If You Belonged Here

I'll Be Beggin' the Question of Ye, Lassies

Short and sweet today, people:

Do you have a favorite accent? What accent do you think is the sexiest? The funniest?

Getting A Man Is Easy When You Do It Caveman Style

I can't remember how much I've told you whippersnappers, what with my memory being shot after giving birth and all, but Polly and I met in college. 

Artsy-fartsy, self-loathing, cold-ass-winter college. 

We were assigned as roommates, which was fortunate, because there weren't a lot of other people there that were on our end of normal. I mean, be whoever you want, let your freak flag fly and all, but could you keep down the noise in the middle of the dark? I am not offended by the transvestite-in-fishnets look, but I want a solid eight every night. 

Polly and I, in our big flannel shirts and Doc Martens (maybe Polly wore Converse, I can't remember) both valued a good night's sleep, and I think that may have been the foundation for our friendship. Boring, I know, but we've known each other a large fraction of our lives now. We don't say the number, people, remember?

I showed up at college with my liberal values, which had been influenced in weird ways by my Mormon circle of friends in high school. I believed in public schools and planned to register as a Democrat, but I was still a virgin and wasn't sure how I felt about abortion. Plus, alcohol was scary. The closest I had come to drunk was a parentally-supervised dose of Nyquil.

Polly, while definitely not living on the edge particularly, was pretty wild in my personal experience. 

She had a boyfriend. They had sex. She didn't do drugs, but she wasn't opposed to the demon alcohol. She cursed. Creatively. She even made me a usage chart of curse words. I wish I could find that motherf*cker.

She left me a chain letter one day. It read:

Dear (The Dol):
This is a chain letter. If you break the chain you will have one trillion years bad luck which will visit you in the form of touchers. This chain letter was started at the dawn of time by the fertility goddess whose name is too holy to utter (Polly). The object of this chain letter is to promote world peace through constant, repercussion free, lovemaking.
To complete the chain you must find and kiss the first person on the list, remove their name from the top of the list and add your name to the bottom. Make fifteen copies of the revised letter and mail it to the most attractive people you know. Remember, no cruel jokes, and don't break the chain. If all goes well you will be kissed by one million beautiful people within the course of the week. 

Live long and Keep 'Em Wanton,
The Fertility Goddess

Doug
Doug
Doug
Doug
Doug
Doug

"Doug" was the adorable boy in our house (we were too avant garde to call them "dorms") that we both had a wee crush on. Our standards changed over time, because Doug had body odor and didn't wash his bath towel all semester.

But for that one wide-eyed year, he was the older hot guy that shared our bathroom.

Oh, and I should explain something. The Toucher was a term that came into use because I attracted the sort of guy that wanted to touch me. Not like molestation, you perverts. Like, arms around the shoulder, or hugging. Unsolicited and unwanted. Stuff that white people who were raised by Mormon wolves just don't do with any old guy. 

Now, to be clear, it's not like I was pure as the driven snow. My completely adorable Mormon boyfriend and I had done, well, everything but, if you catch my drift. 

I wasn't completely without experience or self-confidence, but I was also a little naive when it came to flirtation. 

That's where Polly taught me about getting a guy, caveman style.

"You just grab one. You like him? Go get him. Tell him he's coming with you." She said that, and then she just... did it. We were at a big end-of-the-year festival on campus, and she spotted a cute one across the way, and she just grabbed him by the arm. 

I am not even exaggerating--not one tiny bit--when I tell you he followed her around all weekend. She finally had to release him into the wild and hope he could fend for himself. (Maybe the Mormon wolves adopted him. Who knows?)

I never quite had the guts to just grab one and make him mine the way Polly did, but I tell you what: I learned something important from Polly. Confidence will get you pretty damn far in life, especially if you have a little substance to back it up. I have a feeling any moderately cute girl could successfully pull off the Caveman Grab, but you gotta have balls. Girl balls. Big, bronze-age ones, ladies.

I didn't kiss Doug, I'm sorry to say. Truly, I am sorry. I wish I had not only kissed him, but had snatched that nasty old towel off him spontaneously. He studied dance, amigos. It would have been nice to see.

So Pandora? Finch? Any other little spritely co-ed types that might be reading this? Put on some lip gloss, slam down a shot for courage, and go grab one for me.

The Question is Begged, The Dol is Two-Legged. Er...

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not. 

- Dr. Seuss, The Lorax

For those of you with kids in school, it may not come as a surprise that Dr. Seuss' birthday was March 2. It was used as a springboard for Read Across America, so if your school is like my daughter's, you got annoying robo-calls about reading to your children. We really didn't need the reminder at our house, thanks, and it bugs me when a robo-call interrupts my viewing of "Dogtown," but there you go.

Not that the obnoxious calls have anything to do with how much I love Dr. Seuss. I love him.

My daughter's school encouraged kids to dress up as a Seussian character. Most kids did Thing 1 or Thing 2, or Sally from The Cat in the Hat. Baby Dol and I spent an entire day creating a fabulous, fabulous Cindy Lou Who get-up.

Here's the hair.

Yeah, I know--pretty damn awesome, right? I have no trouble fishing for a compliment on this bad boy, people, because it is the best thing I have ever done in my entire life. When I put that bow on the top and stepped back to look at it, I giggled maniacally, because I don't do hair. 

I mean, look at it, people! It's beautiful, quirky, lush! Feel free to heap compliments on me in the comments. 

After you answer the question, of course. Which is coming, now that I've vainly tooted my own horn.

My question today refers back to one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books, The Lorax. I will be honest here, amigos: I get choked up every time I read that book. 

I mean, who doesn't love that grumpy little Lorax? 

He was shortish. And oldish. And brownish. And mossy.
And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and bossy.

He's quite the environmentalist, is The Lorax. 

I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.

The Onceler tells the story of how he  (the Onceler) destroyed the local habitat and drove away all of the native wildlife in his quest to create Thneeds (a sort of universal clothing item that doubles as a multi-purpose linen). 

The Lorax fought hard to stop the destruction of the habitat, but eventually even he fled. 

The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance...
just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance...
as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.
And I'll never forget the grim look on his face
when he hoisted himself and took leave of this place,
through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace.
And all that the Lorax left here in this mess was a small pile of rocks, with the one word

UNLESS.

The Onceler gives the last remaining seed of the Truffula Tree to the reader so that the habitat might be brought back again.

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.

And that's where we come to today's question:

What do you do, big things or small things, to make the world a better place?