The Perv Post

This week I wrapped up a monster grant that had to be submitted entirely online. Everything, including letters of support and signature pages, had to be scanned and sent electronically.  During the wrap-up meeting with my client, we decided to scan everything right onto my jump drive.

Their scanner was newfangled, fast, and seriously whiz-bang awesome—the rickety-ass scanner at my office is so elderly it reeks of mimeograph ink and gives a little wheeze whenever you press “Start.”  But my client’s scanner had speed and skill that brought joyful tears to my eyes. The phrase “I didn’t know it could be like this!” played on my lips.

Before I left, one of the secretaries asked to double-check my flash drive to make sure all of the scanned pages showed up.

“Sure!”  I said as I handed her my drive, blissfully unaware of the horror to come.

So she plugged it into her computer and pulled up the USB port menu. And there, listed next to the scanned PDFs, was a Word document I'd titled PERV POST.  

Oh Dear God.

All caps, sandwiched between the two scans, nearly shouting at you: PERV POST!

“Yep, there they are!” I extended my hand for the drive, wracking my brain for something to distract her from the fact that she was, apparently, working with some sort of social deviant.

She squinted and studied the screen. “Okay. You’re right. I think it worked.”

“Okay, so I better get going now!” Beads of sweat began to form on my upper lip. My bladder felt suddenly and inexplicably full.

She leaned in closer to the screen, pointing the cursor at each document. The little arrow slowly tracked over PERV POST. “Yep. There they are. Scan 1, and Scan 2.”

“Thanks so much. I really appreciate this.” I was nearly dancing with relief when she finally unplugged my drive and handed it back to me, a sly, knowing smile on her lips. I sprinted out the door, papers flying in my wake.

So what was the PERV POST? Well, here it is, though now it’s not nearly as funny as SCHOOL SECRETARY CONCLUDES GRANTWRITER IS ONE SICK PUPPY FROM DOCUMENT ON HER JUMP DRIVE.  Anyway, enjoy!
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Blogger recently changed its interface; after my initial reaction (irate confusion), I was tickled to see that my dashboard now easily and visibly displayed the total hits each post receives. At the top of the heap was my post entitled, “I can’t believe I’m posting these pictures,” with 800 page views.

I’m interpreting this to mean that there are hundreds—if not thousands—of creepy pervs out there actually Googling “I can’t believe I’m posting these pictures” (Teehee!) in the hopes of finding a naïve co-ed posting some nudie pics she’ll deeply regret sharing later in life.

Gross.

Anyway, these randy creepers must have been very disappointed to find photos of my pre-remodel bathroom instead of Girls Gone Wild.

Or maybe I’M the perv, since that was my first reaction…maybe all of these random site hoppers were simply hoping to find something shocking or funny or interesting or new or …

Nah.

I’m pretty sure they were looking for vaginas.

(This was to be followed with a clever string of shocking “I can’t believe I’m posting these!” photos: kittens in sinks, a bowl of pears on a table, a lighthouse overlooking a serene bay.  Oh well. Now we can look forward to the number of hits I’ll get with PERV POST.)

50,000 Talking Dogs

On Friday I made an author visit to my youngest crowd ever: the second-grade classroom in which my friend Leeann teaches.  It was pajama day, the last hour of the last day of one of the last weeks of the school year. After I had a seat in the reading nook, the kids gathered ‘round and asked lots of excellent questions, including:

“What’s it like to be an author?”

"Where do you live?”

“Where were you born?”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Do you have a dog?”

“Does she have a goldfish?” (Whispered to the teacher.)

“Do you have a husband?”

“Did you always want to be a writer?”

“Do you have any kids?”

“If you had some, would you be inspired by them?”

“When are you having a baby?”

“How old are you?"  

When I told him, his eyes popped and he yelled, "That's five years older than my mom!"

One little girl smiled shyly at me and said, "You're pretty."

Another girl in thick glasses and freckles sidled up to me and absently scratched my leg like a cat for what felt like five minutes. I didn’t want to make her feel strange or awkward for scratching me, so I just kind of endured it while the boy to her left folded himself into Child’s Pose to cope with his restlessness.

I really enjoyed myself, including our group storyboarding session at the end. (The title of our book? 50,000 Talking Dogs ... owned by an alien named Paul Stanley from Planet Blastoise). Afterwards I signed autographs. One serious young man named Gary instructed me to re-do my signature, this time in perfect cursive. Of course I obliged, because he was an eight year-old named Gary.

On the way home I missed my exit and drove the wrong way for 7 or 8 miles until I realized the sun was setting on the wrong side of the road.

This Tuesday, I’m blogging at the Girlfriends Book Club, and next weekend I’ll be judging the Edible Book Challenge at the Oshkosh Public Library, which should be another fun event.  Somewhere in there I’m also wrapping up a grant proposal, finishing novel edits, moving my office, planting my garden, getting a haircut, and kicking-off a living room renovation because I didn’t learn my lesson with our winter remodel. Oh, and I just found out I'm going to have another nephew this fall!

 Happy Mother's Day...Happy day.