So It Begins.

Back in college I was involved in a non-profit organization called Project Literacy, or Prolit if you were cool enough to combine two words into one. We were one of the largest student nonprofit organizations on the UCLA campus. We once had so many tutors that we had to charter buses to take them to site (where we met the kids). Eventually those buses bankrupted us and we were reprimanded by the school. So yeah, you may have heard of us.

Anyway, I loved all my kids and knew them all by name as well as familial relation ("That is Sarah and over there is Sarah's younger sister Carol, and that boy is Manny who is Carol's half-brother and not biologically related to Sarah, who only lives with them on the weekends."), which was reassuring because I knew I could always fall back on a career as a kindergartner teacher.

Today I went back to visit site, where I still knew a few of the volunteers. I hadn't gone back many times since I graduated, at first because I was busy and then because I figured the kids forgot about me and it would be awkward to return and try to create some sort of reunion ("Remember me? I taught you about prepositions! Remember prepositions?")

What changed my mind was that a few weeks ago I got a call from the cell phone of a friend who was still volunteering at site. A dozen little and mostly incomprehensible voices got on the line, but the gist of it was that they would like me to come visit them please, and can that happen soon.

So I went. And it was priceless. Little hugs and chubby faces and conversations like this:

My Brief but Enlightening Conversation with Steven, My Favorite 11 year-old in the World

Me: "So, you have a girlfriend now?"

Steven, nonchalantly leaning his portly little frame against a pole: "Yeah, I do."

Me: "What's her name?"

Steven: "Denise."

Me: "Aw, is she cute?"

Steven: "She has curly hair."

Me: "How long have you guys been together?"

Steven: "Since school started."

Me: "That's real nice."

Steven: "I might think about breaking up with her though."

Me: "What?? Why?"

Steven: "I don't know, I might wait until fifth grade is over."

Me: "You shouldn't play with girls' hearts like that, buddy. Are you nice to her?"

Steven: "No. I'm not nice to nobody."

Me: "Not even your girlfriend? Do you give her presents?"

Steven: "Yes."

Me: "Like what?"

Steven: "Hugs and candy."

Me: "Jeez, the men in your family must be popular (he has four brothers)."

Steven: "Yeah."

Me: "Who's the most popular?"

Steven: "Paco [his oldest brother, a 17 year old]. Paco had more than twenty girlfriends!"

Me: "Wow, that is a lot."

Steven: "Yeah, he had so many he doesn't even remember their names. Maybe he remembers three."

I Now Offer Services as a Personal Shopper

So I've gone shopping with my friend Marc Aaron a couple of times over the last month or so, because he recently got a full time job and very wisely decided that the best way to expend all that disposable income was on men's fashion.

The only problem is that prior to this his sense of style ran mostly toward oversized t-shirts and basketball shorts, and my area of expertise is in short skirts and see-through shirts. A compromise would have to be made.

Things That Were Said On Our Journey to Develop a New Style That Did Not Involve Oversized T-Shirts, Basketball Shorts, Short Skirts or See-Through Shirts

By Marc Aaron:

"I would never wear that. Come on."

"Elbow patches. I want something with elbow patches."

"I am not buying that leather jacket. I don't want to look like someone from the Fast and the Furious."

"I should be a model because if I were a model all the guys would come into the store and say, 'hey he looks like a regular guy, we should buy those clothes he's wearing.' With the real models they just say, 'what a douchebag, I would never dress like him.'"

"That vest has too many buttons."

"I should be the head of all men's fashion. I would be so good at it. People would bring me stuff and I would say 'no that's ugly we're not selling that' or 'that's pretty good, let's sell it' and I would make millions."

"This is not the men's section. What are we doing here?"

"That vest has too many pockets."

By me

"You should get some skinny jeans. I should get some skinny jeans. I want a pair in yellow."

"I need to buy a luggage and also a teapot."

"This is pretty cool. It's like playing dress up with a human-sized Ken doll. Except you're not blond and you don't take any of my suggestions."

"Oh my god it's a puppy store. Let's go look at puppies."

"What is that smell?"

"Puppies look a lot cuter than they smell."

"You should get that leather jacket, you'll look like one of the guys in the Fast and the Furious."

"I don't think this place has teapots."

A sign of my success: I helped him pick out a pair of mustard yellow pants. The next time I saw him I asked if he wore them yet.

Him: "Yes I did."

Me: "What did you pair it with?"

Him: "A dark blue polo."

Me: "Did anyone make a comment?"

Him: "Yes, my friend said I looked like a '70s astronaut."

Me: "Is that...good?"

Him: "Yes, I looked exactly like a '70s astronaut."

This doesn't even deserve a title.

I'm lying on my living room with my laptop because that's where I plugged in my hard drive a few months ago and I'm too lazy to move it and I need to upload and store the photos from my Taiwan trip.

I'm wearing boxer shorts because I just showered and they're kind of short so when I lay on my stomach on the ground it gets a little indecent. I covered myself with a blanket in case my roommate walks out, even though I wasn't cold. The only part that wasn't covered were my feet.

Then my feet got cold, and luckily I could just move my blanket a few inches down. I think I'm psychic.

Clearly I'm easing my way back into this blogging thing.