Every Monday afternoon I run to the Blockbuster Express, throw some popcorn in the microwave, grab some beverages, dim the lights and have what I like to call a “media group” with my residents. Most would call this a movie group, but I prefer “media” because it makes it sound like I am doing more than just watching a movie, on the clock.
I was given a birthday card today from one of my residents, which was made with a flier that I had posted on his wall to meet with me (which he stood me up for), that read, “Happy 29th Birthday R — I hope you live a happy 129 more!”
Although the sentiment was sweet, I am praying that this isn’t some sort of prophecy — given the current tendinitis in my knees, I am fairly certain that if I make it to 158 I will not be walking well at all.
Mr. L: Miss R, where are you running off to this weekend?? Palm Springs? Vegas? The Bahamas?
Me: Actually, I am going skydiving in Santa Barbara this weekend! I am so nervous!
Mr. L: Oh umm….I’ll be right back Miss R.
Me: Where are you going?
Mr. L: To get the psychiatrist.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had an appointment with her — you better get in there so you’re not late.
Mr. L: No, no, I don’t have an appointment — I am bringing her in HERE for YOU! You’ve officially gone nutso and I am going suggest getting you on suicide watch!
“Miss R, I am actually really glad that you don’t worry about your hair or clothes — if you dressed nice I would worry about your safety because so many more guys would hit on you.” –Mr. AC
[to a social worker] “Miss R is so cool, she’s so confident in herself, she don’t even care what she looks like when leaves the house in the morning!” –Miss SD
So…I guess my plan is….uhh…working??
Without fail, anytime I enter a karaoke bar I begin to get nervous and shake, not as much for fear of singing (because I simply will not), but worse, the fear of listening to a friend (or stranger) sing terribly and having to pretend to enjoy it [read: I also have a similar irrational fear of live stand-up comedy]. Today there is a festival/fair of sorts happening an entire block away (also on Skid Row) from my office, yet I have now, very loudly and very clearly heard 3 different acapela versions of Alicia Keys’ “If I Ain’t Got You” and am currently listening to the most out-of-tune rendition of “La Bamba” imagineable.
If people ever question if my job has perks, I’d encourage them to read this post as a reminder.
Here’s a random clip for you of my all-time favorite karaoke video that I will never have to fake-laugh at:
Please read back to “pants on fire.” if you’d like a reference as to whom instigated this conversation….
[I recently dyed some pink streaks into my hair to give it a little flava (yes, I said flava, deal wit’ it). ]
Mr D: What the….??? Miss R, you’ve got pink in your hair?? What are you, some kind of witch??
Me: A witch?? Huh? No! Well, I guess if I am going to be a witch, I’d at least like to be Glinda the good witch, from Wizard of Oz.
Mr. RL: (jumping into the conversation) Naaaah, nah, now I don’t really understand how your hair makes you a witch, but I DO know that you ain’t no good witch — a crazy witch maybe….in fact Mr. D, I think you are right, Miss R, you are a witch. [Mr. ML walks into the room] Hey, did you hear Miss R is a witch??
Mr. ML: Oh yeah, I know — she a crazzzay white witch!