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:) 

Back to work

Today finally arrived-- the start back to work. It's amazing how 10 days off can put you in such a different mindset. My whole sleep cycle resembles that of a 20-something who goes to raves...Friday and Saturday had bedtimes of 4AM; Sunday's bedtime was 2AM. Screwing with my sleep cycle made last night horrendous. I kept waking up in the "middle of the night," which was the previous night's time to karaoke and hang out with friends.

On days during my winter break, there were times when I did not wake up until noon. With my teaching schedule, 3/4 of my classes are done by noon.

Today, as I walked into work, I actually witnessed the sun rising. Instead of walking through the halls and thinking, "Fuck, another day of work," I tried to appreciate the sight in front of me:

Competing with Michael Phelps for calories

I have read articles that stated Michael Phelps' daily caloric intake (during training) as 10,000 calories. Within the past 24 hours, I feel like I have consumed a Phelps-worthy amount of calories.

Although today is technically the first day of the new year and would be an ideal day to start eating better, I have simply merged today with last night---in other words, I've just been on a day long food rampage:) I've consumed Tostitos chips, large amounts of seven layer dip (most of the seven layers being fatty substances like sour cream or guac), cupcakes, brownies, sweet potato chips (your daily serving of veggies--according to the packaging), pasta, chicken on skewers, and some token veggies and hummus.

I kind of like the idea of starting off the first day of the new year with utter gluttony and then, tomorrow, beginning anew. I guess I could have gone to the gym today and started off the new year "right," but the gym is notoriously PACKED on January 1st. I think it was much more intelligent to lie in bed in pajamas, consume abundant amounts of carbs without having any plans to really expend the energy that I consumed, and watch marathons of shows like Jersey Shore. I would say I feel horrible about watching such trashy tv, but honestly, everything on television today was garbage. A majority of channels had all day marathons, most of which were dreadful shows that encouraged vapidness and sloth, or a combination of both: Housewives of Atlanta, Keeping up with the Kardashians, One Life to Live, 650 Pound Virgin, House, Samantha Who, Storage Wars, Hoarders, and on and on. In following with the theme of today's television, I chose to be slothful today:)