference doesn’t matter to Stewart, for he’ll say his trademark “Cool, cool,” even after you’ve essentially told him he’s 20 years older than you.

            At this point, I know exactly what you’re thinking: “Wow. This guy has completely won me over. I wish to be taken home and boned right now.” Wait just a moment, or you’ll miss the best part. To Stewart, this has been a successful attempt at picking up chicks, and he may go in for one final killer move, which I would call the Drive-By.

            Should you have taken his trash mixtape, maybe even paid him for it, and talked with him for a couple minutes now, Stewart will certainly be head-over-heels for you. It’s easy now for him to leave and magically find you later. It’s wonderful how he will be able to pick you out in a crowd, and bounce over to make sure he’s seen again, without actually talking to you. What does he expect to happen after this Drive-By? Some have speculated that Stewart may be trying to put on a show of his attributes, in the way that a bird might show his brightly colored feathers.

            Science is amazing!

            If only someone had told me these rules when I started picking up chicks. The dance Stewart does around the beach at night is a replica of ones at shopping malls, grocery stores, concerts, and more. Seeing this everywhere has made me an expert. Luckily, I now have the ability to put this plan into play against women. Did I say against? I meant for women. Always I had thought that Stewart’s dance only didn’t work because I didn’t like penis. Now, I give the plans for this dance to you to entice and entrap the women of your dreams!

Forever Writing,

quill rose

Sticky Buns

            There were several things about mini-me that were embarrassing. First of all, I was held back in kindergarten for being “too small.” My teachers were worried that me, a tiny brown girl with curly hair bigger than her head, would get bullied if I wasn’t the same size as the other kids. I waited the extra year in hopes of catching up, but I got bullied anyways. Secondly, I was a nerd. Not a cute quiet nerd, mind you, but an obnoxious, always-carrying-a-book-and-reading-aloud-to-herself type of nerd. Finally, and probably most insufferably, I was known as the teacher’s pet. If all of that wasn’t enough, I was that kid. I was the kid in school who peed her pants.

            After the first few accidents, Mom found that I was simply unable to ‘hold it’. She chuckled as she wrote the note to my teachers that made it official: I had to go when I said. Because my hand was annoyingly stuck in the air anyways, it made notifying teachers easy. Once I hit middle school, my reputation preceded me. When I wiggled around in my seat like I had ants in my pants, and waved more fervently that normal, the teachers would sigh and point to the door. My wiggly dance down the hall was a sight to see.

Tiny me thought this worked pretty well. I was getting out of class as much as I could want, no questions asked. Since I was a ‘good kid’, I never took this for granted (Of course I did, how could you believe a child?!). Mom and the doctor had other plans for me. Something about getting a diagnosis for what made my bladder weak, but I think the word they were looking for was ‘Loser’. I peed in a cup seven times before starting treatment. Most people never have had to pee in a cup once. I’m jealous.

            Homework was not foreign to me. In fact, homework was my favorite pastime (I told you I was insufferable), until the doctor gave me bladder homework. Did you know you could educate your bladder? After weeks of this at-home ball-squeezing and hip-flexing homework, I went back in for testing. My new routine was: get to the pee doctor’s, drink as much water as I could hold, get the cup from my mom, and send my pee away for Science. That day held other plans, for which my mom promised me McDonald’s. Before I even processed how these new plans would help me exactly, five extremely sticky nodes were attached to my butt.

            If you’re wondering how terrible it is to be hooked up to the Butt-o-Matic, I couldn’t tell you because I promptly zoned out for the rest of the visit. All I knew was that I was being rewarded for this discomfort with salty fries and a thick shake. I pictured bringing my meal in when I was dropped back off at school, flexing on my classmates with the greasy bag. For once, I would lord over my class.

  After a half an hour of doing the exercises with nodes hanging off my butt, I was finished. On my way out, I was offered a Princess Jasmine sticker. Letting my face show my sadness and, blinking at the doctor, I asked if I could also have the Princess Ariel one. The doctor’s face shifted into one of pity. She gave me both stickers.

Mom fulfilled her promise, swinging by the Drive Thru while pulling her Aldi’s employee sweater on. The water I’d had from the water fountain was starting to make its appearance and, since I hadn’t peed in the cup, I had critically miscalculated. As she pulled to the first window to pay, I leapt out of the car, slamming the door shut on my mom’s surprise. I barely made it in time. She was laughing when she swung the car around the front of the building and I came out. “Welcome back, Sticky Buns,” is all she said before driving me the rest of the way to school.

I sauntered into the building with the aromatic McDonald’s bag swinging from my grasp, my tattered Percy Jackson book in the other, and my buns still slightly sticky.

Forever Writing,

quill rose

Blow negative thoughts every day, to make room for all the beautiful things that life gives you every day.