My name is Sunshine, I am a paste eater

Hello, my name is Sunshine and I am a paste eater. Of course I haven’t indulged since 2^nd grade. But you know what they say – once a paste eater, always a paste eater. I do however still engage in a bit of Sharpie huffing  (anyone need me to draw up some garage sale signs?). And on occasion I have been known to paint my nails with Wite-Out (which, by the way smells pretty darned good if there are no Sharpies around). I also like to mangle paperclips, make fake “skin” with Elmers Glue and doodle on graph paper.  I’ve always had a fondness for school supplies. But I have to say, I have noticed a direct correlation between the number of years you have been in school and the relative “awesomeness” of required supplies. The level of “coolness” peaks at kindergarten and then it’s all downhill from there.

In kindergarten, besides the mandatory utilitarian change of underpants and box of Kleenex, you get to bring things like markers and finger paints and BIG crayons. As you move up in grades, the more colorful childish artsy stuff is replaced by all manner of interesting mechanical and technical things like protractors and calculators and thumb drives. Then, by the time you hit college, the manic elation of cruising  Walmart, relishing the sight of small neon colored packs of erasers  and glossy puppy folders, is replaced by a last minute run to Staples for a binder and a Bic. (There are always the overzealous freshmen who shop at the college bookstore and buy logo EVERYTHING – but I’m not even going to talk about them)

Tomorrow is THE big day -the first day of college. I am being overcome by alternate waves of excitement and fear. I can’t tell if the feeling in my stomach is from butterflies or lactose intolerance. There are decisions to be made - backpack or messenger bag? Personal grooming to attend to - chin hairs to be plucked, gray hair to be dyed. Books? Check. (OMG, made the mistake of opening the cover of the Mandarin language book and thought “what the fuck was I thinking- this shit looks really really hard!” Oh well, too late to switch to pottery now). Student ID? Yep.  I realize for the first time that my ID photo looks a lot like Ma Barker. 

Bifocals, Pepcid – all I need now is school supplies. So I head to Target, because it’s close to my apartment.

The place looks like the remote lot at O’Hare airport on Christmas  Eve - cars EVERYWHERE. This is not a good omen. Planes are flying overhead; pulling banners advertising student discounts on cable. Firemen stand ready at the entrance, passing the boot for Jerry’s Kids. On the sidewalk, garbage cans overflow, Slurpee cups drip red onto the concrete.Inside isn’t much different. There are 70,000 students at IU and I think most of them were at Target. Students all over the place; carts overflowing with microwaves and Ramen noodles and ping pong balls. Random clatches of Asians blocking the aisles. Hordes of girls in tight shirts and even tighter jeans speaking words I don’t understand in loud, high pitched, nail on blackboards, Valley Girl accented voices. Groups of flip-flop clad young men enveloped in clouds of excess testosterone, seemingly intent on running interference between me and my mission. Complete and total pandemonium. Shelves picked cleaner than the aftermath of a locust invasion. Nary a Hello Kitty lunchbox or Ironman note book to be found. I leave. I turn and leave, winding my way through the masses.

On the way home I stop at the grocery store and pick up some aspirin, cat food, Windex, a 10 pack of pencils, a composition book and toilet paper. Voila – Just like that, I am ready for school. Is the thrill gone? Hardly, because I also picked up a black, extra large, Sharpie magnum permanent marker. Laissez les bons temps rouler! Let the good times roll baby -

Once upon a time

Once Upon A Time . . .

Once upon a time a baby girl was born; she grew up, went away to college, had a wonderful career, opened a 401K and married her prince charming.  . . that baby girl was NOT me.


I grew up (kind of); blew my college savings drinking my way through Europe, held down a string of truly odd odd jobs, and became a poverty ridden single mom who talks baby talk to her chihuahua.


 -Flash forward a few years - I'm currently looking at the ass crack of 50 and unemployed. I am physically a mess - at that wonderful point in a middle aged lady's life where I suffer from BOTH  PMS AND menopause, so now I sweat profusely as I sit in front of the fan alternately screaming, yelling, snarfing M&Ms  and asking "Is it me - or is it hot in here?".  I've started to pee my pants, just a little when I laugh or sneeze and sometimes for no reason at all. Parts of my anatomy are not staying where the God Lord intended them to be. If I go bra-less, my boobs chafe my waist. Two weeks ago I got bifocals and I'm still walking like a drunken stroke patient - and stairs with bifocals, let's just say I take the elevator. Ya get the point.


I am a professional and financial mess. My previous jobs have included, mascot at Kiddieland, (I was Chippy the Chipmunk). I was a nanny, an unpaid radio newscaster and worked for 2 days at a Subway Sandwich shop (I quit because the mayonnaise caused me great anxiety - people were never happy - lite mayonnaise, spicy mayonnaise, regular mayonnaise, too little mayonnaise, too much mayonnaise. I could handle all the other condiments, but the mayonnaise drove me freakin  bat poop crazy! Hello,  I was a  "sandwich artist", not The Amazing Kreskin!) In addition, my professional qualifications include a string of sporadic entry level clerical jobs. I have an ugly resume.  Finances - Ov vey ismir!!!   I honestly believe  the people at my bank think I am retarded; when they see me they get this phony smile and start to talk very slowly. I go into the bank every other week with a pile of ATM slips and let them straighten it out. That's their job, kind of like fiduciary mayonnaise.  I think the daily average balance on my account is $1.65. Once, I got my account down to 4 cents! I am terrible with money, but I figure hey, you can't play for the NBA if you've never seen a basket ball - same thing with money.


So - waking up one day and finding myself middle aged, unemployed and broke I did the only logical thing - I drove to Taco Bell, ordered a soft shell taco supreme and then applied for college. Living in Bloomington Indiana, home of Indiana University (suck it Purdue) made the whole procedure pretty easy. A ton of paperwork, 14 phone calls, several tearful visits to the admissions office - and badda bing!!!! I am accepted, apparently I fall into a "special" category at the university - the chronologically challenged, aka older adult student. A Pell grant and $20,000 in student loans later and I am on my way. Now - what to study . . .


There is a hierarchy at the university  - a subject pecking order if you will and it goes something like this:
At the top there are the ics: physics, mathematics, the ologys: biology, anthropology,  the rys as in chemistry and anything that ends inscience: computer science, geological science etc. Next comes all the studies: gender studies, religious studies, followed by everything else. I knew right off the bat that the ics and ologys weren't for me - too much math. The same goes for the sciences. I wasn't interested in most of the studies so after careful consideration - I chose . . . . Chinese. Hey, I like egg rolls, fireworks and Bruce Lee, so - why not Chinese. It makes perfect sense to me, with a population of over 1.3 billion, the only thing more plentiful than Chinese folks on this plant is  McDonalds, and I knew I didn't want to work there - so Chinese it is!


Three days until school starts. I got my books, my student ID and a pen. I am scared to death. What if they don't like me? I mean I'm old enough to be their mother. I worry that I won't be included, that I won't be popular. I worry about all kinds of things and then I stop and think, hey, I've got things those kids don't have: I have wisdom, maturity, and I am legally able to purchase alcohol. And then I think, maybe this won't be so bad. And maybe like Mary Tyler Moore - I'm going to make it after all. My Chinese language and literature books sit by the front door, right along side my bifocals and cholesterol meds. Let the countdown begin. I am ready. Ready to learn new things, ready to start a new chapter in my life. I am not old - like a fine wine, or a classic car, or a Bob Mackie sequin pantsuit, I am vintage.