I wanna take you from Paris to San Francisco ...

Another summer has come and almost gone, and again, I haven't done anything with my blog, which I apologize for. If you know me, this will probably sound funny to you, but I have a lot of trouble recording things I really, truly enjoy. This is the reason I never wrote about my experiences in China in detail, and the reason I never take very many photos from JSA or at tournaments.

This summer, I returned to my job as a resident adviser at Stanford University for the Junior Statesmen Summer School. I know it doesn't sound like much, because when people think about their R.A.s, they think about their detached, uninvolved college R.A., but trust me when I say that this job is very, very different. Because I don't want to get blacklisted from the Foundation, I won't say much more about it, but let's say that a LOT of the summer school's success this year was achieved on the back of the 8 R.A.s. The job wasn't a pretty one, and it wasn't easy, and at times I felt like (and eventually did) breaking down in tears. But at the end of the day, it was completely worthwhile because of my kids, my girls, my daughters, my Adams Family.

I began the summer with 36 kids. That went down to 31, and then finally down to 30. I was scared shitless. I only had 14 kids last year (technically 16, but y'know ...)! How would I get to know all of them? Better yet, how would I learn all their names and faces?! And so I put most of my effort into my kids this year, unlike last year where all I cared about was fucking around and having fun with my co-workers. This year it was about the Family. You could say that it went well, because now that they're in their "real" homes with their "real" families, I'm left heartbroken and missing the shit out of those little creatures.

I had prepared a short speech for graduation. Quoted Ted Leo, said best of luck and I'm proud of you and keep in touch and thanks for a great summer, but I think I started to lose it when I lined up my kids for the last time in Sterling Quad. It got worse when I read the back of the graduation program and laughed at the name misspellings. It started to really kick in when they handed me the diplomas and I had to alphabetize them, looking through each name for the last time. My stomach sunk when I fought Jessica Mitchell's father for a semi-decent standing spot in the back of the auditorium to hear my Lil' Anwar speak. I think I was about to cry until she began referencing Rumadai, then I just started laughing. And then that prepared speech went out the window. I couldn't let my last words to my kids be some canned speech -- it had to come from the heart. I let the words pour out of me, but I don't feel like I said it all. I don't know if they know how much they changed my life, or how much I really did love them, and how much I really would miss them. I think I closed my speech asking for one more *snap snap*, and they sang their ridiculous ass song. Fuckin' love those kids. I almost couldn't read Erin's name. By the time I got to Deborah and Monica at the end, I wanted to rip my heart out. When we told them that graduation was over and they could leave, I watched them all stand up and I almost wanted to go up and block the doors. You can't leave! You can't not be back at the dorms! You can't go home!

If this is love, if this is attachment ... I can't have children. What would happen after 18 years? If I can love and become so attached to these children that I didn't even birth in three weeks, how am I supposed to have children of my own?

SOMD.

My kids are better than yours.

I would trade my 21st birthday (which was INSANE, by the by) for more time with my children. I would trade ultimate to just keep living in the past three weeks with those little creatures.
What can I say, they're my Adams Family.
I love those little creatures.

Just adorable.

So yes, it was yet another incredible summer for me. The '09 Staff isn't the same as Team Stanford Bro Eight, but I wasn't expecting that. This is what I'll remember from this summer: One minute of rage. Bed checks. Floor meetings. Unforgivable. "Little Angry Mouth and her Mute Troupe". "Channing". "Oompa Loompa". "Totoro!" (the self-proclaimed) "D-Unit". That fuckin' Rumadai song and the accompanying dance. Lagunita. All those days/nights in the Tank. Adams Tower. Sassoon y Friends. Squeezes. Ripping my hair out. Scoot-scoots. DJ Scoot Scoot/Hancock. BOO PATROL. Uncomfortable game. "Shitting his pants". In-N-Out. Free Jamba Juice all summer. And of course ... shit on my dick.

Stanford Staff '09. We pulled through this shit storm together.
Adams Family. I couldn't love those kids more. My heart feels emptier without them.
I mean, I miss my kids so much I'm listening to this damn song just to remind me of them.

Blurgh.