But Van Gogh didn't go to school...

Last night, we were walking around Barnes and Noble. Truly, that store is one of the only bookstores still in our area. I feel like NJ is turning into empty buildings and unoccupied asphalt lots. Still though, we keep building more condos and shopping plazas. We bulldoze buildings, leaving behind towering piles of broken bricks, only to rebuild another shopping center. 

While walking around Barnes and Noble, I overheard an interesting conversation between a boy and his mother. He was high school age and was talking about how his art teacher wants him to take four years worth of art classes. In order to make his course schedule work, he would have to be moved into honors math, although his math teacher thinks he should stay in "regular" math. The boy went on to talk about how he loves drawing: "Mom, if you look on the backs of my tests, it is all drawing and doodling...I have so many ideas and I sketch them everywhere." 

As he continued talking enthusiastically, she began speaking in a foreign language (some form of Hindi, Tamil, or Punjabi based on visual context clues. She spoke emphatically and I quickly sensed that she was not pleased with her son's artistic aspirations, even if they would oddly "force" him into an accelerated math course. He started talking about how he could still draw on his own and how Van Gogh didn't go to art school. 

After the Van Gogh comment, I just tuned out the conversation. The fact of the matter is that this boy will have a rigorous course load; perhaps he will still be in "regular" math, but there is no way that he will be studying art for four years. We'll be taking electives such as economics, accounting, or advanced placement literature. 

Years from now, he'll probably be sitting at some business meeting, bored, uninspired, and restless. He'll start doodling on a sheet of paper and will quickly stop.... because adults don't imagine or "play"--they do what they're "supposed" to do and that's the end of that. 

Cccccccold, but simple

As of yesterday, at 3pm, our power has been restored. Somehow, I thought that the surge of electricity would make me more motivated. I imagined myself rushing around the house, cleaning and organizing. No such thing happened.

As the hours went by, I noticed that the temperature in the house had not changed. The heating system's fan was only blowing cool air. We took all of the common sense steps (resetting fuse box, resetting on/off button for furnace, etc), but to no avail. The heating sytem is most definitely broken.

Now we're sitting in an electricity-filled house, but with the absence of heat. I'll call the heating technician today and get it fixed, further making it apparent that homes are simply money pits. Once one thing is fixed, something else breaks. I miss the days of living in an apartment. When something broke, all I had to do was write a letter to maintenance and, within a day or two, the problem was fixed.

We're thankful for the electricity being back though. Lights! I have never been so thankful for lights!

I was telling John that I hope Hurricane Sandy and the loss of power for consecutive days will make people less likely to take "the little things" for granted. He asked what I meant and it was hard to explain. I feel that we already live simply. Part of the simplicity is due to financial issues, but part of the simplicity is just the desire to not be people who are obsessed with acquiring new objects. I guess for people who are object-driven, living more simple would be challenging. Things are probably best summed up from a quotation that I heard years ago: "Live simply so that others may simply live." 

Something from Faulkner

In college (over a decade ago!), I recall reading Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. In short, the book details a family making a cross country pilgrimage for the purpose of burying the deceased matriarch (or at least that is what I recall).

Seven years ago, when my sister, mother, and I drove to Ohio for my grandmother’s funeral, I remember having a Faulkner moment. I was trying to drive as fast as possible, while simultaneously trying to block out the sounds of my mother talking. At some points, my sister and mother argued with one another and I tried blocking out those shrill noises. It was a Faulkner moment, otherwise known as a crazy family moment.

Amidst the power outage (still!), I am experiencing another Faulkneresque moment. We’re still staying at John’s parents’ house, but the situation has become more complex. There’s John and me. Then there’s his sister, a dependent 26-year old who has no qualms about still calling her parents “Mommy” and “Daddy.” There’s my mother-in-law, who resents that she works full time while my father-in-law is retired. There’s Flash, our former cat who now belongs to John’s parents; they were able to put up with his annoying habits (scratching at doors to have access to every part of the house, tapping on windows so that you will open them even in the middle of winter). Flash just had surgery, so he is convalescing (shaved fur, stitches, prescriptions for special cat food). There’s also Santo, John’s schizophrenic and bipolar uncle. He was in the hospital last week for an infection and is also convalescing at John’s parents’ house. Lastly, we created further chaos by bringing out cat, Lola, to the house. Last night, she growled often, snuck bites of Flash’s food, and stole his toys.

I don’t regard mystery writer Sue Grafton as a wondrous sage, but she has uttered words that do speak truly about family: “People talk about 'dysfunctional' families; I've never seen any other kind." While I think that John's family is wacky and while my own family is the epitome of dysfunction, dysfunction does appear to be the norm in our society. 

Post-Sandy

For two consecutive years, there has been catastrophic weather during the week of Halloween. Perhaps I will just leave the state altogether during Halloween of next year.

We had a mindfuck, post-Sandy. For four straight days, we have had partial power.Power power equates to all of the light fixtures being able to work, but being very dim. The stove works, but I have to wait significantly longer for things to boil or cook. The microwave does not have enough "juice" to work efficiently. The refrigerator keeps foods "good," but I would not exactly label them as "fresh." Cable and internet completely work.

Flash forward to last night. We had dinner at John's parents' house and then went to a birthday party. We came home late at night and, upon walking into the house, were in complete darkness. It turns out that while we out yesterday, the whole street lost partial power and has no power. The house is 45 degrees, the food is  rotting, and I am just utterly frustrated.

There was no devastation to our house, just tons of leaves and branches on the ground (which would have occurred anyway, at some point). This week has been depressing though. I don't know how I will have the energy to go into work on Tuesday (IF the power is restored to the schools by then), have a smile on my face, and be positive enough to teach. Again, my mindstate is negative, and we barely lost anything. I can't imagine how the people near the coast are feeling.

Four years ago, on this day, we were still in Hawaii on our honeymoon. We had moved on from Kaui to Maui. At one point, I recall that we thought, "Wouldn't it be great to just leave our house and 'junk' in NJ and move here?...just to move and start over with whatever possessions we currently have?"

I feel that same way now.

How NOT to act at a shiva

After a long battle with cancer, my aunt passed away this past Thursday. I'm not particularly close to that side of the family, but I wanted to pay my respects and attend the shiva. Despite my father's side being Jewish, I can't ever recall attending a shiva. I had no idea what to wear or what to bring with me (food?), so I texted two friends. One friend replied to my text as I was literally parking in front of the house for the shiva (no help, thanks a lot) and another friend was casual with her reply (John doesn't have to wear a suit, don't worry, I don't think you have to bring anything).

John and I, therefore, used our "best judgment." He wore dress pants, a dress shirt, and a blazer. I wore a skirt and a nice top. We didn't know what to bring and didn't have access to a Kosher bakery, so we just came with our condolences.

Unfortunately, my mother also attended the shiva with us. Since she doesn't drive, we had to pick her up, bring her to the shiva, bring her back home, and then drive back home ourselves. According to my calculations, we drove 52 miles OUT OF THE WAY to bring her to the shiva. I didn't mind all that much, until after the shiva, when her monumentally horrible behavior coaelesced.

While I did not think this was possible, my mother's behavior has warranted me to create a list of "Top 10 Things to NOT do at a shiva." Note: these requirements for how NOT to behave fall in no particular order.

1. While the prayers are being said and all attendees are solemnly standing outside, do NOT go back into the house, take off your shoes, and lounge in the comfy living room leather chair.

2. Do NOT continue walking around the house, which isn't yours, with your shoes off. Really?

3. Upon re-meeting a relative whose name you do not recall, do NOT start out the conversation with guessing aloud,  "Wait, wasn't your husband the one who died while crossing the sidewalk?" When the person with whom you are speaking quickly replies, "No," do not continue to guess the person's former husband's mode of death.

4. Do NOT hit on the recent widower by saying, "I LOVE men with gray hair. You know, I'm not too far from your wife's age."

5. Do NOT comment on how the shiva house hasn't changed in 25 years and how, with all the money the homeowners have, you'd think the interior decor would have changed.

6. Upon entering the house when you first arrive, do NOT start walking around the house, giving yourself a personal tour (while everyone else is congregating outside and getting ready to begin the shiva readings).

7. Since this occasion honors someone else's life, do NOT take the time to talk about how your own husband has been gone for 25 years, blah, blah, blah.

I can't believe that I only came up with a list of seven things. I've probably pushed the other tactless acts out of my mind. I tried doing the "nice thing" by having my mother attend the shiva with us, despite the fact that everyone on my father's side of the family could care less about her attendance there (me included). What really angers me is the total lack of tact that she displayed. John and I were respectful and, overall, acted how a normal human should act. I feel like some of my relatives just lump me in with my mother in their minds. However, she and I are completely, utterly, exponentially different from one another.

Trampy Halloween Costumes II

I know I posted about this same topic a few Halloweens ago, but I have realized that the possibilities for trampy costumes are limitless.

At work, we're attempting to corral a bunch of people into doing an 80s Halloween theme. During the summer, I was pondering Halloween costumes and thought that being Mario could be fun. Now, my ideas have come "full circle," since Mario fits in well with the 80s theme. I am not that "into" the costume that i am willing to wear the unflattering, cotton jumper costume that is sold, complete with inflatable belly. Just having the hat, moustache, and a red shirt should suffice.

I started looking online at other 80s themed costumes and the sluttification-factor stunned me. I mean, ok, no one should be stunned that a company can take an "innocent" concept and turn it into something provocative, but some of the costumes were simply ridiculous. Examples include trampy Princess Peach (also from Super Mario), trampy Rubik's cube (yes, it exists!), and trampy Ghostbusters fighter. Miss Piggy's chubby cuteness has even been tarnished.

A trampy Slimer costume (also a character from Ghostbusters fame) does not yet exist. I guess there are some limits and boundaries. Basically, if the original character is obese and spews forth mucusy substances, then it cannot be sluttified. Good to know.

Venn diagram of a relationship

Today we held a garage sale. I made $20 in five hours, which makes my hourly "job" rate $4.00 an hour. Luckily, friends came over to help with the garage sale and it made the day more fun.

Last night, I was going through CDs to sell at the garage sale (no one ended up buying ANY). My friend, Jen, persisted, "Don't sell your CDs. What if you want to listen to them?" Even I, who have droned on and on about how I would never get rid of any of my CDs, recognize that it is 2012 and 1] most of my CD collection is on my Itunes list anyway and 2] I can always get digital copies of music or even go to the library. I ended up allowing myself to "attempt" to sell 40 CDs from my collection.

While going through the CDs, I noticed the duplicates that John and I have. Now, I had noticed this years ago when we used to have our CD collection meticulously displayed in alphabetical order. You'd get to certain parts of the alphabet and two identical CD spines would be resting, side by side.

It's interesting how amidst our combined 700+ CD collection, there are only about five duplicates. The fact that someone who listened to rap, David Bowie, and metal music & someone who listened to 80s music, goth, and pop music somehow own five identical CDs says something about the pop cultural value of those album titles:

1. REM's Automatic for the People--- REM is weird, odd, eccentric, ---say it however you want. I've never really listened to an entire album of theirs, despite the fact that they have many singles I like ("Orange Crush," "End of the World," etc). Automatic For the People is listenable and enjoyable.

2. Pearl Jam's Vs. --First of all, the album art is awesome---- a vicious dog trying to break through a caged area. Pearl Jam's album, Ten, has tons of hit singles on it and I was wondering why John and I didn't own that one too. I figured it out. Ten came out when we were 12 and 11, respectively. We probably were still listening to radio and not paying too close attention to certain bands. Vs. came out when we were 13 and 12. I don't think we bought it at those ages either. Later on, I think that that dog image really reeled us in. Vs. is okay and features my favorite song, "Glorified g."

3. Nirvana's Teen Spirit--I didn't buy this when it came out, but I vividly recall one of my childhood friends had the CD when it came out. We would've been 12. Once again, the album art reeled us in. This is one of those CDs that I would expect a majority of people my age to have owned at one point in their lives.

4. Door's Greatest Hits- Self-explanatory--Lots of teenagers go through Doors phases but, most times, it never gets past the "Oh they were kind of cool" point. You buy the greatest hits album to appease your curiosity and then the interest wanes.

5. Radiohead's The Bends- I have the album because I was not "into" Radiohead's more experimental stuff and liked the predictability of songs like "High and Dry." Also, "High and Dry" was in Clueless, a movie I loved. John hates this album because it's, by far, Radiohead's weakest--but he probably bought it because he wanted to complete his collection of their albums.

If someone ever needs to know albums that represent a generation, the above list would work for us Gen Xers...Yers... whatever I am classified as...

BTSN

BTSN---it's what all the cool cats use to abbreviate Back to School Night. Tonight was Back to School Night #11 for me. I can still remember my first BTSN. I borrowed John's mother's clothing (that should give enough of a visual!). It was a Nina Ricci outfit--- black and linen material. There was a dress with a drawstring waist and a light jacket to go over the dress. Basically, I wore a burlap sack.

I get nervous with BTSN. I guess that's good because it means that I care. I always feel the need to "get dressed up," but in the end I feel like someone who is "playing dress up." I had on a black, short-sleeved mock sweater and a black/white polka-dotted skirt. With my one inch heels and stockings, I looked Mad Men-esque, but without the sexiness. Moreso, I resembled a 1950s housewife.

Whenever I wear stockings and heels, I feel so unlike myself. Everything is compressed and uncomfortable---not exactly the best feelings to have in place when making an oral presentation. Stockings just aggravate me too. If you're thin, they serve to make your legs look tan and blemish-free. If you're even slightly chubby, stockings serve to "compress your chunk." Basically, you'll still look like you have a pot belly, but it will look like a pot belly of steel, encased in cellophane for extra protrusion.

I don't think I'll ever enjoy the concept of dressing up. Part of me will always revel in what I did as a teen---I went to a wedding with my best friend and as soon as the reception began, we changed into tattered jeans and tshirts. When you pull stunts like that as a teen, you're just a smart ass teenager---how you're supposed to be. As an adult though, you're just labeled immature. I think we could all use a little immaturity in our adult lives.

Accomplishment of the Summer

Normally, if something is bothering me, I tend to hold back my emotions. I especially tend to hold back my emotions if I am in a public place. The amount of rudeness I see on a daily basis angers me, but I just keep my mouth shut. Truthfully, if I "confronted" a  rude person, he/she would most likely be ruder back to me. What would be the point?

On Friday night, I actually let me emotions (moreso opinion, actually) be heard. Four of us were at a Jason Mraz concert----very low key---- lots of acoustic sets, violins being played, and just a generally "chill" atmosphere. We had lawn seats, which I also refer to as anarchists' domain since "anything goes." People all around us were talking and just not really paying attention to the music. Our friend Michael commented, "It sounds like we're in a cafeteria." Working in a middle school environment for over 10 years, I have a definite conception of what cafeteria noise sounds like and he was absolutely correct.

However, one group of voices was particularly jarring. There were four girls (I say girls because they seemed like they were college-age) who were to the right of us. They just kept talking and talking; they had those voices that I associate with "Valley girls" from 1980s movies---shrilling, with an emphasis on letters like s and k.

The pinnacle of the evening was when I went over to them and uttered the following words: "Hi, um, are you by any chance college students majoring in elementary ed?" (They then quizzically looked at me and said "No.") I then replied, "Ok. You just have these loud and grating voices like elementary school teachers and it is really noticeable. Is there any way you could lower your voices? In fact, you're not singing or anything with the concert. You could walk back to the concrete with your drinks and have the same exact concert experience you are having up here."

Queen bee of the group (with huge Amanda Seyfried-like eyes) says to me, "You know, you don't have to be so rude. You could have said something to us like 45 minutes ago" (although I would have still called their voices loud and grating...so I don't know how the 45 minute timespan would have made a difference). She also said, "Oh, sorry, we'll try to have less fun."

I do admit that calling a groups' voices "loud and grating" could be considered rude, but oh well. I felt proud of myself for saying something, for once. They were okay for the rest of the concert, but they intermittently would all say, "Shhh" in unison. I should have started out with asking them if they were in high school; that's what their behavior suggested to me.

At the end of the show, they tried saying something snarky to me. I just walked on, but my friend got in their faces. It would have been hilarious to go home and say to John, "Um, hon, I got into a fight at the Jason Mraz concert." 

Triathlete

My neighbor across the street drives a maroon mini van. I just thought I'd state that detail.

In terms of being an active person, she is the complete opposite. She has a Stop-n-Shop truck deliver food to the house on a biweekly basis.  She also has housekeepers come to her house on a weekly basis. While one could say that those are simply signs of affluence rather than inactiveness, I also never see this woman outside of her house. She has two young children and a pet dog. I never see her playing outside with the children or even walking the dog. The dog sits on the lawn, ambles around, and then goes back inside the house. An "invisible electric fence" keeps the dog within the lawn area.

Anyway, on the back bumper of the caravan are two stickers. One sticker proudly proclaims "13.1" (half marathon). The other sticker simply says "Triathlete."

I'm all for people accomplishing goals, but if someone runs a half-marathon and has a bumper sticker stating triathlete status, that person shouldn't walk around looking like a frump in her oversized t shirts and tight "yoga" pants.

Just sayin'. 

Extremes

In regard to Facebook, I guess I can't complain about the stupid posts people write if I am the one who chooses to read them. Sometimes though, what people see as "best," "worst," or "disaster" simply serves to make me laugh.

A recent acquaintance posted the following: The worst thing happened. I needed to make pesto sauce before the basil went bad. The awful part was I had to put it in the fridge for tomorrow because I have a dentist appointment in the pm and I couldn't offend the dentist! I guess I will be happy tomorrow .

That whole "travesty" is so insignificant and laugh-worthy. There's tons of my friends who don't even have dental insurance and who would love to have the quandary of having pesto-breath before their dentist appointments.

This is the same girl who posted a photo of her new, gleaming Sub-Zero fridge and posted something along the lines of: Oh my gosh! I am so happy!

People really need to start getting their priorities straight...or they simply need to acquire more intelligence. 

On a side note, the woman I am speaking about is a teacher and constantly misuses words or makes grammatical mistakes---and stupid grammatical mistakes at that---we're talking your vs. you're. 

People like that embarrass me. 

Encroachment

Two of our good friends recently purchased a home. Yesterday was move in day. Their house has over a half acre of land. In most parts of the U.S.,  a half acre is nothing, but in NJ it is considered palatial estate space. Half of an acre! 

The lawn was miraculously bright emerald green, despite the recent lack of rainfall. There were not really fences in the neighborhood and the houses were spaced apart so that privacy was a reality.

I don't think John notices it, but I zone in so much on the noises of my neighborhood. During the weekdays, I hear three or four different sanitation companies' trucks riding up and down our street. That beeping noise that indicates a backing up motion of the truck aggravates me. I zone in on my neighbor training his dog to run back and forth across the small expanse of the backyard. I notice the intermittent stop-and-go of the postal office delivery truck. I hear weed whackers, lawn mowers, and so on. Most of the noise is machine-made, not human-made.

I don't see myself as the rural/country type, but you never know your thresholds until you experience them. I'm looking forward to an eventual next phase in life---where I feel like I can go outside, breathe, exhale, and not hear noise. There has to be some nature enthusiast hidden somewhere inside of me. 

Lazy

Oh my god. I was so incredibly lazy today. Sometimes I think that if I had a summer job, it would be beneficial because I'd be forced to "do something with my day." Then I get angry with myself for thinking that I need a job in order to "do something with my day."

It's almost 7pm now and the largest accomplishment of my day has been watching many consecutive episodes of Roseanne. I next plan on heading to the gym for a bit. I'm not planning anything too strenuous, just walking for 45 minutes or so and listening to some music.

I think I am starting to get into a summer funk---getting antsy, nervous, annoyed with the prospect of school starting up again. Having summers off is amazing, but I think it makes it more difficult to segue back into the work routine. I'll have to wear my "teacher clothing" (if I fit into it) and be energized at 7:40am.

I own a tshirt that proclaims "Procrastinators Unite!!...Tomorrow." All too often, I put off things that I could have easily done today. I might have to lean a little more toward the type A personality route and start jotting down daily tasks in my planner. Lame. 

Safari Barbie

It is amazing how a thought can be out of the human mind, almost forgotten, and then tons of memories can be ignited when one sees a single object or image.

Yesterday, we went to Scranberry Coop, a consignment-style shop featuring 100+ booths of various goods.

Instantly, I saw objects that made me think of memories from childhood. I saw a basket-style tumbler (Melmac--after some research) that made me think of my grandmother. She had those tumblers throughout my childhood, in addition to the Welch's jam jars that converted into drinkware. The store also had tons of limited edition glasses from McDonald's. The limited edition drinkware usually celebrated a new film such as Star Wars or The Great Muppet Caper. The store also has an abundant supply of Russ trolls. I remember those being popular when I was younger.

The biggest "Ooh" moment, however, occurred when I saw a Barbie doll. She was labeled as "disco Barbie," which could not be further from her actual title: Animal Lovin' Safari Barbie. She wears a gold lamee halter top, gold and pink leopard vest & matching ruffled mini-skirt, and pink hiking boots with a heel. She also has a gold fish-net style hair bandana.

As a young girl, I didn't own tons of Barbies. I preferred art toys like Etch A Sketch or Video Painter. I totally remember having that Safari Barbie though. In retrospect, the doll's outfit is hilarious. Even more hilarious is the accessory kit that is offered for the Safari Barbie. I looked online and saw that the accessory kit contained a pink picnic table, pink cooler, radio, pots, pans, and bamboo-style dish drying rack. I'd give Mattel much more credit if Safari Barbie came with a 12 gauge shotgun, a buck knife, and emergency malaria medicine.

I guess the California "safari" terrain is quite a bit different from the African Plains.

Shaking on a Monday

I had three cups of coffee this morning. I tried going light on the amount of sugar and cream. Last December, I went on a low-sugar kick and drank black coffee. I'd like to get back into that routine.

Right now, my hands are actually lightly shaking. It's 12:37 and I am energized, even if artificially, for the day. The past week at Artist/Teacher Institute has been amazing, but my eating habits were totally off-kilter. I don't want to step on a scale, but I can imagine the havoc I have wreaked. Last night, I watched an episode of Extreme Weight Loss Makeover on ABC. If the 543 pound guy on the show could eat 2000 calories daily and have ultra crazy workouts, I think I can get back to my good habits and eat healthier, in addition to going to the gym.

I am almost the same weight I was in early college---not good.

Here's to shaky hands and the start of better habits!

Delia's Wishes

I love the word corpulent. It surpasses fat, heavy, big-boned, obese, overweight, any plump. Corpulent tells it like it is-- utter gluttony and sloth embodied in rolls of flesh.

In high school, I was corpulent. I did not have the advantage that some "fat" girls have---large breasts and a large ass. Corpulent girls do not get those benefits.

I wore guys' clothing because it was easier to find 38 waist pants than to step foot into a Lane Bryant. I wore guys' boxers "with the dick holes" as I so eloquently describe them. I wore cottony bras that were one step above the flattening effects of sports bras, but were nowhere near the sexiness of bras with lace or see-through effects. I wore horizontally-striped shirts sized for men.

Today, I got a Delia's catalog in the mail. Delia's can be found in most malls and has been in existence since my teen years. Sassy magazine (RIP) used to always have Delia's ads.

Two years ago, I ordered comic book style Converse from Delia's and have been on the mailing list since. NONE of this clothing would really ever fit me. Although I weigh less than I did in high school and am more plump than corpulent, Delia's clothing is juniors fit. It is meant for lanky, awkward, curveless girls. I could probably shimmy into an XL tee, but anything else from the store would not fit me properly. The clothing is also inappropriate in that many shirts are flirty and midriff-baring. Other shirts have cute slogans or are silkscreened with images of One Direction band members. You can proclaim your love for all of One Direction or for an individual band member. The styles of jeans have names like Morgan, Perry, and Jordin--- names that would fit bitchy girls in high school cliques. Delia's carries the size of double zero.

Although the only thing I have ever purchased from this company is a pair of shoes, I still feel compelled to remain on the subscription list. Part of the reasoning is nostalgic and part of the reasoning is wishful thinking. I think that part of me hopes to one day "get in shape" enough to wear Delia's clothing. Bodies can't be time machines though.

At least I can always fit into their jewelry. 

Non-mechanical side

I find that in modern society that having too many choices is completely overwhelming. I realize that that idea is nothing new or enlightening. Best said in the words of author Barry Schwartz, there is a "paradox in choice." Choices seem like a positive thing, but when there are a myriad of choices for every category of possession, it can be daunting.

We did a small remodel on our bathroom one year ago. Finally, I decided on an over-the-toilet organizer to purchase. This should not have been something that required me to search endlessly. However, with the variety of sites out there, I did not choose an organizer until a few days ago.

The package arrived yesterday, left outside our front door. I felt proud enough for taking the bulky, cumbersome cardboard box inside. Today, I decided to put the organizer together. Using something a day after receiving it is "not my style." Usually, once I purchase something, it will rest in its cardboard housing for days and days, until I finally decide to open it. Delayed gratification, I suppose.

The box hailed: "15 minute assembly! No tools required!" Of course, I remained hyperaware of the time, so as to see how well I fit into the over-the-toilet-organizer-assembly population.

As I started putting the pieces together, within minutes I was uttering curses under my breath. The directions spoke of buttons with tapered ends and push buttons---what the hell? While trying to get one piece into another, I had a sudden premonition that one of the satin nickel rods would suddenly burst out of its correct spot and impale me. The directions were written in a detailed way and were numbered, yet they remained frustrating.

I finally got the organizer put together in 20 minutes, with 33% more time needed than the average assembler (if my math is correct). I relied on the assembly method that worked during much of my childhood when I had to put together Barbie houses, She-ra castles, and other domiciles for fictitious characters: looking at the colorful picture on the front box.

The directions recommend anchoring the organizer to the wall... I think I'm just going to play over-the-toilet-organizer roulette and hope that the China-made tower doesn't tumble down on me.

Gym pigs

The gym is the source of much fascination for me. When I am on the treadmill, I go into ADD mode. I observe all of the people weightlifting (and taking an unproportionate amount of drinks breaks in comparison to painstaking workout time) and stare at the ceiling tiles and mammoth air conditioning units as if they were some new, innovative product.

When I am at the gym, I also notice patterns in behavior.

A common pattern is people getting off the treadmills and other cardio machines and not turning off the TV. This bothers me. I hate being on a treadmill and then having a line of empty treadmills beside me with flashing images. I am the gym's good samaritan who turns off all of the unused television sets.

One main pattern I see is in regard to gym "machine etiquette." People that are running maniacally, truly sweating all over the handgrips of the machines, have a tendency to NOT spray the machines down. The pattern of non-spraying also stems from very attractive and/or muscular people. I envision them getting off the treadmill and thinking in their minds, "Fuck it. I'm too good looking to follow the etiquette."

Sandcastles in the air

The mind is quite enigmatic at times. Just now, for instance, I started thinking about a sandcastle figurine that I used to want. These figurines are nothing special, simply plaster covered over with sand and glittery fragments, in the shape of a sandcastle. Some of the castles have blue or pink glitter and some of the castles are shanties while other are mansions. Overall though, these castle figurines are available at any tourist destination near a beach.

There was a store close to my childhood home and it sold these sandcastles. The store also sold overpriced jewelry boxes, necklaces, and picture frames made out of beautiful seashells that were not indigenous to NJ. Outside of the store, when you drove and passed by, you'd be greeted by bright pink, blue, green, and yellow tubes and rafts in the shapes of various animals. In short, this store was a cheesy tourist trap and, being that I was "local," I never actually purchased anything in it. I'd stop in and get entranced by all of the merchandise, but I never bought anything.

A few weeks ago, I saw a sandcastle figurine at the Goodwill Store. I could have purchased it, but it just didn't seem "right." That kind of purchase needs to be made from a cheesy tourist shop.

On a whim, I used GoogleMaps to track the route I would have needed to take to the tourist store. Whenever I went there, it was in a car, since I was terrified of riding my bike on Route 9. The route is 1.5 miles! I hardly ever drive down to Ocean County anymore but the next time I am near there, I am going to stop by that little tourist shop and pay a ridiculous price for a sandcastle shanty.

Habits and observations

First, the "new" (it's probably been out for over a year, but I waited until they "forced me" before I moved over to the new format) Blogger set up is annoying. It's all white space, icons, and confusion.

I must get back into the habit of blogging and, in general, writing. Too many times I doubt myself and then spend time belittling myself instead of simply writing. Somehow, I feel that self-doubt is a common writer's ailment.

If you pay attention and take life's moments at a slower pace (extremely challenging if you live on the East Coast in the tristate area), those small moments and observations will inevitably make you smile.

Today I went for a quick walk around the lake. There had been a pair of swans gliding across the lake in February.  Now, months later, and there are grey Cygnets traveling with them. I had noticed the baby swans about a month ago, but never stopped to really watch them. Today, I stood at the edge of the lake and got a view of the mother swan bobbing her head up and down in search of food. The baby swans (now significantly bigger than they were one month ago) followed her lead and bobbed their heads up and down too. A few minutes later, the two "parental swans" led the way and the baby swans followed behind, single-file.

When I was in Aldi, waiting on the line to the register, a woman turned to me and said, "Beach day tomorrow," while pointing at her groceries. On the conveyer belt were chips, rice cakes, other carb-heavy foods, beverage containers, and a few other miscellaneous items. I smiled back and said, "I might go too, if the weather is nice." On my way out of the store, she said, "Have fun." It seemed like she truly just needed someone to talk to and tell about her exciting adventure. Kind of pitiful, but kind of sweet too.

Lastly, I am a admirer of words and those who use them well. At the gas station, the attendant who was helping me uttered, "Have a good evening." People rarely use the word evening. We need to bring that word back into vogue.

Getting Childhood Wants

Kids in America are "branded;" they do not desire winter boots, sunglasses, or sweatsuits. Instead, they desire Uggs, Ray Bans, and Juicy Couture sets.

When I was a kid, there certainly were material items that I desired. I recall wanting this ridiculous (in retrospect, of course) pair of cowgirl-style boots. They were white, white white fringe and small pseudo-turqouise embellishments. I have no idea as to what compelled me to desire those boots.  I remember they were expensive for the time, either $50 or $100...and I remember splitting the cost with my mother...probably with monies from a birthday or a holiday.

There were tons of other items that I desired, but never got.  The amazing thing is that those items that were expensive, in the early 90s, are now being sold exponentially cheaper at "deep discount" chain stores. It's amusing because, if desired, I could get all of those items that I desired in my youth for similar 1990s-esque prices. Kind of like some weird nostalgia time machine.

Brands that come to mind:

Airwalk shoes and sandals--now sold at Payless

Goofy JoeBoxer prints--now at Kmart

Starter athletic apparel--now at Walmart

OP-- now at Walmart

Mossimo--now at Target

I have yet to find a store that sells HyperColor clothing though:(

Metaphors for teaching in 2012

It isn't that there have been more meetings than usual, but it just seems lately that the union meetings and board of education meetings leave me feeling upset. Often, midway through the meeting, i'll take my index and middle fingers and check my pulse. My pulse is usually racing, frustrated, angry, and a myriad of other emotions intertwined. 

This leads me to metaphors for teaching in 2012:

1. Every day that I teach, I walk on a tightrope.

2. Every word that I utter is analyzed, microscopically, from each child in the room. They know how "sue-crazy" and PC-minded that our society is, to a fault. 

3. With all of the emphasis on testing and scores, I am basically an educational robot.

Reunited

At karaoke tonight, while I was looking through the binder of songs, someone came over to me and uttered: "I think I know you from somewhere." I enjoy having this line said to me because, as experiences have shown me, I have a "familiar face." When I went to college for undergrad, I apparently had a close resemblance to someone named Debbie, who had graduated a few years ahead of me. On more than one occasion, people on campus would ask me if I was Debbie's sister or relative. 

The girl continued on and asked, "Did you go to Kinnelon High?...CSE?" Bam, apparently we went to the same college. It doesn't seem like a big deal but when your tiny college has a graduating class of 230 students, I guess it does seem to be a big deal. 

The whole situation was just odd because her face did not look familiar, yet she recognized me from across the room. She also said, "You wouldn't know me; we ran in different circles."  That comment made me laugh-- how can there be that many circles or cliques when you're dealing with 230 people? 

Honestly, it was just a self-indulgent moment; I don't desire to be recognized all the time. In fact, when I am at a mall or something and see students from a distance, I tend to immediately walk in the opposite direction. This was a nice moment though.... 

Current Children

I feel sad for the current generation. Each day, I try my best to teach and to share knowledge. I recognize that even though I am the teacher, I can still learn from the life experiences and thoughts of 13 year olds. I try to remain open-minded. Sometimes, although not often, I am surprised by the insightful questions asked by students or the riveting tidbits that they already know.

When I come home from school, after the "work day" is done, I still ponder various aspects of whatever lesson I taught that day. I can't help it. Right now, I am teaching Anne Frank to 8th grade and Lois Lowry's Giver to 7th grade. Empathy for all victims of the Holocaust, as well as victims of other tragic deaths, persist in my mind. I contemplate the society that Lowry poses in Giver. I try to NOT think about topics I have taught during the day, but it just happens---those thoughts circulate in my mind. I guess it shows that I am a "good teacher" or (significantly less self-indulgent) that I simply care about my job.

Sadly, I think that a lot of today's students do not think carefully about issues and topics being posed to them. Case in point---a class reading from today mentioned how women at the concentration camps were not "permitted" to get pregnant. Somehow, babies still were born at these camps; one can assume that women were impregnated from sexual assaults and rapes. I mentioned this fact to my students and one of them commented, "It's not like that bad stuff happened to us. It's ok if we have happy lives."

Kids don't get the point. One can easily say, Oh, some kids just need to grow up and mature, but I think that's a cop-out. 13 years old and without empathy? It's a pretty bleak picture for future generations; at least they'll be able to accessorize their empathy-less selves with Coach purses, Ugg boots, Juicy hoodies, and Abercrombie jeans.

Fat Bottomed Girls

I used to think that Queen's "Fat Bottomed Girls" was inappropriate. Over the years, I've grown to like the song and find it to be a lively celebration of...girth.

Honestly though, there are some of us who look good fat and some of us who desperately need to shed some pounds in order to keep our attractiveness intact. I had a friend in high school named Stephanie. She was heavy all of her life. Facebook photos show that she is still quite heavy today. She "carries it well" though. Her body curves in the right spots and her face features full lips and round cheeks. She looks good heavy. People like her are rarities, but some women can pull off being heavy. I don't condone heaviness, just because of health factors. For beauty factors though, some fat bottomed girls are beautiful.

Me, as a fat bottomed girl, is a definite no-no. When I gain weight, my already small eyes become smaller, surrounded by fat in my face. My breasts stay small, as my stomach increases in its protrusion. My hips have always been prominent, but when I gain weight, there are extra mounds of fat, indentations that go back and forth, giving my waist and hip area a rippled effect.

All of these thoughts came to mind because I was trying on dresses at the mall this afternoon. At this point in time, clothing fits me awkwardly. Due to my recent increased penchant for beer and junk food, I feel crummy. Today was my first day back at the gym in a week+. I didn't overly exert myself, but it was pleasant to be on the treadmill with just music, my thoughts, and my feet moving.

I aspire to be an average bottomed girl.

I'm fucking old...ish

I love putting the suffixes -ish and -esque at the end of words. It gives finite words a sense of vagueness. It's also a copout for choosing a more accurate word for what one wants to say.

I'm still doing the daily poetry prompts. Instead of posting them here, I'll just post them at the prescribed site:http://3030poetry.com/

Anyway, I uttered a simple question in class today and, upon having no students' hands affirmatively raised, I came to the conclusion: I'm old...ish.

We were discussing use of the vocab word "recuperation." I described the first real-world example that came to mind, Gloria Estefan's bus tour accident in the early 1990s. I asked, "Has anyone here heard of Gloria Estefan?" Not one hand went in the air. I added, "She was popular in the late 80s and early 90s. She is like Jennifer Lopez from previous years."

At home, I googled "Coming Out of the Dark," her hit 1991 single. The song has fairly cheesy symbolism and metaphors and features an overly dramatic choir in the background. Nonetheless, listening to the song made me smile. It makes me think of other hit songs by Estefan: "Cuts Both Ways" (beautiful love ballad), "Bad Boys" (the video featuring large 80s hair and eyebrows, in addition to men costumed as cats), and so on.

So..maybe I am oldish...music videos from my "youth" are awesomely hilarious...and gray hairs do not matter...if I spy any within my mousy brown hair, I just snag them out. 

Animatronic Head

30/30 Poem of the Day

Animatronic Head

Driving on NJ highways is best done

with an animatronic mind.

Stare straight ahead at the expanse of asphalt,

gemmed with small splinters of glass.

Keep the speedometer between 65 and 70,

the neon orange dial slowly seesawing.

Pay the other drivers no attention

and simply bob your head back and forth,

a pendulum moving to the beat of a song

heard one thousand times before.

Stay unaware of the line of tail lights

signaling the long pathway to your destination.

You realize that the machine mindset will bring

the most success

and the least frustration.

But human nature can’t stop you from

noticing the vibrant wildflowers

on the side of the highway,

scattered as if someone made a bet

as to whether or not he could make you smile. 

30/30 Challenge... a few days late

Read a blog post about a poetry writing challenge for April. The idea is to compose a poem each day of the month. I found a site, http://wordxwordfestival.com/challenge/index.html, that gives daily prompts for writers. While the idea of using prompts bothers me (I'd much rather come up with my own ideas), it does help with getting the writing process started.

This is my poem for 4/5...and yes, I realize that today is 4/6. The prompt was "then and now."

Then and Now

Alert, curious azure eyes taking in her surroundings

Straying eyes that look for escapes from reality

Words sputtering from a mouth, bubble-like, one after another

Thoughts perpetually contained, anxious and unrefined

Digital numbers inviting her to welcome the day’s possibilities

Mind-numbing lists of tasks to do and people to tolerate

Roads to traverse, feeling newly turned earth beneath her feet

Old, cracked dirt piled atop her dreams.  

City jitters

Most people have a consensus of what cities are like: crowded, louder than the 'burbs, busier, and with more things to do.  My conception of the city is: pure and utter chaos, droves of people streaming into one another, ridiculous expenses, and lots of things to do.

I think I am partially cursed, in that our nearest "big city" is New York City. According to worldatlas.com, NYC is the fourth most populated city in the world, with over 19 million people---and this is the city I have to live near?!

We have visited other U.S. cities and enjoyed them. Chicago (6 million population) seemed easy to navigate. If you got "lost," you did not feel like you were utterly screwed. We could tell when we were walking into a "bad section," but in actuality, it did not feel all that dangerous or threatening. Parking right by Cubs Stadium was crazy cheap. The people were nice too. We've been to Milwaukee (whoa- population under 600,000!). That was a comical experience. We wanted to visit a brewery and with out NYC state of mind we scrambled for the first parking spot we saw. We proceeded to walk about 3/4 mile to the brewery, only to find copious parking spaces in front of the brewery. We've been to Charleston, Savannah, D.C., and other cities and have had pleasant experiences.

But NYC--utter chaos.

We went there yesterday for a day trip, which I'll go into more detail next time...I just wish we were in closer proximity to a different city. I'd take Charleston. What I remember about Charleston is the eerie sounds of large bugs skittering across the sidewalks at night. Other than that, it was a quiet and polite city.

Modern Chaos

There are many times during the week when the following chant repeats in my mind: "the chaos of the modern world." This mini-chant does not occur once or twice within the week, but at least 10-15 times.

I savor silence. Even when my surroundings are classifiable as quiet, I can still sense noises around me: the sputtering of the gutter outside when rain droplets trickle onto it; the soft buzzing noises that the turned-on computer makes; the sounds of cars passing by outside; the sound of lawnmowers and other yard equipment being used at houses, even distances away...

When I am at work, I am most productive when barely anyone is left in the building. Interestingly, during my prep periods within the school day, I always have music playing in the background. Once the school is almost empty, I just grade papers and plan lessons with silence.

It seems like I would be a prime candidate for nature-living... like Thoreau. I don't feel that comfortable amidst nature though and, as foolish as it may seem, my mind churns with visions of being mauled by bears or something else catastrophic. I am "ok" with being a suburban person...but just wish silence were more frequent.

The Ghost of a Guido

Well, it's been a tumultuous past month, but I feel as if the storm between John and me has reached a point of being calm. With that calmness brings a yearning to write again, even if it's just the silly musings of my days.

My classroom has horrible, old, ugly-colored carpeting. The carpeting is mottled with various shades of brown and neutrals. I'm sure that when the rug company installed it, the colors were labeled as: tawny, burnt sienna, mahogany, copper night, amber, and beige, but the simple assessment is this: it's fucking ugly.

That carpeting has been in my classroom for the 10 years I have been there, and probably for another decade and a half on top of that. There is a large rectangular rust stain from the carpet cleaning company moving a metal bookcase halfway across the room, then deciding they no longer wanted to move it. There's bubbling that occurs right in the center of the classroom on warm, humid days. On muggy days, the classroom smells of adolescents and old carpeting combine to create a hay-like scent.

I generally have an air freshener plugged in to camouflage the horrendous smells. It makes me think of Upton Sinclair's Jungle when people took advantage of the immigrants by selling them spoiled milk, mixing in water with the curdled liquid, so that there was the appearance of freshness. This isn't as drastic, but it's the connection that comes to mind.

Today, there was a potent smell of Axe body spray in the air. I asked my 8th graders, "Did anyone spray Axe spray?" Of course, no one responded. The strong odor remained in the front quadrant of the room, strangely in area where no students sit.

My words that got a laugh during today's class: "The scent must be from the ghost of a guido who is inhabiting our room....Rodrigo."

About 15 minutes later, I renamed our ghost and announced, "Yo, it's Joe Toritelli."

Wintergirls

I'm reading a YA book, alongside an "adult" book. I find it amusing how books are classified as young adult. YA lit features the same topics as "adult lit" sex, drinking, misery, intertwined relationships, and so on. YA books just tend to be shorter and have (sometimes) less complex vocabulary.

Right now, the YA book I am reading is called Wintergirls. The protagonist, Lia, is a girl dealing with all the awkwardness and angst of high school, in addition to being an anorexic. The author does an effective job of showing how focused Lia remains when it comes to the battle between food and her own self-worth.

So....I did an awesome job...tracked food for 21 days and stuck to 1350 calories. I even went to the gym for six consecutive days. Then, Valentine's rolled around. We went out for a buffet... Wednesday was carb-laden lunch at a workshop...Thursday was solo beers...Friday was soggy, greasy french fries at the bar (and beer)...Saturday was 1 1/2 Taylor ham, egg, cheese, and bagel concoctions (mine pus half of Jen's). I look at photos from last night's karaoke time and my face appears fuller. My shoulders look wider. I look how I felt: fat.

I know it is is self-indulgent bullshit when people tirelessly discuss their weight and self-perception. I'm back on a good routine of eating for today and plan to go to the gym. A large part of me wishes I could eat garbage (pizza, fries, beer, red velvet ANYTHING) and maintain a normal weight. Everyone has things that come easy to her and things that are challenging. Academic tasks come easy to me and, generally, always have...right now though...I might exchange some portion of my intelligence for a crazy high metabolism.

Nervousness Symptoms

It's interesting how the body physically reacts to nervousness. For me, just like for everyone else, there are two types of nervousness. There's anticipation-related nervousness, that kind of nervousness when you're meeting someone new or taking a risk and doing something new. There's conventional nervousness, associated with fear of failure.

I got observed by my principal on Friday. Although I've been observed plenty of times since I have started teaching, the whole experience still makes me nervous. My mouth begins drying up and it's hard to get words out; I start to internally worry that every morsel of language that I am speaking is being analyzed. I try to be conscious of filler-words such as "like," "um," or "okay," but probably say them anyway because I am so nervous.

The second kind of nervousness is the fun nervousness...hands gently shaking, head bobbing up and down amidst affirmative self-talk, tapping of the feet... I recently read some of my poetry aloud and could feel the nervousness symptoms appearing. When I first spoke, my voice slightly quivered. After a few lines, I could feel the quivering lessen.

I don't experience that second type of nervousness too often nowadays but, when I do, I revel in it. It's miserable and wonderful at the same time. Nervousness is hard to navigate or control, which is probably what I simultaneously love and loathe about it.

Things I hate about Facebook

1) When someone posts photos of recipes that he/she has made; it's even exceptionally more annoying if the person who has posted the recipe is very ...corpulent...shall we say--- like...are you looking to be ridiculed?

2) (stated on previous post) When people post about the woes of doing schoolwork...if you're a single mom working full-time and going back to night school, then you have room to whine...if you're not that description, shut up.

3) When a "current event" occurs and everyone starts posting about it...these "current events" are never life-altering events of actual significance...cases in point: Superbowl, Whitney Houston's death, etc.

4) The foursquare app--WHY would you actually want everyone to know where you are?

5) When people who are teachers write posts that feature idiotic grammar errors. Think than vs. then, breath vs. breathe, and so on... It's so aggravating. People already do not respect the profession and those grammar idiots are just cementing that disrespect.

6) Recent updates about progress on Farmville, Cityville, Words with Friends, etc. Yes, I have played Farmville for over two years. Yes, it takes me a pathetic six or so weeks to "level up." I don't post about it. The earth doesn't need to know.

7)When people post pictures of newly born babies and others comment, "Oh! So beautiful," "Precious!," or other uncreative, complimentary things...

So yes. I am a curmudgeon:) At least I get a fun word for my grumpiness.

Hopeless Romantic

Despite my cynicalness and doubt, I am definitely a hopeless romantic.  There are two previous romantic things that I recall John doing: 1] surprising me for Christmas with a Clay Matthews jersey--I totally was not expecting it at all and, to me, successful surprises are a huge part of romance and 2] when John left beef tongue for me on the kitchen counter. He had gone to work and beef tongue was on his new recent food ventures. He left beef tongue taco prep directions on the counter, the directions outlined in "idiot format"---which is precisely what I need for any cooking endeavor.

They're definitely not conventional examples, but they're examples.

I just spent 90 minutes watching Teen Witch on ABC Family channel. The fact that I can withstand the cheesiness of this 1989 movie and still revel in the CHEESY romantic scenes is something that I love. I love the end of the movie, where Louise discards her magic-inducing necklace and how Brad falls for her... without having magic involved. I love the stupid scene where they're in the abandoned house, tip toeing around amidst creaks of old wooden floorboards, followed by the camera zooming in on a slow, long kiss.

In between the movie were commercials for The Notebook. I hate all the "old people" scenes of that movie, but love any other scene between Ryan Gosling & Rachel McAdams. I don't desire to like this movie, but I just do.

Hopeless romantics can't be tarnished by anything, not even urbandictionary.com. Urbandictionary.com always manages to find a way to fuck up the most innocent of words. "Hopeless romantic" on the site remains innocent, sweet, and simple: someone who is in love with love. <3

Recent poem

I know that "successful blogs" have some kind of theme: musings on daily life, video clips, top-whatever lists, and so on. I did start writing a blog entry in how I revel at the fact that some people I graduated high school with are now fat. The entry did not go too far. What am I?- a lead character in Mean Girls?

So, instead, here is a recent poem. I've been trying to write more often. Whenever people ask me why I stopped, my reply is, "Students suck the creativity out of me." Well, screw them... I'm making it come back.

(Not yet titled)


The rain slackens 
but its sound
echoes into the air. 
Stray droplets reach my windowpane
and continue intermittent songs.


I am reminded of younger years,
long expanse of time, 
and your hands trailing paths down my body. 
Small, meager lamp on the bedstand,
Nothing but the gentle brush of colliding lips.
Breaths being passed between us
like carefully constructed words in a conversation.


I think of us now
and the sounds that surround us.
Cars battering the pavement, rushing to reach home. 
Dim streetlamps on the verge of disrepair. 
Rickety white fence posts shuddering in the wind.


I long for your breath on my body.

"Mirror," Sylia Plath

A new, mysterious gem that I discovered today...

"Mirror," Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.


http://quietube2.com/v.php/http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nZht4WMoMo

Moves Like Jagger

Despite being released last June, "Moves Like Jagger" is still constantly on the radio. This song is my WAKE UP anthem. On Friday nights when I have contemplated going to sleep early instead of going out, I've played "Moves Like Jagger" while jumping on a mini trampoline. That definitely does the trick for waking a person up. It also, um, makes me feel sexy.

On the way to work, if it comes on the radio (which it often does), I have a routine: I unroll the window (yes, manually, and yes, even if it is 20 degrees out), frantically flap my arms around ("car dancing"), and sing uproariously. My favorite lines are " Don't need to try to control you/ Look into my eyes and I'll own you." This song energizes me and somehow makes me happy to be on the road, even if it is 7:25 in the morning.

After 4 minutes of utter loud bliss, I am most likely close to work; I only live 4 miles away. As the song's chorus fades into a background and the song ends, I reverse the morning bliss. I roll my window up, re-compose myself, and calmly drive down the main road that leads to work. I turn up the main driveway, pull into my parking spot, and get out of the car.

Sometimes I wish my work day was like a musical, with clever songs and choreographed dances to help me get through the motions of monotony.

Neighbors

When we moved into the house, I assumed that living in a "neighborhood" would equate with a sense of community. In our apartment, we knew our neighbors, but it was on sheer acquaintance terms. I knew our one set of neighbors were Muslim, based on the echoes of prayers that I would hear at various times of the day. Another set of downstairs neighbors would have very short sex-capades; I could hear labored breaths on weekend nights; the labored breaths would last about 20 seconds. Poor girl. Our other neighbors were the #10 couple; the wife was ridiculously thin (had a drinking problem, mixed with the tendency to overexercise) and the husband was very corpulent (he was short, fat, and yelled constantly at his wife).

We moved into our quaint house in the "lake community" and I assumed that with the new residence would come the kind of community that you see on TV and hear about in novels.

FALSE.

Tom is our next door neighbor. He spends lots of time manicuring his lawn and backyard, but never has company over. Bobbi (short for Roberta) and Neil are our next-door neighbors on the other side of our house. She definitely is the commandeering force in the relationship. Neil drives a modest Subaru. Bobbi owns a grey BMW that is frequently covered with a canvas tarp. They also own another luxury car in their garage. They dug up their entire backyard to "re-lawn" it and now the beautiful yard is only used for their purebred poodle to shit upon. The neighbor across the street, Edith, was an elderly woman who would sometimes sit outside with her nurse-on-duty. Apparently, Edith died a few months ago--I didn't know until a few days ago.

I just feel like everyone is in their own house, watching their plasma TVs, using their luxury kitchen appliances, and paying no mind to the world outside their house.

I am definitely a private person and am not the type to just totally have our house open to anyone at anytime...but I do like the concept of a community...which is non-existent here.

We pay $540 in annual fees for the "lake community property owners association;" writing out that check pisses me off beyond explanation.

The neighbors I most detest are across the street... Russ and Michelle...she's a teacher; he's some businessman. They have two children (a boy and a girl) and a shiny, new mini-van. My negative view of them would best be saved until later...

Winter Doldrums

The sun is setting; there's a tinge of orange across the sky, but most of the light has descended. The sky remains a blank shade of blue, a bit more optimistic than its recent consecutive shades of grey. At the height of the day, the temperature was a mild 48 degrees. 48 degrees is a rarity from the normal temperatures around here. Driving on route 80 today, I momentarily got the feeling of sunlight coming through the driver's side window and warming my face.

For the most part, winter on the East Coast sucks. I find myself coming home from work, getting underneath blankets, reading (and never anything uplifting--right now, it's Andre Dubus III's Townie and he is describing how he has almost just killed someone in an altercation), and just waiting for the coldness to end. I'm not a winter sports enthusiast so the idea of being outside "against the elements" does nothing for me. Today, the most momentous thing I did was watch an an episode of Alaska: Ice Cold Killers. Apparently, even Alaska has horrible, crime-ridden areas (they specifically cited 4th Street in Anchorage).

Lying in bed, amidst the background sound of the television, I heard the faint sound of police sirens and the sound of an airplane flying, overhead, in the distance. I'd settle for hearing that wintery crackling sound, snow dusting the ground and pure silence in the air.

Little Girl Lost

Maybe I am entering crazy terrain, although I prefer to refer to my current state of mind as inquisitive.

Last night, I went online and was searching for some record of my father's death. He died in 1986, I know that much. My last memories of him include: sitting in the passenger seat of his dark green truck and counting mile markers on the parkway; drawing fluffy, pliant clouds; and looking at his paperweights collection.

Since it was a Jewish funeral, I didn't see his body. The last I recall is going to the cemetery and seeing relatives uplift small piles of dirt, putting them into the ground.

Awhile ago, I found a site that listed someone with my father's name as a professional boxer from Brooklyn. Though I know he did not grow up in Brooklyn, the past few weeks have been spent with the assumption that my father boxed professionally and that, hey, maybe I could take up kickboxing at the gym and continue the legacy. After further research, the Brooklyn boxer's birth date does not match up to my father's.

There's someone in Florida with the same first and last name who was a victim in the Bernie Madoff investment scandal. Relatives on my father's side live in Florida, but, alas, the person could not be my father (large age difference).

I know he is dead, is gone, has passed away...whatever other euphemism one wants to use. I just feel angry that I have no connection to my father. I have thick, wavy, brown hair---just like him. I have an affinity for glass paperweights, which I have never really given much previous thought to before. That's about it.

When I was six and my father died, I am sure that I felt lost--not understanding the gravity of the situation. At 31, I don't know if I feel any more grounded.

American Traditions

Just saw an acquaintance's Facebook photos of a bridal shower. The bride-to-be was dressed in a short, white sundress; she was surrounded by her bridesmaids, all clad in purple. Obviously, the shower had been carefully planned. Ridiculous.


My own bridal shower was intended to be a surprise, but was ruined because of men. John came home from the gym and said, "Steve said that this is a gift from Maria," and urged me to immediately open it. I opened the gift and the card was post-dated for a Saturday in September. The jig was up as I asked, "Um, is there a shower planned for me for September 6?" 


I still ended up being surprised though, in terms of the bridal shower location. Additionally, since it would hurt family members' feelings to know that I had discovered the shower date, I dressed like myself: hoodie, tshirt, worn jeans, and Birks. It was awesome:)


When I think of how us Americans do things, it aggravates me. We try to orchestrate events so that perfection and originality are simultaneously achieved. Everyone always has to have something "unique" at their wedding; something needs to be done in a "new way." People have been participating in marriage ceremonies for hundreds of years; newness has dissipated. At this point, newness would be unabated traditionalism.


While looking at the overly posed shower pictures on Facebook, I immediately thought of the Gogel Bordello song, "American Wedding." (I used to use that song to encourage me to run swiftly at the gym; now that I leisurely walk at the gym, the song can have other uses). 


Some of the song's lines include:" I understand the cultures / Of a different kind / But here word celebration / Just doesn't come to mind."

Careful orchestration of supposed bliss is not a celebration. And going to a party and wearing matching dresses? That fucking sucks:) 

I think my sister put it best when, over the summer, we got into an argument about gift wrapping. I was wrapping two matching gifts in preparation for a bridal shower that I was attending. Amy, intoxicated, was assisting me but was just making more of a mess than anything. Annoyed, I said, "Come on, take your time. It should look nice. The bride opens the gifts in front of everyone," to which my sister replied, "You're so fucking Jersey." 

Adolph vs. Jesus

I suppose if I had to classify myself, i'd say I am an agnostic. I don't know exactly what I believe in, but I know I believe in some higher power. Mainly, I don't believe in something precise because I am lazy---probably the reasoning for about half of the people who prescribe to no specific religion.

When I was younger, we went to a local Methodist Church. In my mind, I recall small images related to the church: Reverend Bowering had "silver" gray hair and I am SURE my mother complimented him on it (to this day, she loves gray hair and has no qualms about announcing it to ANYONE);  the church had kickass craft fairs with lots of fattening treats that a chubby little kid would enjoy; church services were tolerable because there were little paper pads and pencils next to the hymns; and summer bible camp had some very "interesting" theatrical performances.

It had to be when I was in about 5th or 6th grade, but the summer bible camp put on a performance which featured a "boxing ring." Within the boxing ring were Adolph Hitler and Jesus, throwing symbolic air punches toward each other.

In the first starring role of my life, I played the role of Hitler. I recall having my hair tied back and under a cap, so that it was look short. I had a moustache painted on, in addition to an army-esque jacket that featured a swastika. I get that these were props, but in retrospect, the whole idea was fucked up. If that lesson plan idea were part of 2012 bible camp, it would surely be featured on some news show. It kind of makes me think of a recent news story where students in Michigan, some African-American, had to write a narrative in which they pretended to be slaves. Parents were enraged. Now, imagine the scene of your child coming home from bible camp: "Mom, I got the lead role in the play. I'm Hitler!"

An Ohio Sky

There's a certain type of winter sky that reminds me of Ohio. When I was younger, we used to visit Ohio every Christmas. Other families went to exciting, warm places like Florida or the Carolinas. We went to Ohio. Today's late afternoon sky sky is an Ohio sky.

The December sky is Ohio is a constant gray. It's not a dark, charcoal gray, but rather is a muted gray. It's a sky of indecisiveness. If it was an indecisive sky, the weather was mild (30 degrees or higher) and tolerable. If the sky was muted white, the weather was stark cold; the type of weather where uncovered skin turns bright pink within mere minutes.

They're forecasting snow for tonight. I am going into "kid mode," assuming that there will be some type of delay tomorrow. When we have school delays, I always have lofty goals of getting housework done or doing something else productive; instead, I always succumb to going back to sleep. 

Even though we had Monday off, I feel like this week has dragged. A 90 minute delay would surely be welcomed. 

Self-Indulgent Facebook Posts

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people make Facebook posts about the "tough lives" they endure--you know, taking grad school classes and having lots of work to do. It's spring semester time, so I guess I should not be surprised at some of today's posts. Someone posted a picture of his textbooks and wrote "So it begins. Starting classes tonight. God help me." Someone else posted how yesterday was her last day of "freedom." At the end of last semester, I recall someone posted about getting history papers and stating something along the lines of "woe is me."

Here's background information. Some of these people live at home with their parents. Yes, I know how stressful it is to go to college and have cheap and/or free rent, laundry facilities, dinners cooked for you, and so forth. Some of these people come from fairly affluent backgrounds so, yes, they have to take grad classes and "work" at the same time but, no matter what, someone has (financially) always "got their back."

I try not to post complaints or "woe is me" comments on Facebook. There's so many people on this earth who actually are experiencing adversities; going to grad school for an advanced degree is not an adversity. It's a choice. Too many times, Facebook exists as a place to 1: try to gain pity from others, 2: pass along stupid "awareness" emails about causes like breast cancer when it would be better for people to get off their ass and do something REAL for the cause, and 3: give play by play of sports events.

I guess I could be seen as a hypocrite...my previous post about having a cold is basically "woe is me." However, this is a blog... it's different :)

Verge of a cold

I can't blame anyone except my stubborn self. I'm the one who gallivants outside with a hooded sweatshirt, Uggs slipper "shoes," and a scarf--assuming that that combination of clothing will be suitable for 18 degree weather.

I woke up this morning, tired (normal) and feeling weak (less normal). My throat is scratchy and my lips have become simultaneously chapped and enlarged---not a sexy combination. I basically stayed in all day, sleeping, reading, and drinking white tea. White tea consists of tea, sugar, and an abundance of half and half. I had plans of going to the gym anyway, but succumbed to sleep.

I've also been eating large amounts of oranges and crossing my fingers that a magical vehicle will come to my door, bearing gifts of Won ton soup (in my mind, the "cure" for the common cold)....

Winter Weekends

I am not interested in hiking, skiing, snowboarding, or even the as-idle-as-you-want activity of snow shoeing. I have decided that winter weeks should go as follows: be healthy and on target with exercise goals during the week. Be saintly. When Friday hits, feel free to partake in copious amounts of food and drink, copious amounts of drink more than food.

Last night, we hung out @ Jen's. Pasta night. Light on the pasta, heavy on the mix of vodka and diet Sprite. It's now 2:00 the next day and I am still loafing around. I plan on going to the gym for about an hour. I won't work out too hard, just a short stint on the treadmill, but it will make me feel less guilty for this evening's pursuit---party at Dustin's. More food and mixed "diet" cocktails. Recovery will be tomorrow.

Honestly, with the cold winter weather, I think that my activity pattern is pretty wise. What else is there to do?

Stream of Consciousness

(I wrote this Wednesday afternoon, at 4:30...I didn't post it from work because I am CUH-RAZE and figure that you shouldn't complain about work and post it during work time...at a public school ...) 

End of day and head feels like it is pressed in between a vise. Trying to have robot-like efficiency and still failing to complete all necessary tasks. I’d love to have a blood pressure machine in my classroom. I’d measure blood pressure levels at the beginning and end of class, finding twisted amusement in how 14 year olds can aggravate me. The sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard--- writing lesson plans and composing carefully worded emails to parents--- that sound annoys me to no end. It’s the sound of franticness, but ultimately leads to the same outcome. Some people leave the building as soon as we are permitted; in my classroom (“lair”) I can heard them exit their rooms, as the sound of door slamming echoes through the empty halls. Little things annoy me--- the rust stain on the classroom carpeting because the summer crew was too lazy to lift up a heavy metal bookcase before shampooing the carpet, how kids can complain about any particular element at any given time (It’s too hot in here, it’s too cold in here, this novel is boring, this novel is too hard, I hate reading), how kids can be ungrateful… I constantly think in my mind, I hope my children are not like most of the students that I have. I sometimes, often, feel like an idiot for continuing in this profession. Jersey is expensive, but if I lived somewhere else I truly think I would be content working at a bookstore or other small retailer, clocking in at a reasonable hour in the morning, clocking out at another reasonable evening hour, and then going home and enjoying….life. 

How 'bout a goal in the other direction?

So, lately, I've been going through my day to day eating regimen with this mindset: Fuck, you gained weight between mid-December and now...you're about 20 pounds from where you see your "healthy weight"...fuck, why not just go for the gusto and completely indulge in whatever you want???


I do recognize that my mindset is a very self-destructive one.

Since New Year's, like the rest of the American population, I have tried to have self-control. I can manage for most of the day, but then there are little indulgences that creep their way into my day...and i gorge. Working at the library yesterday, I had tons of cookies. Certain evenings this week have featured me taking triple trips to the fridge to slice segments of fruit cake, a very sugary, caloric, and fattening treat.

Now to Sunday. It's beyond indulging at this point. I feel disgusting. I feel unattractive. I feel too lazy and unenergized to have sex. This is a bad place to be.

I can say that I have a weight loss goal, in terms of pounds and ideal weight. Rather though, I'd like to have the goal of fitting into my green silk shirt in time for St. Patrick's Day. This was the shirt I wore to my bachelorette party and it makes me feel kickass sexy:)

So...in the words of Nina Simone..."it's a new dawn, it's a new day, and I'm feelin' fine."

I do think I will have to throw the rest of the fruit cake in the trash though.....   :(

irony

Went into JC Pennys tonight...steered quickly past the sexy lingerie and veered in self-deprecation territory, otherwise known as flannel PJ sets area. I didn't end up buying anything, but did have quite a laugh at a pajama set that I saw.

There was a book-themed PJ set, sized 1x. Size 1x is approximately the size I "could" be if I don't stop shoving food into my mouth sometime soon. Size 1x makes one eligible to shop at stores such as Lane Bryant, Fashion to Figure, and Avenue... One could even shop at Torrid, if she's a fat goth....

Anyway, the 1x PJ pants featured books and the matching shirt proclaimed: Don't Judge A Book By It's Movie. Yes, "it's," which translates to: Don't Judge A Book By It Is Movie. I should have looked to see if the set was made in the United States or not--although that would not necessarily have made the grammar mistake not appear anyway--Americans suck at basic grammar.

The funny thing about the PJ set was the saying was supposed to be witty. I imagine an overweight woman sitting at home on a Saturday night. The Netflix DVD of Water For Elephants rests on her nightstand, but she feels proud of herself for committing to first read the book before watching the film. A cup of Celestial Seasonings tea is near the DVD, probably some odd flavor like Acai Mango Zinger. She smiles after reading the wise quotation on the bottom of the tea box. Her cats surround her body on the bed, taking advantage of the warmth of her fat. She reads quietly, feeling righteous for her intellectual ways...

when the entire time she is wearing a shirt with incorrect grammar...

It just makes me laugh... and roll my eyes...simultaneously.

:)

Fuck at 7:57AM

Last night was filled with gluttony. I came home from work, gazed at the computer screen for hours, and pacified my stress-induced hunger with carbs galore: Allagash beer, dinner rolls, fruitcake, and Tostitos. Sloth and overeating do not go well together. I went to bed, annoyed at myself for wasting the evening.

This morning the Language Arts teachers got a "surprise"- we had a workshop that administration forgot to tell us about. I scrambled to make plans for the substitute, relenting and just leaving a vocabulary sheet and a video.

I wasn't in the best mood today anyway, so a morning workshop actually turned out to be convenient. 

Sitting at the table during the start of the workshop, I opened my purse and my cell phone fell across the ground. At 7:57...barely 20 minutes into the school day, I uttered, "Fuck" under my breath and my co-worker looked at me surprisingly. I explained how I only curse when I am stressed or taking a workout class for the first time and doing poorly. 

Later in the day, I accidentally bit my lower lip twice. This was not sexy Kristen Stewart lip biting (which I've practiced doing in the mirror times before, without any success). This was "Fuck, I am stressed" lip biting. 

We watched Portlandia the other day and while I know the show is spoofing Portland and while I know that "real Portland" has its good points and bad points, I want to move somewhere now...and I'd be okay with it being there:)