This is Why I Love July

July is National Hot Dog Month and today, July 18, is National Hot Dog Day. In honor of this prestigious event, and because 2.3 billion hot dog consumers can't be wrong, I offer a limerick.

Please to enjoy:

Hot Dogs! A great summer treat.
In fact, they're my favorite linked meat.
A grilled one piled high
With great toppings and fries ...
A hot dog for lunch can't be beat!

Happy Hot Dog Day everybody!

Celebrate by eating a hot dog (duh!) or by taking this Hot Dog Quiz, courtesy of the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council. If you do both you'll be chubbier and smarter. And my work here will be done.

Obligatory Camp Report

I'm back from my week of camping with 70-odd teenage girls (aka Girls Camp) and I feel like I should give you all a full report on the tomfoolery and shenanigans that went on. But you probably don't really care, do you? I doubt you care that my skin was practically pan-seared off of my body during the 100 degree/85% humidity days we had. Nor do you care that the bathrooms for our campsite were about 100 yards away, requiring a walk that resembled a Mario Brothers game: through a field, up a hill, across a road, climb over a fallen log, dodge several tree roots, find the only stall with toilet paper, and capture the princess. This made my 3AM trip with The Trots particularly memorable.

In fact, the only things I could tell you about this trip are rather embarrassing and therefore things that you'd be likely to use against me in the future. Wouldn't you? Like the fact that I abandoned showering by Tuesday, and by Saturday my hair was cemented into ponytail shape with 42 layers of sweat, sap, dust, grease, smoke and mosquito guts. Or that I voluntarily sang every camp song I knew, and even faked some that I didn't know. Or the fact that I manipulated my leadership powers to get my 9 twelve year old girls to do everything I didn't want to do myself like carry water, chop firewood, clean my dishes, and act like Sherpas bringing my camp chair and other belongings with us on all outings so I'd have somewhere to recline while they continued to do my bidding. I even made them practice their First Aide skills and dress some blisters on my feet. Feet that, given my state of dirtiness, should have required a bio-hazard suit before approaching. It was very good to be queen.


Perhaps most embarrassing though, are the cheesy little notes that I left in my girl's mailboxes. I really maxed out the cheesiness by liberally using scrapbooking paper, ribbon, multi colored pens, stencils, stickers, stamps, and shame of all shamefulness Lame Double Meanings.

• "You're the 'Reisen' camp is so fun!" - attached to a baggie of Reisen candies
• "High Five for Camp!" - attached to a plastic hand clapper thing
• "Chews the Right" - attached to a baggie of gumballs

I'll tell you what, once you start down that Molly Mormon road, it quickly becomes a very slippery slope. I was glad there wasn't a scrapbook handy or there would have been some real damage done.

Suffice it to say, I did a lot of things that were outside of my comfort zone. I handled the cooking, cleaning, hiking, dirtiness, and usual camp craziness with style and aplomb. But dealing with the girls was a little more tricky. I found coddling girls that were missing their mommies particularly challenging. What do you say to kids who think 1.5 hours away from home is too far? I wanted to say, "Suck it up kid. You'll be home in 4 days, and your mom needs a break from your whiney face." Obviously I didn't say that. But I'm sure whatever drivel I came up with sounded pretty insincere. Sympathy isn't my strong point.

The best part about the Girls Camp though was the abject adoration of these little girls. They apparently loved being bossed around, and didn't mind being my personal slaves. In fact, they thanked me for it. And I got several notes such as these:

• "You're a Flippin Sweet Camper!"
• "You are the Best Leader at Camp! I love you!"
• "I love you! You're the Best. And you will never look old."

That's right. I'm the Best and I will never look old. I think that just about sums everything up.

Mustard Takes a Holiday

Mustard and I will be back on Saturday.

Words I Would Say if I Were British

I'm a little bit tired of my normal American English phrases like "Awesome" and "Totally Freaking Awesome". And I sometimes wish I could toss in a few select British phrases to spice things up a bit. But I don't for two reasons. First, there's a strong possibility that I wouldn't be understood because Americans are widely recognized as morons, and Second, if I were understood it would be by people who would think I was a totally lame poseur and I'd be shunned from decent society. So I refrain. But oh, if I could possibly get away with it, I would.

These would be my word seasoning of choice:

• Brilliant or Brill - "Penny, these new highlighter pens are simply brill!"
  
• Prat - "That prat Roger called me again last night."
  
• Git - "What an insufferable git!"
  
• Sod off - "Sod off, Aaron, I'm not buying your appetizers."
  
• Knackered - "I worked like a demon today and I'm completely knackered."
  
• Veg - "What lovely Fruit & Veg!"
• "Fill in the blank" for England - "You'd think Lucy was Shagging for England!"
• Naff - "Britney Spears is so naff."
  
• Love - "You about done with the copier, love?"
  
• Do - "Are you going to Harry's Birthday Do?"
• Spiffing - "Don't you look spiffing?"
  
• Corking/Corker - "Poppy's new dog is a little corker."
  
• Cock it up - "As usual, Ed cocked it up."
  
• Take Away - "Care for a curry take away?"
  
• Blimey - "Blimey it's cold in here."
  
• Did do - "Well I guess you did do."
  
• Pissed - "Roger, is that you? Are you pissed again?"
  
• Bollocks - "Bollocks to him! ... Yeah, bollocks to him!"

Wouldn't it be brill .... I mean awesome?

Nap Attack

It's very important for me to be properly rested. Sadly, there's no wild-child lifestyle for me. No rocking out til the break of dawn and whatnot. Without my requisite 8 there can be no functioning. And I mean it. My body goes into active rebellion and there is NO FUNCTIONING. When this happens no amount of caffeine or exercise will stop the inevitable. The impending nap will not be denied.

Now, I'm not talking about your run of the mill Give Me 40 Winks and I'll be Ship-Shape Nap. Nor is it the I've Just Eaten the Entire Buffet at Circus Circus and Am Slipping Into A Food Coma Nap. This is a Mega Nap. A pending on narcolepsy nap. A "You better find someplace to lay down in the next thirty-two seconds or LIKE IT OR NOT you'll be crumpling to the ground like a bag of Jello and complete strangers will see you drooling in the middle of this grocery store aisle while you take this nap" Nap.

These naps are very serious business.

I remember one particularly violent nap attack in college. It was all I could do to withstand the remaining minutes of my class before I stumbled outside of the building and collapsed onto the grass, a mere 6 inches from the sidewalk. Oddly, while I was sleeping I could hear upperclassmen walking by and commenting on the spectacle I was making of myself, but The Nap would not be denied. And I had to just keep on sleeping until my body deemed itself to be back within "functioning range". I ended up sleeping there for about 3 hours. Waking up, I was glad to see that I only had an earring silhouette sunburn and wasn't covered in silly string as I had feared.

Clearly, this little napping issue of mine can be inconvenient at times. So like most disabilities I've had to learn to live my life managing it. The first thing, obviously, is to stay well rested. I am consequently an Olympic Sleeper. My duvet cover has a sleeping Bald Eagle and my slogan "Sleeping For America" emblazoned on it to cheer me on. But every so often I do still get spells in which a nap must happen. To manage these, I always scout out my places of employment for suitable napping spots. To be suitable, it must be easily accessible, weather resistant (or provide summer/winter options), and if at all possible my boss should never ever see me in it lest they be tempted to fire my ass for sleeping on the job. Even though, it's like totally not my fault.

In the past, these are the places I have resorted to regularly:

• The most excellently comfortable couch on the Asian Studies floor (used to be the 1st floor) of the BYU Library
• Under my desk
• On the BYU, University of Maryland, or National Malls
• The floor of any carpeted hallway (the Humanities Building at BYU was a great favorite)
• The sound recording studio of the Humanities Research Center
  
• The East Asian Studies room of the University of Maryland Library (despite the short couches)
• My car in parking lots, drive ways, park-n-ride lots, highway shoulders, or neighborhood streets
  
• Park benches
• Empty office cubicles
• Grassy flat spaces, such as those non-parks that urban planners put on busy corners
• Grassy medians between highways/busy streets
• And if I'm very lucky and I can make it home, my bed.

Libraries are a favorite for the obvious reasons: plenty of quiet, lots of places to tuck yourself away, and people expect you to be asleep. Especially in the Asian Study Rooms. This is but one of the reasons I became a librarian - built in nap rooms! If there's no library handy though, I'm a sucker for any flat grassy spot. If I'm not likely to get killed or mugged and it's flat and grassy, you can bet that I'll be asleep on it. I don't really prefer hallways or office spaces because they're loud and you're in the way ... which I always feel guilty about once the nap funk clouding my brain has dissipated and I can feel proper amounts of shame and self-respect again.

But ideally, the best scenario is to be at home in the peace and quiet of your own room. And I am very happy that today's nap attack was close enough to home that I had enough time to drive erratically down the block, peel around the corner, ride the elevator upstairs, get into my apartment, change my clothes and collapse into my bed before falling into a 4 hour episode. Standing in line at the bank, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it. Count. Money. Faster. IDIOT!!

I feel much better now.

Please Let This Be True

Fox news is reporting that Michael Jackson is looking at real estate in Maryland. (On St. Michaels, if you're curious). Please please let this happen! We need more resident crazies to elevate Maryland from its non-memorable-state status. And is there anyone better or crazier than Wacko Jacko? Of course not! I hope he brings Prince Michael, Prince Michael The Second, and Blanket. Plus if he were a resident we could also adopt Billie Jean as our new state song. I love that song.

In a fitting twist to this story, he's reportedly looking at a house built by Mario Boyardee, son of Chef Boyardee. Could it get more perfect than that? Nasty canned pasta and The Gloved One together? It's like 6th grade is being recreated in its entirety for me, right here in Maryland.

People Wonder Why I Don't Entertain More

Since moving into my building almost three years ago I've seen some crazy things. I really, really like my apartment. Its got a great view, is fairly spacious, and since utilities are included in my rent I feel free to take ridiculously long showers and fall asleep with my light on. So I deal with the healthy portion of crazy that I'm liable to encounter once I go out of my front door. And, believe me, there's a whole lotta crazy going on out there. But crazy as my neighbors may be, I've never seen quite as much near-nudity as I've seen this week. I chalk it up to the opening of our pool. Or maybe the steamy heat is to blame. I'm not sure.

Join me on a single elevator ride that's destined to go down in the annals of You Think I'm Lying, But I Swear on Britney Spears' Shaved Head That This is All True. (oh why does my elevator attract such horrible behavior?):

• Waiting for the elevator with a fellow in dirty white belly shirt and severely sagged white basketball shorts, resulting in a full view of not very clean tightey whiteys. I don't want to say "racing stripes" out loud ... but well ... yeah.
  
• When it arrived the doors opened to reveal a guy zipping up his pants. I was glad that I hadn't been in the elevator while they were unzipped. But it certainly didn't make me feel very good about getting in after him.
• Stopping at pool level we picked up a guy going back up to his apartment after swimming. Unfortunately he was using a pair of cut-offs as a swimming suit, and they sagged a liiiiiitle too low for decency.
• Finally exiting the elevator on the 16th floor I see my heavy-set Latino neighbor taking his trash to the trash chute in only a tee-shirt and briefs.
• At this point my eyes had been assaulted to such an extent that they spontaneously combusted, and I fumbled down the hall crying and swearing to forgo the elevator from now on. If I ever need to leave my island of sanity again I'll just repel down the side of the building instead. Much safer that way.

Don't get me wrong, I think my neighbors are pretty nice. Sure, they're crazy exhibitionists, but at least they are NICE crazy exhibitionists. I should look at this as a perk. There are clubs in Northeast DC where ladies are spending hard earned dollars on this kind of thing. Here, it's all part of the service: 1 BR, spacious, great view, utilities and peep shows included. Apply today!