Six word memoirs

Inbox emails are incessant. My work email currently has 232 emails; I managed to delete 43 emails during the past hour. Most of the emails were article links that I texted to myself or poem-of-the day emails that I had not yet read. One of the emails had a link to a book called Things Don't Have to Be Complicated. The book was a project by Larry Smith in which he asked people to send him illustrations, complete with six words to epitomize the person's life. Smith published the illustrations and six word memoirs; respondents included 8 year olds all the way through 30-somethings.

I got to thinking about my own word word memoirs(s.) Obviously, encapsulating one's life into six words is challenging---duh. When you really earnestly try to choose those six words though, it is incredibly challenging.

Here are some of my ideas:

Kind, but I sting eternally too.

I am my own worst enemy.

Sensitive to sounds; struggle with touch.

Acne or obesity? I'd take obesity.

Shards and kaleidoscope are favorite words.

Green traffic lights make me beautiful.

Weight loss goals include prominent clavicle.

Co-workers think babies are life's purpose.

Here's the link for the article about the book:
http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/01/09/six-word-memoirs-students/

Good deed done

I don't know if a person can claim that a good deed is completed if the "good deed" is related to a family member.

I just got off the phone with my mother; we were on the phone for an hour. The last time we spoke was around Christmas. Since then, she has called me twice and I have not bothered to listen to the voicemails. I assume they would go something like this: "It's your mother...haven't talked to you in awhile... I'm good here...Spice [the cat] is good too..I'm reading a lot...you got me addicted to books!...call me sometime."

She is so phenomenally predictable.

Tonight, she repeated lines from a previous conversation two times. Repeating one's self seems normal enough, but if you barely talk to someone on the phone and she is repeating herself, then that's an issue. My mother talked about WalMarK...one of the most annoying words that she says. She also continues the k-for-a-t pattern when she says KMarK. She calls my sister-in-law Ray-leen, when the name is Raelen. Mispronunciations are her strong point.

She also repeated something from our last conversation. Basically, she since makes NO income, she gets lot of deductions on her bills and get free things such as cell phone minutes. Each month, she gets 4 hours of free cell phone minutes and for a mere $5.00, she could get three more hours. In my mother's words, "Sometimes it pays to be poor."

She is such an irritating and selfish individual whose utterly predictable behavior induces me to have an instant headache.

So...I did my good deed for the week...spoke to her for over an hour and did not once scoff, breathe heavily and irritatedly, or say a short, sarcrastic response to her. Now, I'll just wait another three months until I once again talk to "Whiting" (she's identified in my phone by the name of the town where she lives).

The devil and the angel

Recently, work has been stressful. Even more emphasis is being placed on the standardized tests and I find myself using timers all the time, saying statements like, "You'll have 45 minutes for this task when you take the NJASK." We have a new teacher evaluation model in place and I feel like no matter what I do, I am destined for a 3 ("average") or even a 2 (needs improvement).

At a recent team meeting, a few of us were discussing how we know others in different occupations who make more or = what we make, plus they have the added bonus of less stress-inducing factors (parents, state tests, administration, etc). The topic of bartending came up.  One of my co-workers said she feels like calling a resort in the Caribbean, inquiring about hiring opportunities, and flying down to that location over spring break.

My sister is a bartender in Florida and I definitely see the allure of the job. She lives about five blocks from the beach, works outside in the later afternoon/ evening hours, and gets to have fun. I doubt that it is entirely an "easy" job; you do have to deal with alcoholics and people drowning sorrows with liquor. As a temporary gig though, it could be fun.

My sister is tall and tan with sun-kissed blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She can walk into any bar and get hired instantly.

I am shorter and pale with mousy brown hair and bright blue eyes. 25% of me matches her. I would not be able to walk into a bar and instantly get hired.

I did, however, come up with a "occupation plan." By myself, I may not have much allure, but when you combine two sisters together, people are instantly fascinated. I imagine us bartending on the beach, with some nickname related to our sibling status and opposite personalities. I could see my sister working the bar with a small top, short red leather skirt, devil horns, and strategically placed tail. I could wear a white tank top, longER skirt, and a halo headband. Angel and devil are so cliched and overplayed, but I bet we'd be talked about bartenders for awhile. It's so cheesy that it could actually work. 

Does anyone like this place?

I've been in an anti-Jersey mood lately, even moreso than usual. I just wonder how many people out there actually "love" this state versus the amount of people who are here because of closeness to family members or closeness to abundant salaries.

NJ souvenirs include the ubiquitous "Jersey girls don't pump gas" tees.  Honestly, the fact that I don't have to pump gas is an added bonus in the cold winter months, but I'd survive if I had to  pump my own. There's always the Jersey shirts that declare messages about being a tough, badass person. I don't think of tough, badass people when I think of NJ. Instead, I think of fast-talking, self-involved people who simply like to put on an act of being tough.

I just can't imagine what people love about this state. We're known for having the highest population density. We're also known for being a shopping mall mecca. Also, Nj has a higher incidence rate for both cancer and deaths from cancer.

When I think of this state, I think of the word "wasteland." I haven't read TS Eliot's work of the same name (I'm assuming that he, in fact, "invented" that word) since college, but I feel the sudden need to go back and read it.

The people who "love" this state are the ones who have their beach houses and exclusive memberships to small tracts of land on which they can golf, ride horses, or do other activities for which other states have tons of space.

I can't imagine being here for my entire life. 

Best personification of the week

I'm always aware of creative language, but during the school year my awareness of it increases exponentially.

Tonight, I gave in and purchased a new Ipod. My previous Ipod started intermittently dysfunctioning, as of last Sunday. I tried a "diagnostic test" for broken sectors, but to no avail. I tried putting the Ipod in the freezer (recommended by someone on Apple forums). The Ipod worked for 3 consecutive songs and then zonked out again. I'd like a 160GB Ipod, but don't feel like buying it now. That led me to this evening's quest: go to where the devil lives (Walmart) and buy an Ipod Shuffle.

After yesterday's rain and high temperatures (57 degrees), today took a 180 degree turn. The skies were that wintry gray color. When skies are like that, I call them "indecisive skies"--the kind of skies that look like they could start blowing snowflakes around.....or..... the type of skies that are just miserable-looking, but that are simply "bluffing." The temperatures dropped down to 26 degrees and I could once again see my breaths in the air.

As I walked into Walmart, there was a cart-pusher standing on the sidewalk, taking a break. Cart-pusher is such an odd word, but I Googled it and could not find an alternative. I could clearly sense that the "cart-pusher on break" was slow and had some kind of developmental issue.

He said to me, "It's cold outside today." Normally, I hate those obvious kind of statements, but with this man, I knew that a kind reply would make his day. I replied, "Yeah, it was even snowing a tiny bit before."

Then, he responded with words that were simultaneously child-like and lovely: "Mother Nature gave me a cold kiss today."

Immediately, my mind thought That's the best personification I've heard all week. The comment also made me smile. When most of us comment with words like, "This weather sucks" or "It's so fucking cold," this guy came up with a lovely image.

Telling it like it is

Nowadays, we shroud the reality of situations in kinder, gentler words. If somebody can't pay attention, whether due to being overly active or being in a daze, we have a name for it. If someone is overweight, "obese" seems like a kinder word; afterall, it is an epidemic. If someone loses all sense of calmness in a situation, she may be anxious, or actually have a full-blown anxiety order. Words like fat and crazy never come into play as they are seen as "inappropriate."

Flashback to 1863. It was post Civil War and, amidst the abolition of slavery, William Banting, a previously overweight white man, desired to tell the world how he lost weight. He wrote Letter on Corpulence: Addressed to the Public. Banting detailed how he got rid of sugars and simple carbs, replacing those foods with meats, vegetables, fruits, and even the occasional glass of wine. Basically, Banting should be convulsing at his gravesite due to multi-million (billion?) dollar industry is the low-carb craze. Since he was an undertaker and coffin maker by trade, he's probably rolling back and forth in a pretty luxurious coffin.

Low-carb talk aside, I do simply love the word corpulence. It makes me think of Rubens' paintings of full-figured women, Lane Bryant models of the 1630s--- pendulous breasts, sturdy legs, and protruding bellies. Corpulent makes me think of the gopher from Caddyshack. Corpulent makes me think of a mound of mashed potatoes, covered with peas, carrots, squares of subpar ham, and small shreds of cheese. It makes me think of Everything Fried, the short-lived eatery in the Livingston Mall whose goal was to put basically anything in batter and then fry it in large amounts of oil. You'd walk right by Victoria's Secret and then suddenly have the scent of funnel cakes entering your nostrils.

Corpulence is such as "bad" word, but it kicks the ass of "thin," "healthy," or "slender" on any day of the week. 

The jeans whisperer

For me, buying jeans is not an amusing task. Generally, the waist is too tight, so I have to go up one size, but then the increased size makes my backside look flat and there are extra pieces of fabric around my upper legs. I can't wear junior sizes because of my "shapely hips," but jeans for adult females are never really cute and/or sexy. I don't have the patience to try on tons of sizes, washes, and fits. Buying a pair of jeans should not be complicated. We're talking about a fashion item that was created in the late 1800s and popularized in the 1950s. Finding the right pair should not be this challenging.

A few months ago, I succumbed to a pair of Faded Glory jeans from Walmart. The shade of blue has already begun to fade and I'm sure that the jeans will face the same fate as my previous pair from Walmart: riveted button on the waist will eventually pop off (at an inconvenient time--as if there is ever a convenient time for a button fly to detach itself from your jeans) and bottom of jeans will be completely frayed. I'm just not up for the challenge of the jeans scavenger hunt.

Finding jeans for myself is frustrating and irritating; the concept of someone else buying them for me, without me trying them on, seems like a impossible task. Somehow John surmounted the impossible.

On Christmas morning, he bestowed a Gap bag upon me... the man never wraps gifts! Inside of the bag was a pair of size 14 "curvy" jeans. These jeans are amazing and fit perfectly. The denim is a dark wash and the bottoms lightly flare out. It doesn't seem like a big accomplishment, but this man has attained the holy grail of husbandly tasks. The whole situation makes me think of a Walt Disney quote (no, I do not walk around with tons of quotes in my head, but I saw this in a Hallmark store today and I have heard this quote a few times before): "It's kind of fun to do the impossible." 

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.