Before I get to DaveCago festivities I have to get to the $25 BP gas card winners. Are you as excited as I? Do you have a little gas right now, too? Well, just walk away from the computer really quickly and let it trail behind you. Then, blame it on the dog.

Here is how I chose the winners: I divided up the comments into fourths as best as possible (1-16, 17-33, 34-49, 50-66) and then asked my mom, my daughter, one of my sons, and my nephew to pick a number within that range. If you’re upset about not winning, BLAME THEM.

Two of them are non-bloggers (or, rather, they didn’t link blogs to their comment) and they are nec (Comment #12) and Lisa (Comment #50).

The other two are Raquita (Comment #28) and Merlot Mom (Comment #35). Congratulations to them all! Now, when you get your gas cards you have to try that BP Premium 93 Invigorate and let me know if you think it’s better than regular gasoline. I think that if you want to keep your car running younger (like a 4 year old, all full of frenzied energy) for longer, then try this stuff. It’s got an additive that, with continuous use, can help your car run younger for longer.

Sadly, there is nothing you can inject into your body that has the same effect except for maybe things that would give you short bursts of energy but then you end up with bad teeth, bald spots, and addictions that would get you a spot on the show Intervention.

Even if you didn’t win, just know that Invigorate is available in all grades of BP gasoline, from regular to premium, and is in the pumps right now in 39 markets east of the Rockies (including Chicago).

Oh, wow, look. There’s my segue.

Saturday I jaunted up to Chicagoland to have dinner with some blogging friends for the third annual DaveCago festivities where Dave from Blogography “renames cities in his image“. Thank heavens. That stupid Lake Michigan scenery was way behind schedule for a fresh look. Both Chicago and o.b. tampons are so over themselves with the old visages.

Folks who were there include:

Mr. RW and Mrs. RW who graciously met with me earlier in the day to get in some good, meaty conversation.

Kevin from Kapgar who whored himself out by wearing his Dave Toon t-shirt. He also brought his lovely wife, so since she was so pleasant it made him all the more bearable. He also never hung up from a phone call to Dave and discovered it 4 hours later. (I kid. Kevin is pretty awesome and astonishingly generous. Once, he sent me a book of tea when I was getting off the junk cutting back on my coffee intake.)

azlynne and her partner whom I wished I got to chat with more. Next time?

Robin, who apparently is of the Tribe of the Fabulous Hair. It’s sort of not even fair how her hair blew all around her shoulders as she spoke.

Leah, who is Accidentally Jewish (great blog title and even greater story behind it) and On Purpose Awesome. She’s as cool as the other side of my pillow. That cool.

Gary, a guy who goes against all the rules and tries to take paparazzi-type photos with blinding flashes in places that don’t let you take pictures. He owns a camera that I secretly coveted since mine is in the shop. Unfortunately, he lost them all so we may never see pictures of any of us with completely dilated pupils.

Once again I got to see Jen from Run Jen Run. I’m afraid you aren’t able to tell where her hair begins and my hair ends. We like it that way.

photo raped from Dave’s place

Most everyone else has written excellent recaps of the weekend, so I’ll just explore what I am most enthusiastic about: refreshments.

We ate at Piece Pizza in Wicker Park where they had interesting-named beers from their own brewery. My suggestion was that we order something that summed us up, but when I asked for Dark & Curvy the waitress told me they were out of that. Instead I had the Worryin Ale and then a Baron Von Awesome.

When I finally do get that MacBook Pro I will name her Baroness Von Kick Ass. Done deal, Apple, ya hear me?

Absent of the absinthe that I did not get to try after believing Mrs. RW when she said that it tasted like Fletcher’s Castoria, I have no regrets. Just a bunch of new folks to add to my growing list of freaky stalkerish types blogging buddies.

Purposely, I’ve saved Radioactive Tori for last because she did the sweetest thing EVER and brought everyone these magical Kahlua brownies that she packed in little brown bags with a see-through film and an attached recipe.

We met while I was out front waiting for the valet parking attendant holding my keys in my hand and pointing to my car which I prayed they wouldn’t tow. I pulled up to the delivery spot, got out and stood on the sidewalk and Tori pulled up to the curb and asked if I was Mocha Momma because she’d seen my license plate (dead giveaway, I know, and now I can’t flip anyone off in town when I’m driving because I’m so recognizable in my vehicle).

The brownies would have just been a “nice touch” but they were so delicious and fudgy and Kahlua-ey that I wanted to get Tori to sign my yearbook and be sure to put that we were BFFs 4-Ever so people would know that the otherwordly brownie baker was someone I know.

If you ask her nicely, I’ll bet she’d share the recipe with you.

I asked her nicely to come home with me and bake them daily for the rest of our natural lives and she said, “Ok!” so I’m convinced Radioactive Tori would share the goodies with you, too. (She doesn’t emit ionizing particles, either, so we’re all safe.)

How do you like my posts with no direction?

I don’t like them either. Next time I promise to write an outline with Roman Numerals, write a first draft, give it to a Writing Buddy, and then edit and make corrections. Just like I used to teach my students to do when I was still a classroom teacher.

For extra fun I will use 3 x 5 notecards.

Since I didn’t give much direction about choosing the 4 winners, I will clarify how I’m doing that: I think it’s fair to say the choosing will be random in that I will split the comments into fourths and have family members pick a number in each quadrant. That way the first commentors get a chance as much as the latter ones. Winners will be announced Monday. Unless I can do it tomorrow. Then, maybe Sunday is best. Forget it, let’s shoot for Monday, shall we? Great, that’s much appreciated. Monday it is.

I’ve decided that writing about what impassions me is, ultimately, what makes me feel good as a writer so I’m making a New Year’s Resolution right now in August to do more of that. I think it’s a sure bet that I will be able to keep it since the year has only 4 months left. Aiming low is a specialty of mine when it comes to personal goals. It serves the purpose of allowing me to actually hit the goal thus boosting my self esteem. If there were a way to market that, I would try. But that would be one too many goals this year. Let’s not get crazy.

Another thing that I fervently hold dear to my heart is my mother who has become quite special to me. She encourages just about every good thing that comes my way and she refuses to let the bad karma come too closely to me where it wants to settle in and take up residence. It’s rather difficult to explain what she’s like to people, but recently she wrote something down that I thought summed her up well:

Contrary to appearances, I have always been painfully shy and insecure. Most of my brash gestures of confidence and self-assurance are really just smoke and mirrors to disguise my fears and complete lack of confidence in my own worth.

I am my mother’s daughter.

Next week she will go to Burning Man (for the THIRD TIME) and come back renewed and a little stronger. She doesn’t think she’s forceful which proves to me just what a powerhouse she is. In her words she would say that she is a perfect example of “arrested development”. Watching my mother grow up is as satisfying as watching my daughter do it. The first time she went she was a little awestruck and came home pink-haired if I remember correctly. I think that was about the time when she pierced her nose, too. She renames herself Sweet P for the week and I wish nothing more than to view this transformative process.

It’s a good bet that a great resolution would be to just try to be more open and loving and forgiving just like her.

*If you know anything about Burning Man, this video clip will tickle your funny bone. Thanks, Fluid Pudding!*

Sometimes when the phone rings you just have to answer it, you know? It might be a long lost friend inviting you over for cocktails and a cheese tray with that kind of cheese you’re too scared to buy at the grocery store because you think it might be the bad stinky kind of queso.

Sometimes it’s the good stinky type of molded mass of pressed curds so take a chance once in a while.

Last week during my giveaway (whose idea came to me in a flash and within minutes of posting I had three people emailing me offering me MORE STUFF) I realized that I needed to slow down, embrace my inner 1985, and groove out with some Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. That’s a pretty good destination for one of many Happy Places. Last night I had to go there again after getting worked up about this stupid makeover series (not ONE Black woman! Hey, NBC! DO YOU EVEN KNOW ANY BLACK WOMEN?). The whole thing irritated me enough to write them last night. Again. Do you suppose they have me on some list where when I write them they stop the office, invite everyone into the conference room, and laugh and jeer at my email which they display on the wide-screen while yelling, “Oh! There she goes again! Ha ha ha! Man. She’s SO stupid.” ? Do you? I am sort of hoping they do.

I’m looking at you, too, ABC. Your GMA track on “the worst hair in America” featured four women, three of whom were ethnic and had frizzy hair who needed to be fixed by straightening their hair. That’s THE WORST HAIR? That’s YOUR SOLUTION?

Well, thanks.

I don’t know where I get that complex about my hair. NO. CLUE.

Let’s move on because I could talk hair all day and there’s free gas to give away and I’m getting so worked up again that I am heading to the corner of my closet to rock myself in the fetal position as I chew on my hair and listen to Lisa Lisa croon at me some more.

Complete aside here (yes, I’m taking full advantage of my Close Proximity ADHD) (there is no medicine I could take to help with this) (you either think this is annoying or charming and I like how you’re thinking!): I loved all those comments from yesterday and I didn’t get to read all of them until just now because yesterday was such a busy day.

I’ve just now

1) chosen a category for this post

2) hit “Save”

3) hit “Preview this Post” and read it aloud to myself

4) wondered if anyone thinks that I’m taking my granny’s prescription medication because I sound completely whacked out

You still with me? Good, because I want some good comments today after last week’s “Hi! Enter me!” ones left me feeling sunk. How will I ever visit all those blogs? I don’t have time to change my own sheets right now.

Another aside: thanks, Mom, for coming over to cook last night and thanks for the plantains you’re going to cook for me today. (I hope you remembered)

Let’s get to gas, shall we? I figured I could make some fart jokes since the inner adolescent boy in me can’t stop letting one go near my kids and then swiftly leaving the room OR simply uttering, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry for this.” and letting them discover on their own that I busted a grumpie.

It’s hard to make fart jokes when there is the seriousness of premium petrol to be discussed. I’ll break down my test driving of the Premium 93 Invigorate from BP for you by giving a glimpse of what my brain did.

First, the gray matter was just excited to get some gas for free. Then, it wondered if the “truck light” (that’s what my car is classified as, though I’d just call it a “small SUV”) would reject good gasoline since it’s been drinking the cheap Kool-Aid for so long. Finally, it let in some memories of when I first got my driver’s license in and we all remember what that was like.

You must prove to the world entire that you can drive fast and also like an idiot, preferably at the same time.

The idiot driving notwithstanding, I was on highway 55 right outside of Chicago when I decided to floor it and pass several cars (right before all the construction, I swear) (there is an abundance of parenthetical statements today for which I’m truly sorry). Normally, Trudy (that’s my car’s name) sounds like the tranny’s dropping and she takes her time to actually speed up but this time SHE KICKED INTO GEAR AND STRETCHED HER LEGS.

“Nu uhhhh” I said to my mom who was in the passenger seat. “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah. That didn’t do that thing it normally does.”

So, you see? I had a witness and she makes fantastic fried plantains so you must believe her even if you’re skeptical about me.

The point is this: it was a really smooth drive and I could actually FEEL a difference in Trudy. It’s like using cheap shampoo your entire life and then trying out something with some conditioner and your hair feels better. As a performance result, yes, the BP Invigorate worked much better on my car and I don’t need to get technical in explaining that my driving experience was good while using it.

God love you if you’re still reading and also if you’ve picked up your phone book to find me some psychiatric help after this post, but you probably want some free gas from BP, so here’s what you have to do:

Take me back to the 80s and leave me a comment about your favorite songs from way back in the day because I’m looking for music to introduce to my teenage sons who haven’t experienced such magnificent music.

Four winners will be chosen to get $25 Gas Cards from BP and I will mail them out next week so you can remember your teenage driving days.

I hope your car has a name. If she does (like ships, cars to me are all girls) let me know her name, too.

(How did I start out writing this about answering phone calls and move on to cocktails and end up with music from the 1980s? It’s a mystery, I tell you.)

*Comments Closed! Good Luck!*

This morning I’m in charge of the 9th grade orientation because half of those kids are mine. We’re going on a tour of the building, practicing opening lockers, and then registering them for classes. Today will be a long, long day. My voice will probably go out by the end of the day and I will wonder, once again, why students have never tried to open a padlock in their 14 years of life thus far. What I know about myself is that I will wonder a lot of things. Some of them are just to serve the purpose of exasperating myself because there are no answers. Others will be because I am trying to figure people out and see what their motives are for doing things.

High school is a difficult beast. We get students who are terrified of being there because the building is big and I admit, ours is pretty enormous and maze-like. We’ve restructured almost everything about it and there are four separate academies, one of which is in my charge. I’m keeping half of the freshmen from last year who I had as their dean and I’m getting half of the incoming freshmen that I’ll be meeting today. When I crunched the numbers it’s about the same as I was dealing with last year and my role, which is new to both me and the district, will be an Academy Assistant Principal.

In many ways, I’ll be the “principal” over my own little school. That’s about 350 students and 20 teachers to work with; some of whom are going to be evaluated because it’s “their year” and just now I’m understanding that I have to work with a lot of personalities. It won’t be fair to write about my dealings with them on a personal or professional level, though I know I will want to explore things in writing. When I do, it would make sense to give them anonymity. Yet, there are several hundred students and families I will meet and cultivate relationships with; I’ll most definitely need this morning to introduce myself and establish who I am in this position.

Today I am wondering what souls I will be intertwined with for the space of a school year.

Today I am irritated that some families won’t bother to start their children in school until after Labor Day because they’re “on vacation”.

Today I am the woman who will, no doubt, be called a bitch because it is the easiest slander to revert to when they are frustrated with me.

Today I am astounded that some of my students live in filth and poverty and ignorance.

Today I am grateful for loving parents who are trying their absolute best to make good on a bad situation.

Today I will let parents know that I do not serve to enable their children.

Today I will give an example of being a responsible citizen and I will use that example time and time again because only a few will be able to hear it today. For others, the message will come later on.

Today I will remember that everyone learns at different paces and that the learning curve is steep.

Today I will tell them why I am there knowing that they will question me sometimes when they have forgotten.

Today I will smile at children masquerading as mature high school students who desperately need the very tenderness they will refuse until I gain their trust.

Today I will be hard on the boys for their saggy pants and the girls for their revealing tops and remind them that they are here to exercise THEIR BRAINS and that their bodies are not for display.

Today I will impart wisdom that has been hanging around in the crevices of my psyche that will, no doubt, surprise me when they come to the surface.

Today I will love someone new and it will sneak up on me like it always does.

Today I am the Moral Gatekeeper for what works in schools because I have been around just that long.

Today I will second guess decisions and I will, as sure as the sun comes up, make wrong ones. It will have to wait until tomorrow that I can make it right again assuming that I even recognize it.

Today I am an educator who will protect children and piss off those who fail to recognize that.

Today I am the woman who might hold it together all day until she gets into her car and loses her shit at the end of a punishing day.

Today I am the woman who will reach out to pat a student on the back or simply hug them. People will tell me not to do that and I have yet to regret doing so because I exercise good judgment when doing so.

Today I am the administrator who has moved to the Dark Side and “doesn’t understand what it’s like in the classroom” and there is nothing I can do to change anyone’s mind about that. It’s ok.

Today I am the principal who simply can’t make everything right or fix society’s ills but who will be infuriated nonetheless.

Tonight I will return home entirely exhausted. It’s not even the first day of school.

There are just too many things swirling around in my head that are beginning to take residence up in my armpits (the sweating could also be due to the New Orleans type humidity we experienced yesterday where I clutched my chest every time I went outside) and they are working their way down to my shins which are banging into things in my new office in record incidences. This practically begs me to utter some things on my mind. Feel free to click away until I give away free gasoline, but misery loves company. Feel the need to bitch in my comments? Go for it. Just not at me. Ahem, see below.

People working in service to others. THIS IS YOUR JOB. You serve no other purpose than to ring up my purchases, bag them, and collect my money. Let’s have one good knock-down drag out fight so we can dislodge that stick from your ass, shall we? That will serve two purposes: you’ll not take yourself so seriously and you’ll remember to thank your lucky stars that you have a job. Also? Let’s try moving at something other than the speed of dark.

The View. If I have to do so, I will come down there and remove some sticks from a few other asses. I’m going to bring some Q-Tips with me to clean out your ears and some gags for your mouths because YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ONE ANOTHER. On the subject of race and the N word I’m going to say this about how frustrated that one chick keeps getting (and the thing is, I don’t even have the time to watch this show, but the emails I get after any racial brouhaha is staggering - brouhaha is a fun word, no?): the reason that she “doesn’t understand” and why that particular issue cycles around is because you can’t seem to accept that people, but African Americans in general, have different views on this.

Her biggest issue is that we don’t all have One Giant Black View on things that she, in her simplistic mind, can grasp and run with that will explain All Things Black. I realize I’ve touched on this before and I also realize that every time I do, the trolls come out to comment. It’s as if I can discuss fashion and girly things, but when I get on my soapbox about an issue that this presidential campaign surely won’t let go of anytime soon, then I am taken to the woodshed.

If you plan on doing that let me just say this: Go away before somebody drops a house on you.

Fake Mexican Restaurants. If you don’t have any corn tortillas I’m fairly sure that you can’t call yourself a Mexican Restaurant. Or Mexican. Yeah, they kick you out of the club for that. While we’re on the topic, when you say you have “guacamole” you should probably not dump it right out of the container you bought it in without at least trying to add your own spin to it (some lime, maybe? a few ounces of cilantro?). Really, it’s not that hard.

People Who Stare At Bike Riders. It’s creepy and you seem desperate. I’m taking note of your license plate and will probably see you at the grocery store later where I just might do something to you like fart in the cereal aisle just before you enter it. I dunno. That seems too easy, but while I’m riding my bike home I will devise other evil plans for you. Eyes straight ahead, Driver 8.

Super Sharp Razor Blades That Are Trying To Kill Me. Look, when I have to buy 2 boxes of Band Aids during the summer months I’m way above my norm. I can’t wait to go back to shaving to the capri line.