"When I was talking to the King last week..."

I have met a lot of interesting people in the classes I've been taking. Actually, I've met both interesting and "interesting" people.

By interesting, I mean the guy who is always able to relate his military experience to our subject matter without making me cringe, and the woman who has my dream job, and the guy who is working lots of small grassroots miracles in his home country through his ingenuity and his powerful connections (see subject line). I might actually have a little crush on that guy, he's very interesting, incredibly smart and cares a great deal about his country. And he has a cool accent.

By "interesting," I mean the woman who repeats the last word of every sentence the teacher says after s/he says it, and the group of Chatty Cathys who sit in the back and mumble to each other while noisily flipping through the pages of the handouts repeatedly, over and over again, with no regard to their surroundings, and the guy who says "SURE!" really, really loud whenever the teacher would ask if something made sense or if we understood the concept s/he was explaining.

On a related note, I smelled a lot of interesting and "interesting" things on the two mile walk back to BART (I parked there and took the train this morning... since it wasn't raining this afternoon and I was stiff from sitting all day, I opted to walk back to my car).

By interesting, I mean the scent of wonderful African spices wafting out of the shops, the perfumes and colognes of the people I passed, and the smell of the sky ready to drop another gallon of rain on us at any second.

By "interesting," I mean that smell coming out of the KFC.

Which brings me to Patton Oswalt (a.k.a. my future husband if all goes well*). How fitting that the voice of a prestigious (rat) chef would review the "failure pile in a sadness bowl" he has mocked on many an occasion - and (basically) live to tell the tale.

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* By "if all goes well," I mean if I ever actually hang out in the same bar as him after one of his shows, gawk from afar for several minutes, work up the courage to offer to buy him a drink, laugh at his jokes for a while, get him into a political discussion for an hour, move the conversation into music/art/film for another four hours, stay up all night talking about our lives/hopes/dreams/baggage/crazy families, and finally convince him that I am the woman of his dreams at which point we fly off to Vegas immediately to seal the deal.

Hey. It could happen.

As an aside, it's really interesting to me that I've done a complete 180 from being attracted to the skinny punk skater beautiful (completely out of my reach) boys, to the boys who I think I would genuinely enjoy being around for several decades. Gasp and swoon, am I finally growing up?