Little anxieties

I've been to a psychiatrist once in my life.  It was about two years ago when I was on Accutane. After seeing a barrage of commercials which linked Accutane use to potential increase in suicide risk, John wanted me to see somebody. In retrospect, it would be humorous if those Accutane/suicide link commercials were something created by the pharmaceuticial makers and American Psychiatry Association---some kind of conspiracy to further increase the amount of Americans on meds.

The psychiatrist... His dark-framed glasses and sweater stand out in my memory; I can't recall if the sweater featured elbow patches, but I wouldn't doubt it. At the end of the session, during which I cried profusely in regard to hatred toward my mother, he gave me a prescription---for another therapist. He concluded that I did not need to be medicated but that, indeed, I definitely would benefit from talking my problems out with someone.

I still have the prescription on my fridge, just because I thought it was hilarious---getting a prescription to see someone else.

Anxiety. Although my constantly low blood pressure might make it seem like I have little anxiety, that's absolutely false. I just try to avoid situations where I know I will be anxious (rush hour traffic, "peak" times at stores and shopping centers, communicating with my mother, etc).

When I feel anxious, there are a few common reactions: crying hysterically and biting my nails.

We're having the New Year's party on Saturday and I am definitely feeling stressed. I've been trying to clean the rooms of the house, all of which contains pile of MY stuff. I found some items that could be classified as "historic": my 2004 teacher ID card, an ice cream store gift certificate from 2007 (I WILL be going and checking the gift card's validity sometime soon), souvenirs that I bought for friends on my 2006 trip to Montana, and so on.

Most of all, I found tons of photo frames, about a dozen--all unfilled. I filled the frames and then felt anxiety about displaying them and hanging them up. This is a commonality with me--I have this odd anxiety about hanging stuff up on the wall. I guess it comes down to not wanting to hang something in the wrong spot and then leave a hole behind. So, in other words, I am fucking crazy:)

I did hang up a few things, include the custom-made watercolor painting of the Flash (comic hero, not our former cat) that John had his friend make.

And I didn't hysterically cry or bite my nails while hanging things up...Anxiety over hanging things up---seems ridiculously lame when I read over my typed words...

Progress. Progress.....

Hoarders also host parties

So, we are hosting a New Year's Eve party this Saturday. My friend Jen asked, "What's your menu,?" to which I replied, "Pizza and beer." I'll have more items beyond that but, honestly, my friends are not Hoboken yuppies who are expecting homemade sushi and complicated cocktails. Food for the event is fairly easy. Decorations are definitely easy--and something I actually am looking forward to.

There does remain one stumbling block though: a clutter-free house.

When I watch episodes of Hoarders, I sometimes do see a little bit of myself within the people on the show. I too don't always throw boxes away because, hey, you may need them sometime. The 2 bucks you'd have to pay for a USPS box dominates over the space that boxes will take up in one's home. Also, I definitely do hold onto some items for sentimental reasons. It took about 3 times of playing trash-tug-of-war before I finally threw out my black Converse shoes. They were filthy and the laces were shredded to pieces, but my reason for wanting to keep them was that I wore them on my honeymoon and they had "red dirt" from Kaui on them. Kind of ridiculous reasoning, when I think in retrospect.

Today, I ALMOST threw out my red/black patterned sarong style skirt. I have had this skirt for about 9 years and haven't worn it because it is "wrap style" and I fear having a wardrobe malfunction while wearing it. However, I want to keep it because I like the pattern and...that's about it.

John is taking our myriad of boxes to the recycling center today. I am going to work on organizing a bag of clothing and books for Good Will. One step at a time, as they say...

Fuck it-I'll donate the sarong skirt. I've owned the skirt for 1/3 of my life and have never worn it...it needs to be donated:)

But...here's a photo...for posterity. Actually, now that I look at the pattern, it's definitely matronly... not what I want to look like in my life, at this point.

Mall Men

The past two days have been thoroughly entertaining, from a sociological standpoint. Going to the mall, Walmart, and various other shopping venues, I have been amused by the different shopping methods of males and females.

When it comes to shopping, women "graze." Even if we wait until the last minute, our last minute is at least 7 days before Christmas. We tend to scope out the various gift options, going from store to store, but not immediately buying anything. We take several days to get the git buying task complete and then go on the quest for little trinkets or doodads to add to the gifts when we wrap them. We'll go into a gigantic store to buy a single hologram ribbon or some other "individualized" item.

When it comes to shopping, men wait until the last possible moment. Conceptually, they attempt to get as many gifts in as few stores as possible. Many of them have a blank look across their faces, comparable to the ubiquitous "deer in the headlights" look. Whereas women will shop around for the best possible prices, men will frantically grab items off the shelves, willing to pay whatever they have to pay because they realize they procrastinated. Most interesting is the line inside various jewelry stores. I know nothing about jewelry, but I'd think that buying jewelry in a smaller town store would be significantly better than some chain store like Helzberg. If you walk past mall jewelry stores, you see men huddled inside... carefully deciding between which piece of jewelry to get. Inevitably, about 50% of the men will just succumb to buying the trendy "love" necklace of the season. A few years ago it was the "past, present, future" diamonds. Then the "infinity circle" arrived. More recently was the half-heart pendant, which our family dubbed "the turd necklace." I've always said I have wanted a heart locket necklace, but something tells me that in reality I would find that gift monumentally cheesy and lackluster.

There's also always the amusement of the stone-faced men who have been dragged along on shopping ventures with their wives or girlfriends. These men look like they are being put through some modern-day form of punishment. Best are the men who sit in the "comfy" chairs while their spouses try on clothing.

Secret Santa Sucks

Every year, we have Secret Santa at work. This is the third year I have participated; it's also the third year that I have been disappointed with the final gift. All three years have ended with the final gift being a gift card. One year was a Kohl's card, the next was Barnes and Noble, and this year was Dunkin' Donuts. I filled out the Secret Santa likes/dislikes list pretty well---not too thoroughly to seem like a pain in the ass---but just enough information so that someone could have fun shopping for me. Each year, the activity ends in the same result: I get chocolates, gummi bears, FOOD, and a final gift card that says (in my mind), "You're a pain to shop for."

When I think about people shopping for me, I don't think I am that difficult of a person to shop for. I do have some quirks with clothing, but I do have some other terrain where there is utmost freedom. The quirks with clothing include a few things that I immensely dislike. I hate white anything. I dislike brand names being on the outer part of clothing. I only like pants that have pockets on the ass, work pants included. Pants sans ass pockets just make me feel like I look heavier. I also dislike pink, yellow, and anything light colored. Basically, I am an insecure emo kid.

My likes are fun though---wacky earrings ---I'll wear anything on my ears... Any scarf will suffice too. Scarves and earrings of any kind...that's a broad range of things.

And I end up with the Dunkin Donuts card... Agh. I spend time for Secret Santa, composing "clue poems" and making sure to buy actual gifts... and in return, end up with someone basically saying, "Hey, go get yourself some coffee and doughnuts."

Also... the lamest part...this year's Secret Santa was the vice-principal...

Join the masses

Typically, my Sundays do not feature a huge list of errands to do. However, no matter how little I have to accomplish, crowds always seem to be part of the day.

Today I have to go food shopping at Costco (sheer madness--- John generally goes midweek--- to go food shopping on a Sunday is pure masochism). I have to finish Amy's Christmas gift, a photo album of tons of pictures of us. This requires me to go to Walmart or another "discount store" and use their photo machine. Places like that are PACKED today. Furthermore, the photo copy kiosks tend to get crowded around this time of the year. I have 10, maximum, photos to copy. Other people will be standing at the machine, printing out photos from the dawn of time. I also have to go to Michael's to get some minor crafting supplies for making ornaments.

None of the above tasks are particularly time-consuming, but the fact that the masses are out today is what makes the tasks significantly more miserable.

I have always said that it is not as if I am claustrophobic or anything, but I just really detest crowds. Guess it makes perfect sense that I continue to live my life in the nation's most densely populated state.....

Roving eyes, but otherwise civil behavior

I went to the school's chorus concert tonight. The crowd's behavior was definitely better than it was during last week's band concert. I, however, was in the 4th row this time, whereas last time, I was among the (what is seemed) dregs of society in the back of the gym.

There was one point during the show when some of the dancers from a previous number came back out onto the risers, to sing with the rest of the chorus. A few of these girls had on extremely short skirts. The short skirts were black and contrasted with the either tan legs (from ladylike leggings or stockings) or bare, pale legs. As the girls, got onto the risers to perform the next song, I could see a small group of 8th grade boys' eyes moving with the girls' bodies.

I had a "mom moment" too; all I kept thinking was, If my daughter wore something like that and, simultaneously, If my son's eyes roved like that. At least, the eye roving seems more natural and "acceptable." I can't take the inappropriate clothing.

I guess I should just assume, at this juncture, that John and I will have an only child who is socially awkward and probably needs to be homeschooled because her mother will be nuts:)

Me VS. Pink

For as long as I can remember, I've disliked the color pink. I can't really pinpoint a specific reason for my detest of the color, but I can pinpoint three specific instances in which I experienced actual detest.

1. The pink Easter dress--- in third grade, I recall an instance where my mother was purchasing Easter dresses for Amy and me. This was when we still had some semblance of religious beliefs and before I was smart enough to ask, "If there is a god, why would he make such horrible things happen to people?" We were in Kmart, I recall that specifically. I wanted this knee length dress; it had satin material and lace material over the satin layer. There was a thick satin ribbon in the middle of the dress that tied around the back. I loved that dress...in pale blue. My mother allowed me to get the dress, but I had to get it in the pink shade. I truly think this experience simultaneously cemented my hatred for pink and for my mother.

2. The bubble gum sweatsuit--- Maybe it was because I was a fat child and buying elastic waisted pants and cotton tops are easier than "regular" clothes. Maybe it was because someone in the family thought the outfit was "cute." For a Christmas gift, I received a sweatsuit set. The top portion was a pink sweatshirt with a gumball machine smack dab in the middle. The pants were also pink with brightly colored gumballs up and down the legs. This sweatsuit was horrible --- comparable to the pink bunny outfit that Ralphie has to wear in Christmas Story. I'd say that someone else out there must be able to relate, but surely no one else has family members that would buy her such an atrocious outfit...and embarrassing too...I was in 5th grade!

3. Bedroom walls--- Since childhood, the bedroom walls of the house where I grew up were a shade of pink. The walls were technically a pale mauve, but the shade was close enough to pink to warrant my loathing. When I was in high school, I loved the black and white magazine ads that were trendy for brands like Guess and Calvin Klein. My bedroom walls were covered with various photos, artistic advertisements, and anything else that would shroud the pink underneath.  Most of the photos were of male models. In retrospect, my bedroom must have been a frightening place for any teenage boy...not that there were many in my bedroom...just one.

Adulthood has made me accept pink a slight bit more. Hot pink is okay for 80s concerts, but for any other occasion...it's still dreadful.

Long haired guys

I guess I quite like long-haired men. One would never know it because every guy I have dated has had regular length hair, however, long hair usually is reserved for specific groups of men: earthy hippies and musicians...neither of which I have technically dated.

Clay Matthews. Gigantic beastly build with huge arms. That's not what gets me though. The long blonde hair. It's just awesome. I don't think I would "look good" with a guy that looked like Matthews, but I guess in the realm of fantasizing or "crushin' " that appearance compatibility does not matter.

Last night, we went to see Kyuss Lives. One of the opening bands was a doom metal band called Sword. I didn't like the music too much--- a bit too loud for my tastes (which translates into "please lower the thrashing guitars and increase the nice drum beat")---but I was entranced by the guitarist. I only realized he was the guitarist after Googling the band; last night, I was stuck as to whether he was the bassist or guitarist. I don't know the difference.

Anyway, the guitarist was tall and had a medium build. He had a SLIGHT paunch, but nothing too noticeable. Obviously, he is the type of guy who does not have to work out, but still keeps a fairly good build. His hair was long and blonde, flipping back and forth in front of his face as he played. I was awed by how the swaying hair did not break his concentration. I mean, if you're in the middle of playing doom metal, I guess strands of hair in your face do not affect you...but I was just all the more entranced.

After the band played, John asked what I thought of them. I replied, "Eh, they were ok, but the guitar player with the long hair was hot." He had no idea who I was talking about, despite the fact that ALL of the other band members had shoulder length and shorter hair. He was entranced by the music more than the musicians' looks:)

On the way to the parking garage, we actually saw the guitarist on the streets of Montclair. John complimented him on his band's performance and the guy nodded his head, acknowledging the praise. As he walked further away, John yelled down the street, "My wife thinks you're hot too!"

:)

Decline of Civilization

Last night, I went to the school's band concert. Walking into the gym area (where the "stage" was set up) was a bit of a downer. Only about 50% of the chairs were filled. I arrived just as the "Star Spangled Banner" was playing; I entered by the gym's back entrance and sat in one of back rows. I basically occupied the last "person-filled"row. Behind me, there was about 20 other empty rows.

Apparently, during school band concerts, the back area of the gym is representative of the utter decline of civilization. A few rows ahead a little girl swayed back and forth, while standing, on an aluminum chair. I kept worrying about her falling over. Moreso, I worried how I would have to react since I was sitting so nearby. I am not too effective in emergency situations.

On the bleachers sat a child without a parent in sight. He was playing on a portable video game device. Rude enough, yes, but the game's volume was actually quite high. I could hear the PSP's noise even over the band's rendition of "Iron Man."

Also, a few rows near me, there was a woman who seemed to be rubbing the back of her son's head. She kept rubbing his head and seemed to be intertwining strands of his hair. There seemed to exist two possibilities explaining her odd behavior. She was either braiding small strands of his hair OR checking his hair for insects or parasites, much like a tribal member of yore. 

Additionally, there was this man, thin and with a small moustache, who kept frantically waving to one of the children in the band. At one point, this man did some pseudo-sign language and gestured toward himself, mouthing, "I love you" with great emphasis. 

Furthermore, throughout the concert, there was continuously some sort of noise or background chatter going on. 

It's just disturbing...and this behavior from a supposed "affluent" community. Affluence is obviously not synonymous with civility or class.

New Ad Slogans

During Christmas time, stores' inventories are overwrought with utter junk. The person who has room for a quesadilla maker, panini maker, waffle iron, and other kitchen accoutrements surely lives in a mansion and does not need those things because he/she has maid service.  Any other person does not need those items because he/she does not have the room for them.

There are some phenomenally stupid gift ideas this Christmas. Somehow, whenever I have seen or heard advertisements for these items, my own carefully crafted alternate ad slogans have instead entered my mind:

1. Pajamagram- what to get for the spouse you no longer want to have sex with

2. Babycakes Cupcake Maker- for the stupid person in your life

3. Vitamin and aloe infused socks- really?

4. Genie Bra- when you're too lazy to put on a real bra

I can't make too much fun of the Genie bra... we had "twin day" at work and a colleague and I dressed up. We decided to wear white shirts, gray cardigans, black pants, black shoes, and green/blue plaid scarves. In other words, we were dressed up as conservative white women. I needed "flesh tone" for under the white shirt, so went and purchased the Genie bra. It's pretty awesome...like a sports bra, but makes it actually look like you have breasts. However, yes, I am too lazy to put on "real" undergarments with hooks and straps.

Livestrong

I spazzed out at John yesterday. The onslaught of words went something like this : "Yeah, I know I gained weight and I'll never be a smaller weight. And your whole family always says, 'John, you look great,' but you're a 32 year old majoring in Exercise Science so of course you will strive to look your best. Your cousin is healthy and is a marathon runner, but that's only because she is a former drug addict and needs something new to get addicted to."

Kind of a stream of consciousness....

I affirmed that I eat healthy, but eat huge portions. I also said that since I have felt crummy lately, I have basically taken healthy things and desecrated them by adding butter and sugar and/or cooking with copious amounts of canola oil.

We went onto the livestrong website and tracked my eating for the past two days. Breakfast and lunch were fine, but dinner was the bulk of my daily caloric intake. Dinner also featured large amounts of carbs. Fat intake was high, but mainly due to uncontrolled amounts of almonds.

John mapped out a food plan for me that makes it so I have more frequent snacks in the mid-day, thus (hopefully) off-setting my crazy night meals.

Today is day one. I have stuck to the breakfast meal plan. I'm even trying coffee without sugar.....

We'll see.

Andy Warhol of high school

I was looking at an old photo album from high school. During my high school years, there is an abundance of photos; however, I am not very prominent in them. My albums have tons of "in action" pictures of others, almost as I was using my horrifically outdated (regular 35mm camera...no frills) as an outsider view into their world. Plenty of photos have my friends in them, but other photos feature people that I was not particularly close to. 


In the photos where I am actually shown, I am the epitome of angst. My face is generally facing downward, my shoulders are hunched, and my body is pulled forward. When they make the current videos and public service announcements about bullying, a photo of high school me could be equivalent to the "bullying target." In retrospect, I wonder, why didn't anybody intervene ...somehow? 


Besides my awkward body motions, I also wore plentiful amounts of guy clothing...


In the words of a good (current) friend who recently saw some high school photos of me: "Fuck! You look like a dyke...."


Someone needed to tell me that honest statement back in 1998...the dyke "look" was definitely not the intent...

Karaoke...to help ease a case of the Mondays

I've tried a variety of things to get myself prepped for Monday mornings: drinking copious amounts of caffeine...mixing copious amounts of caffeine with a small dose of caffeine tablets... making sure that I have every possible element of my work day planned or packed away in advance (clothing choice, lunches, gym clothes, etc)...even spastically jumping up and down on a trampoline in hopes of "energizing" myself.

Nothing works. I suck at Mondays. Despite living four miles from work, having an extremely quiet homeroom, and having a well-behaved 1st period class, I still suck at Mondays.

Therefore, if I normally am still wide awake on Sunday night (basically always an occurrence...since year one of teaching I have not even contemplating going to sleep until at least 11:30, i.e. when the old Fox Five reruns of Seinfeld ended).

Last night was goth night @ karaoke. I generally go to karaoke anyway, but took special excitement in walking out of my house at 9:30 on a Sunday night, clad in black and deep red. Garnet hair extensions, black shirt with white and red mermaid design, short skirt, leggings, Doc Martens, and dark makeup composed the entire look. While driving to karaoke, I made certain to stay within the speed limit... I couldn't really envision the scene of being pulled over by a cop and looking how I looked.

So... I went to karaoke... tested out a new song (AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long") and realized my voice is nowhere near whatever Angus Young's "range" is. Secondly, I sang The Donnas' "Take It Off"- they obviously are shitty singers because whenever I sing their songs, I sound good. That's my gauge for assessing singers' talents...if I can karaoke their song and make it sound good, they obviously are horrible.

Got home at 1, shimmied restlessly in the bed for awhile, and then fell asleep. I woke up around 6:20 and, reluctantly, got ready for work. Although I had washed off most of the makeup, some of the dark eyeliner remained on my face... the hilariousness of the fact that leftover goth makeup actually made my "work makeup" look better.

Damsel in Distress

I exited the gym today and saw quite the scene--- a guy with low-hung cargo shorts and prominent plaid boxers, a girl cozily reclining in the driver's seat, and a dismantled car door.

I'm not the best with situational context clues but after noticing the coy grin on the girl's face and seeing the guy applying something to the door track, I figured out the scene: he was fixing something with the car motors. Since he took off the inside part of the door, I am assuming it had to be something to do with the power locks or windows.

The whole scene was just a bit silly. As he was laboring over the door, she sat (backwards) in the driver's seat, just sitting there and cutely smiling.

This is why I have a car with manual windows and locks. Similar to the parking lot girl, I do not want to pay large amounts of money to have labor done to the power locks and windows. Unlike the parking lot girl, I don't want to have to flirt with some guy to get the work done for free....in the gym parking lot, nonetheless.

I will, however, use cute smiles to help make my way through busy traffic intersections :)

Success!

The turkey sat on the counter in its packaging for most of the day. The thought of taking the giblets and neck out of the body cavity was the cause for procrastination.

Around 5pm I finally removed the plastic netting from the outer packaging. I somehow cut my finger in the process. I have this amazing ability to suffer small cuts and abrasions when opening packages, even when I am very cautious. I stuck my hand in the body cavity and , boom, out came the neck. Honestly, I know understand why some people are vegetarians. Normally, I eat chicken breasts... no wings or anything that resemble the animal. The chicken breasts are basically flat pieces of meat. However, while "washing" the turkey, it felt odd... the turkey looks like a turkey (duh).

Next, while using my recipe (courtesy of the "reputable" simplerecipes.com), I put onions and carrots into the body cavity. We didn't have fresh carrots so I figured that defrosted carrots from a Normandy-style blend would work just as well. I had a bunch of herbs from John's mom. Instead of mincing them, I just tossed them in a blender. I'm really horrible at cutting things and, again, generally somehow cut myself. Then, I mixed the herbs with melted butter and put them on the outside of the turkey. We somehow lost our basting brush but, luckily, I have tons of new craft brushes. For once, my lack of crafting (but abundance of supplies) came in handy. I had extra herbs on stems and didn't know what to do with them, so I stuck them in what may have been an inappropriate orifice on the turkey....

Three and a half hours later and the turkey came out of the oven. I was desperately hoping that the turkey would be better than Anna's... to cook one for the first time and have it be better than your mother-in-law's...that would be great.

Alas, the turkey was not as good as Anna's... but it was better than my mother's.... sober mom too...if you look to the left, those "dried" twigs are the herbs that I stuck in the ...orifice.

Making my first turkey..otherwise known as, if you do not see me at work on Monday, I food poisoned myself

I have an orphan turkey in the fridge. At Kumon Learning Center, a student's parent was trying to get rid of an extra turkey. Just the premise that somebody would have an extra turkey is amusing enough. At first, I said, "Sorry, I can't take it. I just cook omelets and that's about it." Then, I ruminated for a few moments and responded, "Sure, I'll take it."

The turkey has been in the fridge since Monday and now the day of reckoning has arrived---when said turkey is basted and tossed in the oven.

The only challenge is that I have never cooked a turkey before. In fact, I have never cooked anything in the oven, with the exception of cupcakes, yams, fries, and shake-n-bake chicken.

Normally, I have a pretty good attention span, but after viewing the seven steps to make a turkey (online tutorial), I grew annoyed. I am not looking forward to taking the innards out of the turkey... honestly, I consider it a "man's job," much like taking out the trash.

John's at the gym now...think I will play role of sous chef and get the herbs ready...then wait for him to come home and remove the innards...

Seriously, making a turkey can not be that difficult. I recall times from childhood when my mother was drunk and made turkeys. Surely, a sober person can manage to make a turkey....

Nightmare Before Halloween, 2011

I can't take credit for that clever entry title.  It was the heading for the Star Ledger's front page article on Sunday, 10/30.

So-- we have been without heat or power since late afternoon on Saturday. I'm trying to look at things humourously- what else can I do? I read part of Bram Stoker's Dracula by candlelight on Saturday night-- how truly apropos. I've been eating a steady amount of Greek yogurt mixed in with semi-frozen strawberries. Freshly purchased meat was placed in a cooler outside, with ice cubes and piles of snow. Foolishly, I did not think about the possibility of a bear scavenging for food and finding the cooler. The cooler was moved to the garage before said bear could get to it. My phone fell into a snowbank and once the snow melts, some possible lucky person will have access to pictures of a shirtless, "cut" John.

The entire humor of this situation rests upon the theory that there is a Halloween "curse" associated with John. During the course of our relationship, he has only purchased costumes on two occasions. The one year which he purchased a plus size Geisha girl costume and was planning on going "gung ho" with the whole costume idea was the same Halloween that my grandmother passed away. Fast forward to years later and the instance in which John buys the barely covered Greek warrior costume is the same time at which a freakish autumnal snow storm occurs. Clearly, the man should never buy a costume again.

So.... it's now Monday and we still have no power. Whenever I breathe inside the house, I can see the small circles that my breath forms. Also, today I am going to test out Costco's amazing return policy by returning the meats that we bought Saturday (still, somehow, basically frozen). I want to see if I can get my 50 bucks back.

Someone I know from Rockaway Township Fire Dept. says power will not be up in Rockaway until Friday! John's parents finally got power back. So....worst case scenario is...staying at in-laws and having access to laundry facilities, utter warmth, and kickass food:) I'll take it.

Simpleton

It's so aggravating that the realization that I have no desire to own a house has arrived after we have moved into a house...

There's an end in sight...If we put the house on the market after July of 2012, we do not have to pay back the 8,000 dollar tax credit we got. July...somewhat of an end is in sight.

This morning, while putting dishes away in the kitchen, I recalled that I do actually own "china" and "nice" cutlery; it's all in boxes at the in-laws' house. I have no desire to actually display those pieces in my "china cabinet." The china cabinet currently houses a few wine glasses and...that's about it.

I think when I got married some people thought I would transform into domesticated Michelle--- hosting cookie swaps, serving meals on china, and so forth. I don't think everyone had that viewpoint but surely some people thought to themselves, "Yeah, she'll grow up a bit."

I don't think there is anything wrong with not having the desire to cook or bake...nothing wrong with not really caring about window "treatments"...nothing wrong with not wanting to have the house decorated based on seasonal or holiday themes.

I think back to October of 2008... I was certainly still "me," but I definitely altered part of myself, amidst the wedding planning hoopla. Back then, I had the bright blonde highlights and ultra tan skin. I looked like a Californian caricature of myself.

I'm glad to be back to me.

Ruminations on Belly Dancing

Tonight was class #2 of belly dancing. As usual, with any class that requires rhythm or coordination, I proved to be mediocre. I honestly want to ask my mother if I had issues with "my right" and "my left" when I was a child---as an adult, I have no kinesthetic intelligence. When everyone turns to the right, I am turning to the left. When people have their left arms flailing in the air, my right arms are flailing. I had to have experienced some developmental delay as a child---HAD to...

At one point in the class, four of us had to perform the "routine" at the same, while the remaining members of the class watched. There a slight applause after our group went; honestly, I think they were clapping because they realized that someone in the class could now officially be crowned "the worst," thus making themselves feel better. It's okay to be poor at something, so long as you are not the worst.

Me, I revel in being mediocre when it comes to physical tasks. I just laugh at myself and have fun with it. While  I struggled with shoulder shimmies, the instructor asked, "Haven't you ever been coy or flirty with someone? That's what shoulder shimmies are like." I turned toward Jess and whispered, "Thank god I met John on the Internet...sexy dances move would have gotten me nowhere with men."

At this point, I am so happy that I am at a point in my life where I can laugh at my lack of rhythm and coordination. I think back to high school gym class, any element of it, and moments were completely miserable. I could not catch a ball, run at a decent pace, or even keep up with the movements in step aerobics. Belly dancing is crazy challenging, but I am just having fun with it. I haven't said "fuck" once during the class, so that's an additional positive sign.

Besides, I already have a solution for my bad dance moves:I am going to get breast implants and buy a kickass corset. That way when I belly dance, I will give the illusion of amazing dance skills with my jutting curves:)

Money, or lack of, changes everything

I am sitting here at the computer, listening to the Smiths. I LOVE "This Charming Man" and know that there is a tshirt out there that proclaims "I would go out tonight but I haven't got a stitch to wear." If I got that shirt, I'd definitely wear it out, although it would be the epitome of stupid, unwitty irony.

In my head, I think, "20 bucks on a tshirt? You could pay most of the water bill. You could pay 1/5 of the cable bill. You could fill half of the gas tank with fuel." In other words, I think of stupid adult-like things that are incredibly irritating and UNfun.

I seriously want to be back in an apartment. I want to spend minimal amounts of income on housing and just enjoy doing whatever the fuck I want in life. When we lived in the apartment, I still lived frugally. If I lived in the apartment now, I would spend money more freely. I want to buy stupid tshirts and revel in them. I want to have "dry heat" that is so freakishly hot in the winter that I open the windows and walk around in tshirts and boxers. I want to not hear the heat kick on and think, "Fuck. $3.30 a gallon for oil."  I want to go places--- odd places, wacky places---and just have fun. I would definitely make sure that John and I went on a vacation each summer.

Anyone who thinks that owning a house is the "American dream" is an "American idiot"...at least if the person lives on the East Coast....

Pantyhose Problems

So...most of the time I go to work sans stockings or pantyhose. I don't know the difference between the two, but I do know that both forms of nylon are a pain in the ass.

Tonight was Back to School Night so I figured I'd "school marm" it up and wear a dress, a cardigan, and heels. Heels do not work with bare skin, so I purchased two pairs of pantyhose-esque items to "test out." The first item is made by Spanx company and is a body shaper. I bought size 5, otherwise known as YOU ARE FUCKING HUGE. Size 5's weight range starts at 220 pounds. I am nowhere near 200 pounds, but I figured if I bought something that fit a heavy person that it would be easier to get it on. The whole struggle with pantyhose is actually getting the damn things on. There's even a shortcut trick to help ease the process of getting pantyhose on-- you put them in the freezer. It just makes it easier to get them on, especially if your legs are "fleshier," shall we say, than most.

The Spanx shaper stopped once it reached my thighs. So- apparently, my legs are normal-sized but once my upper thigh is reached, my legs have a circumference wider than the anticipated circumference of a size "5," or a 200 pound woman.

Elastics and nylon are complicated.

The second purchase was a pair of regular pantyhose; I bought "just my size," which was both the brand name and the truth. I carefully read the graph on the back of the package and purchased my real size.

Those pantyhose wouldn't go on either! No wonder why I've gone the hippie route with wearing flowery skirts, sans pantyhose, and sandals to work.

I ended up just wearing an older pair of stockings...or pantyhose...I really don't know what the difference is, as both are just incredibly irritating. Anyway, my legs looked pasty, as the stockings were a lighter shade than "tan" or "sun-kissed." Pastiness---ultimate school marm look.

Having kids and getting fat

When I look at photos of friends and acquaintances who have had children, I see two main patterns:

1) If the person is a teacher (male or female, doesnt matter), the person seems to stay the same weight. In terms of women, I notice that female teachers who recently have had babies, eventually "bounce back" into their shape.

2) A lot of people who have had children are FAT.

Women gain weight for obvious reasons-- a remainder of the "baby weight" left over even after the baby is born. Men gain weight after their wives have babies just because they "let go." They have this notion that now that they have a family, they can just completely indulge in stupid bullshit of life---mainly eating to cover up their misery of attending stupid events like birthday parties involving princess themes, balloon making, ...

I know there's been research done about "happiness" levels of single people vs. married people vs. married people with children. While research can completely be twisted around and warped to whatever the researcher desires to prove, there have definitely been research that has shown that having children does not necessarily add to one's own happiness.

Interesting how society makes it seem like if you do not have children, you are forever doomed for misery---guess they have to do something to further balance/increase the population though...

I know we're not dealing with overpopulation in the U.S. right now. However, the next birth control/family planning/teenage pregnancy prevention ad campaign should be wordless. All you need are before and after photos of Moms and Dads.

Hips Don't Lie

Most people attach memories to photos. Research says that many people also attach memories to scents. While I agree with both of those "mental scrapbooking" methods, I also use clothing as a means of remembering moments in life.

Old Navy burgundy halter top. I had this shirt in college and it was definitely my attempt at dressing sexy. I quite like my collar bone area and halter tops easily draw attention to that area. I remember wearing this shirt while dating John. I remember Friday evening, in particular, when we were supposed to meet up with his friends at Charlie Brown's...yes, the now defunct Charlie Brown's Steakhouse.  Apparently, Charlie Brown's was the hip place for the Chathamites to gather.  

It was the spring, a few months before I turned 21 years old. It was after ten and we were sitting at a table, but it was near the bar area. I had that burgundy halter top on, trying to be "sexy" for the evening. Regular evening wear for me was a tshirt, with hooded sweatshirt over, old jeans, and Birks. 

The night I tried to be sexy turned into the night where I got kicked out of the bar. Even though we weren't drinking, or attempting to order drinks, they made us leave because I was not 21.

Burgundy halter top. 10 years later. I am now age 31. I weigh about 13 pounds more than I weighed during the Charlie Brown's episode. I haven't worn this shirt for ages. Right now, I just tried it on. The shirt fits well on top--- collar bone still looks sexy, shoulders and arms are decent-looking, and the shirt is slightly loose on my belly. DAMN hips and ass though. With jeans, this shirt looks ridiculous. My top part of my body looks small and then you hit my mid-section and, wow, hips and ass. The lower portion of my body seems to be hinting, "Time to make a baby. Use those birthing hips." Me, I just want to tell my body, "Fuck off." 

Come on, Irene

I can't take credit for the clever (at least, I think so) heading. It was one of the team's names from last night's trivia @ Hooters...yes, at Hooters. I think they lowered the intellectual standard for the questions based on the venue. Questions were ridiculously easy. Case in point: Garmin and Tom Tom are brand names for what types of devices?

Anyway, I realize it might be fucked up, but natural disasters excite me. I think I like the fact that there is all this panic and anxiety surrounding their arrival, and there is NOTHING anyone can do to stop the event from proceeding.

We're so used to making alternative plans and having solutions to various complexities. Natural disasters are Mother Nature's resounding cries of "Fuck you!"

Spin Class Thoughts II

The instructor was a fucking spazz. I guess she thought that the peer pressure route would work to motivate all of us. We were supposed to "pretend" that we were on the open road, on a trek together as a "team." Bullshit. It's times like that that I am so grateful that I do not have the ability to roll my eyes...

At one point she said, actually screeched, "Keep up with us! Don't screw this up for everyone!" I guess that was supposed to motivate all of us---kind of like, "Come on, we don't want anyone left behind." All I could think in my mind was that if we really were on an open road together, I would have gotten off the bike by now and hitch hiked.

There were a few points during the class that I muttered the word "Fuck"--- 5 times. If I ever try spin again, I will strive to say "Fuck" less than 5 times...that's the true assessment of whether or not I am improving in a gym class...

Toward the end of the class, the instructor said, "Two songs left, two songs!" (She lied!!! It was three songs). When she said that there were two songs left, I was at the point of exhaustion. Bear in mind, I was at Michelle level of exhaustion...which means I could have totally gone for another hour or so. "Work hard, play hard" is a common phrase I hear. It doesn't apply to me when it comes to the gym though... I think I deserve utmost credit just for getting my ass there in the first place.

My spin fairy godmother must have been looking down on me and must have seen my levels of "exhaustion." For the second to last song, I suddenly heard the speakers blaring: "Yeah, can you feel it baby? I can too." Marky Mark!!!!! I got my ass back up into the "pretend you're going uphill" position and kept working through the entire song. When the last song came on, however, I slooooowed down. It was a shitty song:(

Another pinnacle of the spin was when I "lost" my keys. There was a quick resolution though. I had forgotten that in order to get the ticket for the step class, you had to hand in your keys....

I think the likelihood of me doing spin again is about 50%. I know I am lazy with working out and that during spin class I didn't "challenge myself"--- but the stream of consciousness in my mind was amazing!!!

Spin Class Thoughts

This morning, motivated by the bathroom renovation and lack of shower facilities, I went to the gym. When I got there, I saw a montage of shiny spandex leggings and sports bras. I realize that those clothing items are not rare for a gym, but they just seemed to be in particular excess today.

I looked at the schedule and saw that spin class was scheduled for 9:30. It was 9:15...

Typically, gym classes never work out too well for me. While I generally will stay for the entire class time, most within the allotted hour or so, I utter "Fuck" several times, take mini-breaks (when everyone else is working their asses off), and generally think about anything possible OTHER than focusing on the exercise in the moment.

I have always wanted to try spin, but I've seen the "spinners" post-class. Their faces are beet-red and they are literally dripping with sweat. Those looks of complete fatigue might intrigue other exercisers, but not me. Still, I decided to give it a try.

I took the bike directly in the back of the room. Two "moms" helped me with the whole bike set up; they were also swathed in shiny spandex.

As the class began, the lights went out and purplish black lights went on. I guess you're supposed to be in the zone, but my spot in the back of the room distracted me. I was half-bathed in black lights, and half-bathed in the regular light of the gym. I spotted a hot guy on the treadmill and kept looking to my right to check him out.

The most interesting thing about spin (or any form of exercise, for that matter) is that it brings out the ADD in me. At home, I can easily be attentive to a bunch of episodes of a TV show. I can be attentive to a book for a long amount of time too. When it comes to exercise though, I have ADD. There could be music in the background and a TV monitor in front of me. I'll still move my head around the room in a circular manner, looking at people, even looking at the various ceiling fixtures.

Unsurprisingly, during the "spin zone," my mind was focused on anything but the actual exercise. The instructor said, "Feel like you're on the open road. Feel your bike hitting the pavement. Connect."  In my head, I thought, "Agh. We're cycling, IN PLACE, on wooden floor boards painted black. Connect with what?"

All I could think during spin class was that I wished I had a notebook and pen with me so that I could write down all the thoughts circling through my mind...

Lazy Day

Our bathroom has officially been demolished. Layers of pink tile, mesh wire, and thick concrete have been smashed to pieces. Sheetrock has been removed to reveal dingy pink insulation. A light fixture has been removed and the remaining wires dangle haphazardly from the pseudo-ceiling. Water has been drained from the toilet and bits of rubble are scattered in the bath tub.

I feel like I am in an episode of Hoarders. The people on that show always have unusable bathrooms.

We do, however, have the "1/2 bathroom" in our bedroom to use (toilet only---sexy!).

To shower, we can go over Jen's apartment or John's parents' house or...my amazing idea... shower at the gym. It reminds me of the song "YMCA":  "You can get yourself clean..." Fuck! John goes to the gym daily, so it is logical for him to take a quick shower there. It is not as logical for me. I haven't been to the gym that much recently. Basically, our unusable shower will be the catalyst to get me to work out at the gym again.

Taking a shower there freaks me out though. Remember, this is the girl who NEVER changed in front of anyone in the locker room, opting instead to stand in a tiny bathroom stall and change into her gym clothes for high school PE class. The showers at the gym are individual stalls with glass doors and discreet curtains. I've changed in the stalls before but the idea of showering there makes me paranoid. I've had this semi-fear for most of my life---a  fear that someone is video taping me. Damn Lifetime movie Video Voyeur!!!

Conveniently, it is now raining outside... What is crazier? Not showering at the gym for fear of being videotaped or standing outside in my bathing suit and lathering myself up with a body pouf and body wash while the rain trickles down on me?

Hoarders: The Trunk Version

My car has always been more of an abyss than an automobile. A few weeks ago, I cleaned out the interior of the car, unveiling such treasures as Christmas ornaments (6+ months too late), fake police accessories (from Labor Day dress up theme at karaoke), and mix tapes with such names as "Radio Mix: Volume I." Odd things seem to find their way into my car.

The trunk of the car has always been filled and was filled even moreso when we moved. As soon as we moved, some of the things in the trunk were cleaned out and moved into the house. However, as I found out today, I don't just have "junk in my trunk"---I have a tendency to HOARD in the trunk of my car.

Tonight is Midsummer Night's Dream theme at karaoke and I have been looking all over the house for this 10 pack of crafting butterflies that I have... I know they are somewhere. I decided to look in the trunk for them, but the search was to no avail.

I found tons of other miscellaneous things in the trunk though. Basically, searching through my car's trunk could be considered a form of entertainment. Some of the "finds":

****Animal Farm (an illustrated children's picture book that I wrote in 7th gr...no, I wasn't trying to make some witty statement on Orwell...the book was literally about a farm and its animals)
**** a size 22 Geisha girl costume (the ONE and ONLY Halloween that John said he would dress up was when he chose a plus-sized Geisha girl costume...my grandmother passed away that Halloween and the costume was never worn)
****Halloween make-up (the receipt for the makeup was dated 2005--this was probably the makeup John was going to wear with the Geisha girl outfit)
****a statuette of a duck in a ballerina/bumblebee outfit)
***ridiculous thick winter tube socks (a gift from my mother---wtf!)
***a Louisville slugger baseball bat
***pom poms (they were actually used once---for karaoke-ing to "Let's Hear it for the Boy"
***a dragonfly/hippie-esque window decal most likely from college (I graduated in 2002!)

I do have end-of-summer aspirations of cleaning out that trunk...some of the things I have are just ridiculous and, honestly, if they have been in the trunk for 6 years (like the makeup), perhaps they are unusable and/or I do not need them. I must remember the A & E Hoarders creed: throw it out if it is worthless, hazardous, or unsanitary:)

Don't know why

There's something enchanting about the actions of little children and their impulsiveness...and mindlessness.

I suddenly think about the the image of children steadfastly building a sandcastle--- carefully molding tiers of the castle with various sized pails and buckets; using their delicate hands to create moats and other passageways; and embellishing the castle with small pebbles and seashells. After all of that work is complete, the children energetically stand up, stare at the castle for a moment or two, and either walk away or quickly jump on it, watching the grains of sand crumble down.

Today's weather report calls for the possibility of small hail and lightning.  It got me thinking to something that I did as a child. The occurrence I am recalling actually only happened once.  The sky tossed down small pieces of hall and I ran outside, with a large plastic cup. I left the plastic cup on the driveway and quickly ran back into the house for safety. After the pellets of hail pounded down on the pavement and the storm had dissipated, I ran outside and gathered the cup. Then, I placed the cup in the freezer. Placing the cup in the freezer makes sense but the "why" behind gathering hail makes no sense... but I guess that it doesn't have to make sense.

We spend so much of our adult lives thinking about doing the "right thing" or the "practical thing;" it is comforting to do something nonsensical every once in awhile.

investigator

I am astoundingly good at tracking down people either online (through search engines like Google) or in real-life time (through a phenomenal memory of names, places etc). I probably would be really adept at any job involving research.

Yet, I remain a teacher.

There's nothing wrong with me being a teacher, but I do know deep down (actually, I don't have to explore too far into myself to know...) that I could be doing another job significantly better...or that I could be teaching another grade level and challenging myself to a greater extent. No, though. I get my contract every year, glance at it, and promptly sign it.

There are some facets of my life in which I am a "risk taker." For the most part though, I just stay firmly planted on the same path. My pessimism is to blame. I think about possibilities, but then discount those possibilities when I think of everything that could go wrong.

At times, my ability to track down people can only lead to my own further detriment. If I find out information about somebody from my past and it is "positive" information (i.e. wealth status, educational progresses, career accomplishments, I suddenly am brought completely down. I wouldn't necessarily call it jealousy. Rather, the feeling is moreso a complete plummeting of my motivation. I just assume that I can't attain whatever the other person has attained.

I've always said that I wish there were some type of motivation pill. Too many times, I just visualize failure in my mind and then decide not to start the task because---hey---why start it if failure is a possibility? It's a really shitty mindset to have and I don't know how to get rid of it.

In the meantime, maybe I should stop trying to "research" and "track" people down... but every so often superficiality comes into play and I smile at the fruits of my research: i.e. a previous friend or acquaintance from high school who is now extremely overweight. It's so petty, I know....

Silver Alert

For some reason, I am highly amused whenever I see illuminated "Silver Alert" signs on highways.

Whenever I see a Silver Alert posting, I just imagine an elderly person who has suddenly gotten out of his cognitive debilitated state and realized, "Fuck! There's a whole world out there to explore." I imagine the person walking jauntily to his car (most likely a mid90s Honda Accord with barely any miles on it), starting the car engine, and quickly zigzagging down a curvy highway.

Maybe all of the Silver Alert individuals reach a point when they just need to escape-- escape the monotonous flowery wall coverings and superficial kindness at nursing homes---  and they're off at some secret location, having mint juleps and Tom Collins drinks and watching reruns of Green Acres....

The grass is always greener on the other side

Agh. If I could back in time to two years ago, I have no idea what forces could have been powerful enough to persuade John and me to buy a house. Any friends or co-workers who revel in the idea of their future home get a response from me of "Don't do it! Want to buy mine? You can have it!"

American dream with home ownership is bullshit. I probably have posted about this before. Guaranteed.

Our apartment in Parsippany was cluttered and now our house is cluttered... I clearly will never be Ms. Domestic and actually don't really care too much about my lack of domesticity.

I think of all the extra money we would have if we had the apartment again. I'd make sure we went on trips and, blissfully, pissed away quite a bit of our money. Now, our money goes to sewer bills, higher electric bills, property taxes, etc. Our yard looks like shit and I don't care. The grass is truly greener on the "other side"-- ours is barely existent and its growth is stunted by stubborn moss, infertile soil, and persistent weeds.

But we do have tons of cilantro sprouting up. That's a positive. And our hastas managed to re-bloom...or...re-grow...whatever the term is.

He'll always be Marky Mark to me

I know that "Mark Wahlberg" has tried hard to overcome his 1990s simultaneous stint as hot Calvin Klein underwear model and one hit wonder.  He's kept the Boston accent (which to me, is attractive but unintelligent-sounding at the same time) and starred in various movies, trying to break away from guy-with-awesome-abs role....with the exception of Boogie Nights.

Yesterday at the gym, I saw portions of a movie which featured Mark Wahlberg in a small role but, immediately upon seeing him, I wanted to shout, "Marky Mark" at the screen.

I don't really know the whole plot of Date Night because I had my headphones on while it was playing in the gym's cinema room. There's a few scenes that feature a shirtless Mark Wahlberg, amidst an impressive, penthouse-style apartment.

It's funny how some people will always stay a certain way in your mind....

Anorexia and 2nd grade

It's raining steadily outside and, in the kitchen, I began singing "Rainy Days and Mondays" by the Carpenters...a  pretty normal inclination on a rainy day, I'd say.

Immediately, I was pretty shocked at how many of the lyrics I actually remembered. Also, I thought about how stupid some of the lyrics are. One case in point is: "walking around/some kind of lonely clown/rainy days and Mondays always get me down." Lonely clown? Surely, there was another word that could have fit the rhyme scheme.

Whenever I sing the Carpenters or hear them on the radio, I am instantly transported back to 2nd grade. I was in Ohio, visiting my grandmother. This was the age of AWESOME prime time made-for-tv movies. I know those type of movies still exist, but they just seem to suck now. The one I recall was a biopic about the Carpenters. As an 8 year old, I was totally freaked out by the images of Karen Carpenter (actress version) being skin-and-bones-gaunt. As a perpetual "fat kid," the idea of someone voluntarily starving herself made no sense to me. Not eat? By choice? What the hell?

I only saw the movie once, but it stuck with me. Whenever the topic of anorexia arises (um...not too often), I think of that made-for-tv-movie. I've often thought about watching it again, but who knows...it probably would seem to cheesy and outdated now that its significance would quickly vanish.

The Amy Fisher made-for-tv-movies are another story....despite the "serious" story behind them, they were, frankly, hilarious---some of the best comedies of the 90s....

Vampire house

When you're amidst the house-buying process, there's things that you overlook. When we got this house, we considered its location to be a decent plot of land with adequate space. In northern NJ, "adequate space" is the norm. If you have more than adequate space, your income is probably very impressive.

We moved in during the summer. As the summer months passed, we jubilated at how "cool" the house would be, even on the hottest summer days. We'd still have to put on the air conditioning, but it just seemed like the house stayed cool pretty well.

Fast forward to winter. I live in a vampire house. Shards of sunlight never really creep into the house. There's not one particular room that is very bright during the daytime. When the snow on other houses' roofs had melted, our roof snow piles were persisting. Needless to say, the "coolness" of summer that we enjoyed has persisted into the winter months in our home.

Filling the oil tank is crazy-expensive, so we keep the temperature down in the house. I don't recall what 60 degrees feels like. John makes jokes about us living on the ice plant of Hath, a Star Wars reference. I drink copious amounts of tea to trick my body into feeling like the house is warmer than it is. We wear tons of layers of clothing and snuggle tightly in bed.

Owning a house is totally not what I thought it would be. And I guess the realtors revel in people like John and me. If everyone had an immediate sense of "reality in a home," no houses would ever sell.

With the recent talk of crazy oil and gas prices, government's desire to gradually get rid of unions, and so on... I just feel like the American dream is a sham.

V-day

I do think that Valentine's Day is a bit silly. Don't get me wrong---if John showed up at work and gave me flowers or if I woke up and there was a fancy breakfast all arranged (i.e. NOT our usual Egg Beaters or oatmeal), I'd have a wide smile across my face. But all these commercials : "Get her what she really wants this Valentine's Day," and blah, blah, blah,...I just think they're silly.

I wouldn't say that I am jaded...definitely not. I just don't think the roses, chocolate, overabundance of red, is all that necessary.

In earlier years, when John and I were first dating, Valentine's Day had a little more "kick" to it. We never did the typical thing anyway though.

Our "tradition" is going out to dinner...but going out for Indian buffet. There's so many Indian restaurants in Morris County that they never get crowded, even on Valentine's Day night. So...gluttony...with heavily creamed foods...if that's not romantic, then I don't know what is :-)

Possibilities

I didn't want to be this person, but I find myself spending a LOT of time online. If you asked me to take note of my activities, they could be summed up easily: small amounts of emailing, playing Bookworm, checking PostSecret updates on Sunday mornings, checking work emails, and going onto Facebook. The crazy winter weather of this year has "motivated" me to spend pathetic amounts of time on Farmville. For the most part though, I just log in and out constantly, checking others' updates.

I've checked up on people from high school. Even if the profile is private, the photo tells so much. Picture of a belly that is burgeoning... a "little bundle of joy" on the way. Photo of more than just a man and woman: family already created and "in process." And so on.

I've contemplated deactivating my account for awhile but....uh....no.

The online world is an amazing world of possibilities and ...chances to unmotivate yourself. If you're an aspiring anything, you can find a site that caters to your passion, create a profile, and put yourself out there. I could easily go to a poetry site, put my work out there, and feel like I was engaging with other people. Instead, I just look at others' profiles and just kind of downplay any skills that I have.

I guess it comes back to the "half empty/ half full" debate. Unsurprisingly, I am on the half-empty end of the spectrum. And yes, I hide behind the reasoning of "I'm a realist." I'd like to move over to the half-full time soon... not expecting a huge, mega shift...a gradual one would be welcome though.

Building a Fire in the Snow

In the words of my sister, some people are simply "wackjobs."

Just got a call from my friend. Fiery red hair, pale blue eyes, thin and lanky body--- someone whose presence does command your attention.

She left a voicemail on my phone: "I'm going to go outside and make a fire in the snow. I thought it would be kind of neat. Do you and John want to come over?"

Instantly, I was reminded of the Jack London short story, "To Build a Fire." I recall a middle school teacher using that story to illustrate short story elements. The man in the story struggled with building a fire and keeping it alive. Every time it seemed like survival was existent, the damn fire would go out.

I forget how it ended. Since it was written by Jack London and is a story that is "heavy" with elements of nature, I am guessing that it didn't end with a storybook ending. The protagonist probably just froze to death in the snow.

Anyway, why anyone who is NOT stranded in the wilderness would want to go outside and build a fire, "just for fun," is beyond me.

Lesson plans seemed like a horrible way to end this weekend. In comparison to sitting outside in 26 degree weather and challenging myself with creating a fire...well....I'll take the lesson plans, thank you very much.