A Cha-Cha Chia Pet Alarm Clock
A homemade check my boss's 8-year old daughter made for me with a rainbow on it (someone knows I'm hard up for cash-o-la)
A bottle of Ziacam Cough Mist Max expiration 08/2007. (VOM. . . who even uses this stuff and how did it get in my desk?)
A Snapple cap with the following "Snapple Real Fact" on it:
Squids can have eyes the size of a volleyball
Side note: how awesome a fact is that? I would LOVE to see some volleyball squid eyes. . . . name the time and place and I AM SO THERE!
A Sewing Kit that I've puff painted the words "Sew . . . a needle pulling thread" on the lid, yet have never used.
A Flashlight
A Keychain (that I find jocular to the nth degree) that I made with my office laminator (click to enlarge and therefore join me in the hilarity. . . or not, since I'm the only one who finds this amusing)
An old journal I never really used, that has the following written on the last page:
Greetings,
To know someone here or there with whom there is a feeling of understanding;
In spite of thoughts or distances, unexpressed,
That can make of this Earth a Garden!
MYSTIC.
Which brings back this ridiculous encounter that happened to me when I first moved to the Bay Area and was living in the Oakland hills with my brother. I didn't have a full-time job yet and was substitute teaching at the French-American School in Berkeley (though I speak zilch French . . .shocking right? Since I'm such an experienced linguist at, how do you say, La Espanola, shabadoo). In the afternoons I would sometimes go to this cafe by UC Berkeley and get a coffee and then sit and read in the sun on the small grassy knoll near the tennis courts. So I'm sitting there reading and this guy with dreads
who must have been 45? 50? 59? who knows, comes saddling up to me and stands there blocking my sun, watching me read . . . . which is a weird feeling. . . . being the reader being watched (as apposed to the readee?) Movingon.org, so I look up and the guy says something like "Can I see the book you're reading?" and I oblige, and he reads the back of it and acts all super enthused and tells me that he's read it before, which I found skeptical considering it was some total chick book like You and Your Uterus. Then he asks me if I'd like to check out some film called Rabbit Proof Fence that was showing in the next 30 mins. I don't know what is wrong with me and why I'm always afraid of hurting people's feelings and can't simply say "Thank you, NO", but I can't. On top of that, I'm a really bad liar and came up with some stupid excuse that I had to go do something in exactly 30 mins. So the guy then asks if I have something to write on and I hand him my blank journal and he writes that total cheeseball pseudo poem in it. . . After reading it I go,"Ummmm thanks . . . . Mystic . . .?" Then Mr. Can't Get A Hint Magillicutty asks for my phone number. Idiota numero uno, once again couldn't just tell him no and/or give him a fake phone number, and like the total tard that I am I give him my actual phone number thinking he won't call and if he does, he'll get the point that yo no soy interesante when I don't call him back. Well, that didn't exactly transpire. He called me every day for the next week and each voice mail message got more and more intense a la "Hey Leslie, I know you wouldn't give someone your number just to try TO AVOID THEM!" Oh Mystic, you know me TOO WELL. Finally I had to get my brother to call Mystic for me and ask him to leave me the chingao alone.
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