The view from my perch: A phone message from Planned Parenthood taped to my computer ("Wants to talk about lesson planning for next year," the note reads ... "Please call." Great. Couldn't get this year's bunch to put 'i' before 'e', have to teach next year's bunch to put condoms on before sex.) A stack of papers I've yet to grade. Ninety textbooks that all need to be re-shelved. A letter that says I have the job I desired. A window in which I Googled 'passion parties' because I just agreed to host one. Another window in which an email from a fellow club member contains this P.S. "I have something to show you two hardworking professional women that I think could make you financially independent ... call me." Dare I? If ever in my life I have to sit through another pyramid scheme spiel (and what else could it be?) Ugh. Passion parties I can do - though the pyramid lurks beneath the lube, how can you not have fun hawking sex toys and videos and reaping free hostess gifts while you're at it?

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