oh hello school. it's you again.

After my deliciously relaxing six-week break, school is back on like Donkey Kong starting tomorrow (that's right, Saturday morning). But who cares, because it's my last first day at school! 

Ever!

I'm sorry. What I'm trying to say is    ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I'm especially excited about tomorrow's class because it's the capstone, which is a fancy word for the grand finale big deal class. For my grand finale big deal I get to be a part of a consulting team for a start-up nonprofit in central Mexico....we'll be putting together the strategic plan (marketing, finance, etc.) so that the nonprofit can then go and help other schools/businesses learn about Mexican nonprofits. Kind of like we're building a factory that will then make parts to build factory. The matryoshka doll of businesses!

And, bonus, I get to go to Mexico over my birthday! Nothing says the-big-2-7 like diarrhea.

Unfortunately, this also means I have to tell my mom that I'll be in Mexico for a week, and thus she will flip her shit.

  

Not because I got arrested, or had a child out of wedlock, or have a porn circulating Youtube. 

Because I'm going to Mexico. For school.

I haven't told her that Heaven almighty this is really happening, mostly because she already told me a few months ago that she'd DIE if I signed up for it, and I'm not interested in her DYING, but I'm even less interested in watching the dying swan act that usually accompanies the charade of her DYING. 

"The swan" involves a careful step-by-step process, in no particular order. 

1) Reference to a number of stereotypes and hyperboles, including but not limited to "they prey on young American girls" "there's no safe place there" "those people don't act like we do." Think us/them dichotomies. 

2) An assumption that I can't defend myself for shit, because I have yet to operate any of the three guns in my house (don't come here, it's scary). 

3) An assumption that I will run from the group at the first chance I have, only to find myself in the cocaine-lined streets of the ghetto, most likely with my dress around my head, at which point I will have no other option than to get raped, pillaged, murdered, and chopped to pieces.

4) A last-ditch effort, usually correlating Mexico to imminent death. My mother's imminent death.

I'm not sure what gets her so worked up about Mexico (or really anyplace that's not spelled USA). Mind you, I've been to Mexico 5 times...and all 5 times I came back unscathed. This trip should be the least threatening of all of them, seeing as how it's "chaperoned" by professors, in an upscale tourist village, and OH YEAH I'm 26 and have a shred of common sense.

What's that, you say? You'll tell her for me? Excellent. I'll be over there hiding in that bomb shelter.