even my mama thinks that my mind is gone...

My pal Nate, of Vintage415 fame, asked my boss if she would be interested in speaking at Richmond High School about what it's like to work in the magazine industry. Nate's mom is really active in urban school development and Richmond HS has a media academy currently producing their own class publication. MG, the A+E editor, agreed to speak as well, and I was asked to tag along for moral support...and to help carry all the mags we brought. Little did I know Nate would intro me to the class, saying "this is Caitlin, she's a Jack of all Trades" which forced me to try and articulately express what exactly it is I do to a bunch of strangers-and my boss-without using the term "hodgepodge" or "drinking problem."

High school kids are VERY different from when I was roaming the halls, and I only graduated in 2000. Apparently, the new trend is to sport little kiddie backpacks ala Dora the Explorer and SpongeBob, and I was shocked to discover that people really do make out in front of their lockers. I mean, I used to see a peck from time to time, but I honestly don't think I've ever witnessed a full on suckfest.

The best part about bestowing wisdom upon the youth of America is their complete dismissal of most of what you have to say, and their phenomenally blunt questions.

student 1: "why are there no black people in this magazine?"
student 2: "I think I found one..."

student 3: "so how much money did you waste starting your mag?"

student 4: "y'all got to put me in your magazine."
MG: "well if you're at a party, and I see you, I'll know to put you in."
student 4: "what parties you at?"
MG: "you tell me where the party is."
Student 4: "Valentine's Day dance. Friday."

student 5: "so it's just like The Devil wears Prada?"
my boss (chuckling): "just like."
student 5 (looking at me): "for real? you get to go to Paris and everything?"
me: "mm-hmm, first class."
student 5: "you serious?"
me: "no."
student 5 (completely heartbroken): "oh...(looks at my boss) so it's just like 13 Going on 30?"
me: "except she's not a 13 year-old trapped in a 30 year-old's body..."

I didn't really think the three of us speaking would be that big of a deal, but Nate's mom explained to us that hardly anyone takes the time to visit these kids, so we all walked away feeling like we'd done our good deed for the day. When I got to work this morning I found these at my desk with a thank you note from Nate (my boss and MG got one too):



Seeing as the only date I have for tomorrow is a babysitting session with 4 year-old Tristan who insists on watching Cars over and over, and 20 month-old Henry who likes to poke my boobs (which, sadly, has been the most action I've gotten in a while), I've been telling everyone the flower's are from one of my many gentleman callers.

The kicker to all this? Nate's last name is Valentine.