So my sitemate, Homer Wells, and Dan Brown walk into a bar...

Here in the PC, some volunteers serve at post with another volunteer. These volunteers are referred to as site mates, because the inhabit the same post. Living with a sitemate is often dependent on the school's need for teachers and the PC's ability to meet that need. That said, let me tell you a story...

So, I have an awesome sitemate. PC rules state that I can't tell you her name on my blog, its a secret, but I swear she exists. She lives upstairs in a flat that is enarly identical to mine, but with a few minor differences (my kitchen is better stalked; her ceiling looks cooler; she has a washing machine that doesn;t sound like its about to explode, attack you, or both). We share stuff, like English books and bad ideas, and sometimes we cook meals together if we really don't feel like braving the street of Xingyi.

So yeah, she's awesome, close to me in age and situation, and I think that we've developed a solid working relationship. I'm talking about the kind of relationship that lets you share embarassing college stories, fart in each other's proximity, and drink from the same bottle of wine, sans cup. When we need help, I think we are there for each other. For instance, if I need help lesson planning, I know she'd be there. And if she needed help breaking into her appartment becasue she looked her keys inside, I'd be there for her. Well, actually I was there for her. When she did just that. Yesterday.

Yup, my awesome site mate was locked outside, so she came and grabbed me. Of course, I was glad to help her after a momentary laugh. Actually, I was super stoked onthe situation; I grabbed some twine, some laundry clips, a beer for us to share, and said "Hells yeah, lets get these keys!"

We stood on her outsie, 4th floor patio and surveyed the situation. The keys were across the livingroom, on a table of sorts, gaurded by an Ipod and a set of speakers. The windows were open, but barred for safety (damn safety...). We tied the laundry clips to the string for weight, and started shooting for the elusive keys After the better part of 40 minutes, my sitemate decided to change position and toss the keys from a different vantage: the window above the locked door. She climbed on a chair, stuck her head and arms through the window took aim and...

said "Hey, I can reach the doo knob from here." And she did. Very anticlimactic. Moral of the story: there is fun to be had everywhere.

In an unrealted note, I just finushed John Irving's The Cider House Rules and Dan Brown's The Davinci Code. Both were good in their own rights. I've rediscovered my love for Irving's prose, and I want to reread A Prayer for Owen Meaney. I finished Brown's book in 24 hours, and I'm kinda proud of that.