I'm pretty much a pilot. Yup.

Why, of course, there is a man eating a green popsicle on top of my apartment building. Isn't there a man eating a green popsicle on your roof?

Really? There is no man on your roof at all? I pity you. I'll share mine, if you like. He is really nice.

When Damian and I passed him, I said, "Hey! Look at that!"

Then we pointed at him and laughed. Man on Roof was not phased, however. He smiled and waved. How sweet!

If you stop by, he might wave at you, too.

In other news, you needn't be sad for me that I cannot teach a ballet class that lasts more than 30 seconds. Why, may you ask? I'll tell you why.

Damian has choir practice on Sundays, and I tag along, since we are a one car family. I don't sing, so I usually twiddle my thumbs, read my Kindle, or hang out with Little Girl (whose father sings in choir), while Damian sings his heart out.

OKAY! Okay! You caught me! No more lies! I can't handle the guilt!

I sing! Okay? Are you happy? I SING! All the time. In the shower. Around the house. In the car. Even in public or on the telephone (by accident, when I am in my own little world).  But I do not PURPOSEFULLY sing IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE and therefore, I do not sing in choir, so SHHHH! Don't tell anyone I sing! Most especially, do not tell This Guy, because then he might ask me to join choir and that would be terrible. Just terrible.

But what does all this have to do with my failure as a ballet teacher?

I'll tell you.

After the early dismissal of fake ballet class, Little Girl and I journeyed to the nursery in search of toys, but on the way there, This Guy (aka Choir Director) asked me to fill in as sound guy (or gal, I guess), because Real Sound Guy was caught in traffic or something. Well, I don't know where he was, but that's not the point!

What's the point?

I got to be a sound guy! Like at a rock concert! Except for at church, for choir practice (which is also cool)!

I felt really, really important, because the fate of the choir was in my hands. I fast forward? They sing faster. I press stop? Stony silence! See?

What a power trip!

Also, there were also loads of buttons, which made me feel smart, even if I was too afraid to touch anything but stop, play, and next track.

Yeah! Loads of buttons! Like on a airplane. I'm pretty much a pilot. Yup.


P.S. Hope you don't mind the break from Monday Memories--the spark of inspiration fizzled and died today. That's why you got to read about Man on Roof and Why I am Like a Pilot, instead. Maybe when I am a rich and famous blogger, I will be more dependable, but until then, you can use this glimpse of my scattered brain to feel better about your (probably) less scattered brain.
P.P.S. Here's a bonus: I'm really disorganized! You should see my kitchen! And my closet! Disaster areas! Absolute disaster areas! See how that works? Don't you feel better about your life now? Good for you!

(Top photo by Pineapple9995; Second photo by xlibber; Third photo by rftudeau)