Winter Vacation Check-In

Well...here I am. Blogging midway through my winter bacation. (Yes, I mistyped the b in vacation). Just in case you thought I made a silly typo, I was actually making an inside joke (mostly with myself), impersonating my 10th grade Spanish teacher.

It's been 9 days of glorious, glorious freedom, (I NEVER WANT TO GO BACK TO WORK, EVER) and I thought I'd stop here, and check in for a moment. Want to know what I've been up to over the past nine days? If you do, please kindly continue reading in list format, of course. (An aside: I realize I often write in list format, it is just much easier for me to organize my thoughts this way. Mmkay?

1. I attended Brunaay and Parslaaay's birthday party, had a blasty-blast, and thus discovered my new favorite bar and future sight for my own birthday party. (Just 25 more days to go, in case you were wondering, expect a facebook invite soon).

2. After making Rweissypantz, and various others try to take an online test for me, I finally passed (on my own good graces) and will now be able to graduate from graduate school come this May. Thank you God.

3. I ate the greatest chocolate souffle of my whole life at Westville East, with BGbabe, Meelzay, Brookie2k and Mawa cheering me on with love and support. Nothing, (not even grilled chicken slathered in ketchup) has ever tasted better.

4. I spent five fantastic days at home, in Livingston New Jersey. I'm not being sarcastic, I genuinely had a great time. I spent Christmas Eve at Mr. Chu-chu's with all the Jew-Jews. I spent Saturday night at da Landmark, (townie bar) and ended my night in a car with 5 high school friends, on a farm, with illegal substances in hand, making me feel like I was actually in 11th grade. True or False, I love re-living high school, and anything that makes me feel like an 11th grader again is okay by me. True.

5. Here's a little math problem for all of you. Four of us sat in my friend's basement one night this week. One of the four of us was me. I had previously engaged myself with two of the three boys sitting in that room. No matter the mathematics, nothing will make you feel like more of a whore, than knowing that you've seen 2/3 of the wang in the room.

6. Heatzbabi and I taught our dad how to use "e-mail." We gave him his own gmail account, and I even showed him how he could "g-chat" me. Helping to teach my dad the ropes of e/gmail was an experience that I hope to never forget. I would worry that with my dad on gchat, he could read my blog (seeing as the link is on my ghcat profile)--and he would discover how I am exploiting his technological inexperience to the world. But, I also know that it will take him at least six months to realize that he can click on the links in people's profiles--so for now I can continue to write fearlessly, no holding back!

7. I started my online Earth Science course tonight. I took an online quiz that tested me on the scientific method and sedimentary rocks. What was it that I said about loving anything that made me feel like I was in high school again? Ah yes, well--I guess that comes with just one teeny-tiny exception.

One Year Anniversary

I sit here tonight, writing this blog posting, one year later. It has been one year since I wrote my very first blog entry, ever. It's hard to believe an entire year has passed, but okay--for all of your sakes I will try to skip on the nostalgia portion of this blog, and instead wish myself a Happy One Year Blogging Anniversary. A lot sure can happen in the course of a year! In honor of this mini-milestone, I have compiled a list of my top ten highlights of this past year. Here we go, in no particular order--I hope you enjoy.

10. Seeing Jennie Garth and Shannen Dorhety reunite on screen and reprise their 90's alter egos, as Kelly Taylor and Brenda Walsh in the new 90210. It was a day I have been waiting fifteen years for, and just like in 1994, they are still the best of frenemies fighting over the one,
and the only--Dylan McKay.


9. I turned 25. I gotta say, I like it here--at 25. This has been a good, good year.


8. Vh1 airing The 40 Hottest Hotties of the 90's.


7. Meeting a slew of interesting boys who have made my blogs, well--more interesting. (Some of the most interesting boys have been left off, in fear that upon reading my blog, they will never speak to me again).


6. Visiting Camp Schodack this summer, with my Camp Schodack besties, dominating the My Place jukebox and literally loving life.


5. Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA. (If you say you don't like this song, I know that you're lying).


4. Meelzybabe introducing me to Greek yogurt. I will never be the same again.


3. Brent and Andy's visit to NYC. Trying to provide them with a really manly afternoon, but instead making them rate all of my outfits for the night on a scale from 1-10.


2. Discovering Pilates (Pilotties999).


1. Learning that if I remove all of my clothing, I am able to poop at work.


Here's to many more highlights in 2010!

2010 Hopes and Wishes

Each morning when my students enter the classroom, they take out their morning journal, and proceed to answer the question found inside. With winter vacation drawing near, and 2009 drawing to a close, my students answered the following question this morning, "What are your hopes and wishes for 2010?"

Here in no particular order are some of my students hopes and wishes for 2010.


"I hope for flying cars in 2010."

"I hope to eat more ravioli in 2010"

"I hope to meet R.L Stine" (Author of Goosebumps).

"I hope I get more games for my wii."

"I hope to become a champ at video games."

"I hope to have a magic wand."

"I hope that I learn to fly."

"I hope to get better at the monkey bars."

"I hope that all of my family members live until 2011."

"I hope I have a nice time in 2010."


My class is really deep.

:-)

A short tale that needs to be told.

Tonight I was on the phone with my friend Alex. As we were busy chatting away, I was getting an incoming call from my dad. The only times that my dad calls me are to a). tell me that I owe him money, b). to tell me that I owe him money, c). to tell me that I owe him money, and d). all of the above.

I'm only 85% telling the truth, my dad also calls to wish me a happy birthday, to ask my advice on Mother's Day gifts for my mom, and to send other merriment's my way. Tonight, when I picked up the phone, my dad sounded kind of frantic. My first instinct was that something was wrong--I was worried that something serious had happened, when he said these words, "Lauren. Help me. I'm new to texting, I received a message that I don't understand, and I'm not sure how to respond back to my friend."

Being the savvy 21st century daughter that I am, I told him to lay it on me, perhaps I could help. Here is what my dad said. "At the end of the text there was a colon, a dash, and a right parenthesis. "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!?!"

Let me see here, a : a - and a )

Me: Dad, turn the phone sideways, mmhm, yes. What do you see, does it look like a happy face?

Dad: Yes, I'm an idiot--don't tell anyone about this. (Do all of you guys count?)

Oh, and if anyone else needs a texting tutorial, I would be more than happy to help :-)

School of Rock

The students in my class love music. Like, okay. That might sound like a boring, and even obvious statement. I mean, don't most people feel pretty okay about music? However, it is still hard for me to find the words to describe the sheer enthusiasm and joy that seems to overcome them when they hear music--and good music too. They are into John Lennon, Led Zepplin, The Clash and The Cure. (Granted I only listen to music from the early to mid-90's and whatever is playing on z100 at the moment). But, from what I've been told-- they appreciate good music none the less. I feel that their musical taste is mature, and I'm sure these artists have been subtle inflictions by their parents over the years. My students are very knowledgeable about their musical history too. Just yesterday, Adam and Henry asked me what it was like for me when Kurt Kobain died. (Um...Can I get away with, I was ten years old?)

Each day, as the school day draws to a close, my students beg me to play a song from my ipod or off of youtube. Usually, I take requests and play them straight from youtube. Their favorites being the ever popular 80's ballads; Eye of the Tiger, Bohemian Rhapsody, and We will Rock You. When these songs come on, watch out--they sing with a fury that is truly unleashed. It's heart warming at the very least.

Today was no different, only this time, a request from a 2009 surfaced--Empire State of Mind.
I decided to shuffle through my own ipod to find this song, when one of my students asked if he could see my ipod. Thinking that this was a harmless request, I said okay. But, that he could only scroll through by artist. (I couldn't let him see, titles such as "I'm in Miami Bitch, and Sex on Fire," now could I?) As he scrolled through my artist list, Adam realized something about me that the rest of you already know. The music on my ipod (thus the soundtrack of my life) appeals to that of an eleven year old girl. Adam looked down at my ipod, and looked back up into my eyes and simply said,"Miley Cyrus? You have got to be kidding me!" To which he followed with, "Hey everyone-- our 25 year old teacher has Miley Cyrus on her ipod."

Yes, Adam really said that. And as I found myself trying to defend myself to the likes of eight and nine year olds, I realized that there was no use. We are who we are, and if I'm eleven years old on the inside, well...that's me. Take me for what I am.

Arg.

When feeling stressed, the best remedy for me has always been to write and to rant. I suppose that I will kill two birds with one stone in my first December 2009 blog entry.

Let's see where to begin? Well, starting on December 21st, I will be enrolled in an online, undergraduate Earth Science course. The last time I took Earth Science, I was fourteen, and it was 1998. Britney Spears had just released her first hit song, Hit Me Baby One More Time. So, yes-- if that puts anything into perspective for you; it is that I am taking a course that I took almost twelve years ago. To say that I am annoyed by this is obvious, but this is all in effort to graduate from Pace University, with a masters degree come this May. Fingers crossed, I will be a grad school grad in just a few short months. I know it will be worth it in the end, but my god--what an annoyingly painful ride it has been.

There is more to rant and rave about, but instead I have to study for a math test that I am taking tomorrow. Oh ya know, just your average almost 26 year old, being tested on four years of highschool math. No big deal. Is it winter vacation yet?

You know you've made it when...

You know you've made it when, walking home early on a Sunday morning in your previous night's attire, (high heels in tow), a homeless man sitting on the street corner calls you a whore. I love you, New York City.

Tales of a Family Vacation

When I was a small child, I loved going on family vacations. I loved the mini-golf, the beach, and the restaurants. I loved my family of five sharing one hotel room. Mom and Dad in one bed, Heather and I sharing the other bed, and Jeremy on the cot, always. We were small children, and we all fit in this little room, feeling safe and secure with our parents right by our side.

Although, it's been quite a while since my whole family has been on a real "family vacation" I know that, those same feeling of love and closeness do not quite resonate the same way they did as when I was young. Any time in the last decade that we have all gone away together, my parents have one room, and the three of us kids have another. This arrangement has worked out just fine. Until this past weekend...

My whole family went to visit Heather at UMASS for the weekend. (Heather is better known in our family as Little Baby Fattface). I'm not quite sure why I nicknamed her that. But lucky for her, that nickname has stuck. Heather is not a baby, (she's 21). Nor does she have a fat face. In fact, Heather has the exact opposite of a fat face. She is little though, (in size) and she is the youngest in our family. We even made up a song about her called, "Little Baby Fatt Face" to the tune of Little Bunny Foo-Foo. (Also, when I say "we" I usually mean I).

Unfortunately Heather has contracted mono, for the second time. (Something that I thought was virtually impossible). Due to mono, Heather's neck has become quite swollen, and thus I referred to her as Little Baby Fatt Neck for the duration of the weekend. I'm a good sister, I know. And, I'm even a better sister for writing this here.

The original plan was for me and my older brother to stay at Heather's house at school, experiencing all that UMASS night life had to offer. Sadly, by the time night came, Heather was feeling really sick, and needed sleep. Subsequently, Jeremy and I decided that we would sleep at the hotel with our parents. (An aside: As, I sit here writing this, I am trying to remember the last time that I shared a hotel (or any other kind of) room with both of my parents. I'm going to go ahead and say that most likely that occurred sometime in the '90's.) I ADORE my family. Sometimes I can't get enough of them, I am lucky to feel this way about them. However that being said, I am pretty sure that I never need to share a hotel room with them for the rest of my adult life, and here is why.

The hotel had run out of cots. This meant that I would be sharing a bed with Mom (Little Mimi), and Jeremy would be sharing a bed with my dad. (Craig David). God forbid I share a bed with my dad or my brother. This was all well and good, until my parents were ready to shut out the lights and go to sleep at 10:30 pm. I realize that they are older, and had this been a weeknight, I would have been dead asleep. But, this was Saturday night,and there was no possible way that I would be able to fall asleep that early.

It was around this time that the farting kicked in. My dad who passed out almost immediately, began to fart. Loudly. In his sleep. Then the snoring started. He was a disgusting noisy machine. My brother, (Jeremy) had had it. He decided that sleeping on the floor would be better than being exposed to the lingering fart stench and surround sound snoring. For the next half hour, my mom (who felt bad that my almost thirty year old brother was on the floor) was trying to convince him to sleep in the bed with my dad. When he absolutely refused, she invited him in the bed with us. I have to draw the line there. It was already a little tight with just my mom and I sharing a double bed. There was no way that I would stand for another human male (my brother) to join us in that bed. Finally, my brother and I both told my mom (in a nice way) to shut up. He's 29. If he wants to sleep on the floor, that's his prerogative, ok? Shortly after, my mom drifted off to sleep, and guess what I learned about her? You guessed it! She snores too. Loudly. I woke her up, and told her that she was snoring (which she denied). She fell back asleep, and the snoring started up again. I looked at the clock. It was 11:01.

I have a lot of allergies. Dogs, cats, bees, wasps, hornets, (epipen, baby), seasons, grass, dust...

I'm also allergic to down. (The blanket/pillow material). I have faux down blankets/pillows in my room, but they are missing the real down ingredient. Guess what? The bedding was completely down. (Even the nasty top sheet that's usually reserved for pubes). Just as my mom had fallen asleep, I started to develop an allergic reaction to the down. I began to itch. BAD. I was scratching every inch of my body that was covered by the down. It's pretty hard to vigorously scratch yourself without waking someone sharing a bed with you. Needless to say, between the farting, the snoring, and the perpetual itching, it was a pretty restless night for all of us. When we all woke up the next morning (at SEVEN AM!!!) My mom said, "This was really fun! We should all go on a real family vacation soon!" Lauren, Jeremy--What do you think?"

Silence. and Silence.

Chucky

Just a few minutes ago I was walking up the stairs with one of my more "interesting" students, Chucky. Here is how the conversation between us sounded.

Chucky: "Do you have a child?"

Me: "No, I don't."

Chucky: "Are you married?"

Me: "No, I'm not."

Chucky: "Do you have a boyfriend, and do you live with someone?"

Me: (Choosing to ignore the boyfriend question, I said, "Yes, I live with someone, I have a roomate."

Chucky: "Well, I think you'd be much happier if you lived with a boyfriend. How old are you anyway?"

Me: "I'm 25."

Chucky: Yeah, you should live with someone, and probably get married soon--you don't want to die alone.

Oh my god.

Are you a). My inner most thoughts, and b).My 82 year old Jewish grandmother??

Boys are Weird

I think that the title of this blog is quite telling of what today's subject matter is going to be. Boys. And them being weird. The following are examples of things that have happened to me in the last week that have to do with boys, and them being weird.

1. I have decided to switch banks from Bank of America to Chase. After corresponding through e-mail with a Chase Bank associate who I had met once before, we had decided that I would come in later today to set up my new account. He is an older gentleman, who when I wrote to say that I would be in later today, he wrote back seconds later with..."Good girl, I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU!!!" We've met once for thirty seconds, he is the Chase bank man, and he is old enough to be my grandfather.

2. This week a boy from my past resurfaced--let's call him Scott. Scott was someone that I used to, shall we say--"hang out" with during the May-June part of my summer. He disappeared from my life, after the 4th of July when I told him to stop calling me only at or after 3 am. I'm not saying that I'm completely above the 3am phone call, but when I ONLY hear from you after 3 am, that's when I gotta call it quits. (I may have my moments of questionable sexual morals, but a girl's gotta have some assemblance of dignity). Regardless, my last contact with Scott was in early July. Yesterday, around 2 pm, I received a text message from him, after almost four months of no communication. The text message simply said, "Hi." Thank you, Scott for clogging my inbox with that interesting and thoughtful text message!

3. Marc-Adam continues to call me on the phone daily, and we still continue to never see each other in real life. Weird, but tradition is tradition.

4. If you sign up for a Citibank credit card, my dad's picture comes on the brochure. My dad (who works for Citibank) is a boy(man), and I think that's kinda weird.

There are many more reasons why boys are weird, but I think that I'll stop here, with the weird boy events from my week. Please note that I also think that girls can be weird, (Case and point--me).

...Cause Growing Up Is Hard To Do...

I understand that in the grand scheme of life, being in 7th grade still means you are very small. Being in 7th grade means that you have the potential to look uncomfortable in your own body for at least another three years, (and if you are me, make that five). I know that in 7th grade you don't look your best. In fact, you probably look your worst-I sure did. I was in that really pretty, I'm growing out my bangs phase of bangs. The bangs hit exactly at my eyes. I parted them directly down the middle of my forehead. I thought I looked great. I wore a necklace around my neck that said, "Hippies Rule." (It was 1996). And oh yeah, I begged my orthodontist to give me braces.

Despite all of these things, I had a genuine attack of nostalgia today. And for once, not for my own youth--but for somebody elses. The school that I teach at goes until the 8th grade. The first group of students that I ever taught are now 7th graders. Walking into the middle school for a fair, I saw my first class. Teenagers. I nearly shat myself. Well first, I nearly cried, then I nearly pooped. Some of my former students look so grown up, it's actually scary. They have gotten so tall, and their faces are in that in-between stage of still looking like children, but also slowly morphing into adults phase, but most terrifying of all-- the girls have boobs. I know that thirteen year olds may not seem old in the scheme of life, but they do when you teach these thirteen year olds when they were just nine year olds.

It is not (nor has it ever, nor will it ever) be easy for me to acknowledge the fact that I am growing up(slash grown up). But ask me to acknowledge the fact that everyone else is growing up too?? Not gonna happen. Similarly to my blog entry entitled The 90's, this is new for me. This is really the first time that I'm cognisant of seeing people that I grew up with getting older. All of my favorite celebs from the 90's are kind of old now. It is not easy to watch people older than you grow up, and at that same token, it is not easy watching those younger than you grow up too.

This can't be a new emotion, and I'm sure teachers all over the country feel this way when they see old students. It must make them feel old. Funny how you notice everyone else getting older, but you feel like you are staying the same...
And, as much as it makes me sad to see my old kids growing up, I kind of loved it a lot. That little boy who once brought me in a baggy of his toenails is all growned up...

About six months ago, I was at Mr. Chu's, my family's favorite Chinese food restaurant back at home. A place where you are bound to run into atleast 87,663 people that you know. (Obviously, adding to my list of reasons why I love it there). On my way out the door, I bumped right into my 4th grade teacher. While she did not recognize me (Hey, it had been like 15 years), she did recognize my mom. She was able to put two and two together. Her reaction? She fell against the wall. She closed her eyes and said, "Don't even tell me how old you are." Then she opened one eye and said, "Okay, tell me how old you are." I replied, with my age. She closed her eyes shut again. Poor Mrs. B. On a much tinier scale, I kind of get it. And still, I will keep my fingers crossed that one day fifteen years from now, I will run into someone that I once knew when they were very small.

Adventures from Underground

Last winter, late one afternoon, I was traveling home from work via the subway. It had been a long day. I was relieved to have found a seat on the train, and was excited to return to my warm apartment. Once seated, I was quickly lost in my own thoughts, as mid 90's dance music blared through my ipod headphones.
I looked up and noticed a tiny homeless man had taken post in front of my seat. I heard slight mutterings from under his breath, but did my best to ignore his increasingly close swagger. After he stumbled, and almost landed in my lap, I heard a more distinct muttering. Something that sounded like, "blue bitch." Yes, yes. That's what he was saying, "blue bitch, blue bitch" over and over again. I soon realized he was talking about me: I was the blue bitch. (As I was the only person on the train wearing electric blue tights). I started to feel a little bit nervous, but calmed myself down with the fact that I was amidst a crowded train. I relaxed, as I told myself not to worry, this guy may be homeless and crazy--but he won't bother me.
I was dead wrong.
That is when I heard the sound that can only be described as lugie chawking (I have absolutely no idea how to spell that, and believe it or not--the phrase hawking lugies was not found in the dictionary!)
All of a sudden, tiny homeless man lunged forward, and a giant wad of his phlegmiest phlegm landed directly onto my face. YES. Tiny homeless man SPAT on my face. Can anyone really be prepared for a situation like this? I don't think so. I wanted to stand up for myself, but feared being spat on again--or possibly even worse. I could not get off of that train any faster. I held my shit together. I exited the train, now above ground. I crossed the street, and burst into tears. It was revolting, and I wouldn't wish that experience on anyone, ever.

On this particular morning, I was on the subway en route to work. I noticed a tattooed covered gentleman in the corner. Of course, we were the only two people on the subway car. He had a duffle bag on his lap, and I could tell that he was doing something with his hands underneath his bag. I was pretty sure that he was playing with himself, but tried not to make any sort of eye contact with this man. But, similar to a side of the road car crash--the more you don't want to look, the more you find yourself looking... Suddenly, the bag disappeared from his lap, and tatooed gentleman started licking his lips at me. Oh my god...I caught a tiny fleck of pink, and I realized that this man's entire wang was outside of his pants. He was jerking himself off, on a train, as I sat in the seat across from him. Enough was fucking enough. As soon as the train car stopped, I would be on my way, and I would never look back. Ever.

Columbus Day Massacre

If you understand this blog title, (Beverly Hills 90210 Shout out: Season 7) then well, put simply...I love you.

Oh! The joys of a three day weekend. There is nothing better than the procrastination of those Sunday night blues until Monday night. Knowing that I'm going into a 4 day work week, I feel like I can really do this. Hit me with your best shot, third grade!

I haven't blogged in a while, and do not have one concise topic on which to discuss--so instead I will tell you seven things in no particular order...

1. Provided to me by Rweissy and Galzbabi, was what could be the makings of my perfect Halloween costume. Me: Ten Years Ago. For those of you that did not know me a decade ago, the costume will entail the following: One Winnie the Pooh sweatsuit, one chapstick necklace, and one large eyebrow. And just like in 1999, no boys will talk to me all night. Let's not forget: tradition is tradition.

2. Mike-Jason-Scott-Todd-Andrew-Jeff-Matt...remember him? Yeah, he's still in the picture. If by in the picture, you mean we talk on the phone religiously, but never actually see each other in real life. Although, this is probably for the best. Who am I kidding? If I ever see him again in real life, I probably wouldn't recognize him anyways.

3. Hidden in a cabinet in my school's cafeteria is a tub of frosting. (Used to decorate cupcakes). Each day after lunch, while craving something sweet, I sneak into the kitchen, scoop myself some icing, put it into a bowl, eat it with my spoon, in a corner, by myself. I am foul.

4. On Saturday night I left the bar I was at to buy myself a hot dog from a local vendor. It was 3 am, and I was really craving some meat. (Not a sexual innuendo), I stood outside--alone--and REALLY enjoyed my hot dog. Thank you very much.

5. On Sunday, I came home to NJ and Little Mimi Girl took me shopping. We were listening to Z100 on our way to the mall. Black Eyed Peas, "I gotta Feeling" came on the radio. Even if for some reason the rock you are living under did not get radio reception, or at the very least i-tunes--you would still somehow not confuse The Black Eyed Peas with THE FRAY. Yup, Little Mimi asked if I Gotta Feeling was sung by the fucking Fray.

6. It's getting cold out, and I don't like it one bit.

7. It is hard for me to poop at school. The kid bathrooms usually have something delightful left in the bowl. The grown up bathrooms are far and few between and I always get too nervous, (performance anxiety) knowing that someone will be waiting to use the bathroom. My solution to this problem, is to walk down the street and poop in the local (and anonymous) Barnes and Noble. This plan was working out great for me, until last week when I was five minutes late picking up my class from art. Sorry kids, but I must have lost track of time! Time flies when you're pooping at Barnes and Noble!

Two Truths and a Lie

I love the third grade. They are adorable, sweet, enthusiastic, and most importantly a tad bit gullible. This morning we played a game called Two Truths and a Lie in an effort to get to know one another better. The game consists of each person in the circle sharing two "truths" about themselves, and one "lie." The idea of the game is to guess which of the three statements told is a lie. Most of the students told "lies" that were so outwardly absurd, it was impossible not to pick out the lie. (Example: My dad invented pigs, I am seventeen, and I climbed a mountain this morning before school). I thought that I would follow my students' lead, and follow the same pattern. These were my truths and my lie.

1. I have been a teacher for 4 years

2. I have one older brother and one younger sister

3. On the weekends, I work as an auto-mechanic fixing cars.

For the exception of ONE student (who said that I looked too clean to be an auto-mechanic--thanks Chelsea!) they all guessed that "I have been a teacher for 4 years was my "lie."

I mean, what 25 year old female teacher wouldn't want to pick up some extra shifts at an auto shop?

Only 159 more days...

Day six here in the third grade. I am so exhausted, that if I were to close my eyes right now, I'm pretty sure I'd be asleep in less than 30 seconds. Those of you reading this who are teachers understand the amount of energy it requires in order to keep up with kids (and their boundless bundles of energy). Teachers need energy not just to spend time with kids, but also to manage them, to ask them to keep their hands to themselves, (and off the walls when we walk through the halls), and helping to them to negotiate the rules of an intense game of Connect Four.


Earlier today, I announced to the class that I would be starting our read aloud book. The kids erupted in a cheer. ( I thought that they were cheering because they really like the book). Jimmy raised his hand. I called on him and he said, "Oh! I just love how you read out loud with such great expression!" Wow. Want to know the key to my heart? Tell me that you think I'm good at reading out loud. (And, if I do say so myself--I am a pretty good out loud children's book reader).

Just a few short moments later, once I was done reading, Chelsea came up to me and told me that her tummy hurt. I asked her why? She replied, "well--it could be gas." She paused for a moment, and appeared to be pushing one out--and said..."yeah, it was just gas." (Side note: the area around my desk slowly began to smell like baby diarea). Adding insult to injury, shortly after that Kevin blurted out, "oh my god--look what just came out of my mouth!"--before I could tell him that whatever had just come out of his mouth, I did not want to see-- Kevin unfolded his hands to reveal a large, green phlegmy boogery substance. It took every ounce of self control I had not to slap him in the face while simultaneously vomiting both in, and out of my mouth. Is it June yet?

Tales of a Third Grade Nothing

Aaaand, it's official. School is back in session. Now that I have had 1.5 days of the third grade under my belt, I felt that it was time to compose a blog entry of the events from the past day and a half.

As most of you know, I have taught the 4th grade for the past three years. (That's ages 9 and 10). But this year, I am teaching third grade. (Change of scenery, if you will). These kids are 8 going on 9-- and some of them (the ones with those late birthdays) are still 7! Can you remember what it felt like to be seven? So while seven and eight year olds may not seem like a big age difference from the 4th grade-- believe you me--developmentally it is--and my students seem like tiny little peanuts. Adorable, but tiny little peanuts none the less.

I have eleven students. Eight boys and three girls. Eight of my students (thus far) are adorable, precious and sweet. The other three students range from mild-freak-a-zoid, to severe freak-a-zoid lacking any and all social skills. Also this year, I will be using faux names my students. ( For I greatly fear being fired).

One of my students-- let's just call him Chucky, had an eventful summer. He visited his aunt and uncle on their farm in the mid-west. His uncle brought Chucky outside to milk one of their cows. Chucky milked him alright--using his mouth. That's right, Chucky sucked the udders dry on some poor cow. How do I know this? Chucky's mom decided that this was noteworthy information, and e-mailed me with this news the day before school started. So, if I didn't already think he was a freak ( after talking to his teachers from last year) I fucking do now.

An aside: All of this cow milking got me to thinking about my 7th grade Halloween costume. I came dressed to middle school as cow. Not your average cute cow costume, but I came dressed in a cow costume, that had rubber udders covering my entire abdomen. I spent the entire day avoiding the 8th grade boys who shouted,"can I suck your udders?" at me. What was Little Mimi Girl thinking letting me leave the house in such a vile costume?

Another one of my students, Chris--asked me where the president lived. I told him that the president lives in Washington DC.

NO, he said, his face turning into a scowl. I could see from his expression that I wasn't quite understanding his question. Just then the principal breezed past our room. His face lit up. He pointed at her--The president! Where does she live?

Oh. The Principal? Yes, her office is located on the second floor.

I overheard Jimmy calling someone a "bozo." Anyone who uses the word bozo in 2009, is a-okay in my book.

While completing a drawing assignment on the first day of school, a group of students broke into "We will rock you" complete with desk banging. I told them that they had to lower their voices. "Do we have to stop singing," they asked? I struggled with answering this question. While I felt that their singing may have been distracting to some of my other students, I thought who doesn't like to hear a good Queen ballad at nine am? And, thus--I told them they could sing as long as they did it quietly. While walking around the room, I heard soft whispers of "We Will Rock You."

And lastly, a berage (is that a word?) of the random, funny and interesting things that I have overheard in the past day and a half.

..."I don't have a dad, I have two moms, because my moms hate boys!"

...Said to me..."Did you have red hair when you were seven?"

...My mommy told me that being tired isn't a reason to go to the nurse."

...and lastly, when reading out loud the directions for the classroom scavenger hunt that I had created for the kids to do, one of my students who has a lisp, shouted out--"Thith ith lame!"

Shot down. By a seven year old with a bad speech impediment.

Mike-Jason Uno-Dos-TRES

Hello gang.

A quick update here. After much speculation and wonder, I have in fact, heard from Mike-Jason again. Even though, I forgot his name, and later his face--Mike-Jason has looked past all of that, and called me on the actual telephone.

More to follow soon...

The Last Day of Summer Vacation

And now for the blog posting that came much too soon. The LAST DAY OF SUMMER VACATION, BLOG 2009. The air has gotten a little bit cooler, and it is beginning to get dark a little bit earlier...this is the end of summer. (Taylor Townsend--The OC--anyone!?)

I have the Sunday night blues, big time. I haven't had these so-called blues in almost three months, and I'll tell ya--I did not miss the sinking pit in my stomach Sunday nights this summer. Who doesn't love living 5 days for 2? Everybody's working for the weekend. Where oh where did the summer go? It feels like only yesterday, that I was sitting at my computer writing my last day of school blog, feeling so saddened by the end of the school year.

What kind of crack was I smoking!?

I have been off now since June 12th, and this is the life. Anyone that tells you otherwise has clearly never had a 2.5 month paid vacation.

I know that most of you who work 12 months a year do not feel sorry for me. In fact, you probably hate my guts--but I think we can all agree that the longer you are off from work, the harder it is to get back. I will miss my lack of routine. Waking up when my body wants to, not at 6:30 am, (which I am so greatly looking forward to doing tomorrow morning). I will miss sending e-mails naked, and spending the day in soffee shorts and a wife beater. (An outfit that I'm pretty sure would be looked down upon in my school). Not to mention-- that the majority of my wardrobe is either too tight or too short for a child-friendly environment. I will miss my ME time all day, every day.

Am I excited to see my work friends, most of whom I have not seen since school ended? Sure! Though, I have a feeling that novelty will wear off, once I am putting fadeless bulletin board paper up on the walls (a job that only teachers can understand just how sweaty and miserable). I bid you adoo summertime freedom, and I will continue to mourn your loss every day--until June 2010.

Mike-Jason Take Two

Just in case you were curious, there was a second date with Mike/Jason. Unfortunately for me, I am not sure that there will be a third date. I take full responsibility for that fact, and for the story that I am about to dispose.

Mike/Jason and I decided to meet at eight o' clock on Friday night on the Upper East Side. Seeing as the UES is not my usual stomping grounds (but his), I was not familiar with the restaurant that he had chosen. The shots of bacardi that I had taken (alone in my apartment) probably did not help with my dis-orientation. Taking shots before a date is not one of my finer moments. Can I get away with having 2nd date jitters?

It was raining outside and as per usual, I was running late. I arrived on the corner that Mike/Jason had specified, but I could not find the restaurant. (Could've been the bacaaadi). I did see a boy(man) waiting outside in the rain, clearly a true gentleman. The man was the only other person standing outside, except of course for me. I was certain that I had never seen that human being before in my life. Feeling guilty that I was late, I got on my cell phone and called Mike/Jason to ask him where the restaurant was. (At this point, I had sort of walked around the corner). Mike/Jason answered the phone and said, "Did you just walk past me?I"m outside looking for you."
Busted.

How humiliating. For both of us. OMG, again. I literally did not recognize my date, (the only other person standing outside the restaurant), on our not first, but SECOND date. I'm really on a roll with this guy. Date # 1--I forget his actual name. Date # 2--I forget his actual face. Date # 3--Oh wait, I'm pretty sure that he's never going to call me again. Boys out there reading--what do you think?

Wedding Bells are Ringing

Alright, alright. I apologize for the revolting blog entry written below. But actually, I only half-way apologize for writing it. That entry was real and true--in short, it's me, people. Take it or leave it.

But to prove to all of you that I am not filled with disturbing/disgusting thoughts all of the time, I decided to blog again, and fast. Lucky for me, I had quite an eventful weekend, left with lots to write about.

This past weekend I attended my first wedding of a friend. This was the first wedding, where I was not seated at a table with my older brother and younger sister. This was the first wedding where Grandma Eva's table was not just a mere inch away from mine. Nope, this was the wedding of my childhood friend, Heather--and I was lucky enough to be there with a great crew of friends.

When Heather and I were little, we attended Harbor Hills Day Camp together. This was where we met, and would later go to middle and highschool together. Heather and I used to dress up in "twin" outfits. As small children, it was not just our outfits that were the same. Both of us had light brown hair, blue/green eyes, and had faces smattered with freckles. Both of us were tiny little girls. One particular day we decided to dress up to camp as "twins." We each wore a hot pink tank, paired with black and white checkered shorts. (Even though it was 1990, I would totally wear that outfit again). On some sort of parents Visiting Day, Heather's dad ran up to me and hugged me, thinking that I was his daughter. He never forgot that moment, as it became one of those memories that our parents would bring up at bat-mitzvahs, graduations... and now at Heather's wedding. During the cocktail hour of the wedding,Heather's dad approached me and said, "Looks like you and Heather decided to wear different outfits today."

" Yup...looks like it."

My high school friends and I took our seats and prepared to watch our friend get married. We watched as the bridal party and groomsmen walked down the aisle. As familiar faces glided down that aisle, I waited for the one face I needed to see to make this whole thing real. A dramatic change in music; the doors opened and Heather walked in, her mom and dad on each arm. That was all I needed-- and it looked like I wasn't the only one. I looked at my girlfriends' faces-- completely tear streaked. (Myself included). Naturally, the boys did not cry...but I know this was just as surreal for them, as it was for us. Heather had taken that irreversible plunge towards adulthood. And there was no turning back.

Weddings have always kind of made me a little sad. Something about a father giving his daughter away, really just kind of rips me up inside. Weddings also remind me that I have friends with husbands, and I still don't have a boyfriend. But perhaps, most importantly of all--weddings force me to recognize the fact that (whether we want to or not) we certainly are growing up, and people are announcing their grownupness in front of family, friends and local religious figures alike.

In short, let me say this: The wedding was a total blasty blast. Heather and her HUSBAND (gasp!) walked into the party room to "I gotta feeling." So, I knew--this really was going to be a good, good night. I danced my pants off, drank my face off, and talked to a boy that I made out with nine years ago and had not seen since 2001. An amazing time was had by all. While I felt like I was reliving my youth at a bat-mitzvah, I had to keep reminding myself: this is a wedding, not a bat-mitzvah, and you're not thirteen years old anymore.

And, just in case you (my readers) have not yet realized--this remains to be a constant reminder.

The Grossest Blog Entry Of All

Everyone has their alone habits right? You know--those things that you do when you are completely alone, in the privacy of your own home. This may come as a shock to you, (please note the sarcasm), but one of my most favorite alone past times is being naked. I would go ahead and say that 93% of the time that I am home alone in my apartment, and my roommate is at work (Ah, the joy of summer vacation), I am naked. I am eating breakfast naked, vacuming naked, talking on gchat naked, and of course--dancing around my apartment, you guessed it--naked. Sometimes I'll throw on a pair of boxers for good measure. But, I can assure you that is only if I start to feel guilty that my roommate has to sit on the same couch that my bare ass was just touching. (An aside: I really wanted to make a HOME ALONE reference, but didn't feel it fit in above. I am stealing this one from Droom--"Buzz, You're girlfriend, woof.")

So, there--I just shared an alone habit that I have. I have many more alone habits too--most of them are absolutely revolting. And I was just completely horrified by one of them, and I immediately felt the need to blog about it.

Sometimes I pick my nose. So, sioux me? C'mon you guys--we all do it. Who doesn't love pulling out a big crusty one? (I also love picking off the crusties that my earrings leave behind, and picking/smelling my belly button lint). I am sooo totally going to find my husband writing these blogs.

Anyway, back to my nose picking. When I pick a booger out, and it's not easily flick-able, I have developed the disgusting habit of sticking it places. (I know, I am filthy). The number one place to stick my boogers are underneath my desk drawer. It makes sense. I'm amidst typing a really good blog entry, or having a really funny convo on AIM, I simply don't have time to get up and throw my booger away. So instead, I stick it underneath my desk drawer. Tonight was no different. Sitting at my computer, I picked out a good booger, and stuck it underneath my desk drawer...when the unthinkable happened. I accidentally touched a cluster of old boogers. Oh my god. I almost just threw up in my mouth, for realzies. They say old habits die hard. Boy, am I in trouble.

Mike-Jason

Did you guys miss me?

I took a mini hiatus--it's summer, so sioux me?

I thought I'd slowly inch back into each of your lives with a small tale from my dating adventures.

A few weeks ago, I met a guy at a bar. (Now there's a novel idea!)My feet were hurting from all the dancing I had been doing, so I decided to take a break and bench myself. I eased onto a soft bench. (The kind your butt molds right into). I looked to my right, and saw a girl sitting next to me. As I glanced to my left, I noticed a pretty cute guy. I use the term "pretty cute," loosely, because once the night was over--I had absolutely no recollection of what this fellow looked like. (And as I would find out, his appearance was not the only thing that I would forget). He noticed me, and soon conversation would begin. I can't really remember what we talked about, I just remembered him commenting on my rainbow heart shaped bracelets. (He liked them, and thus--had found the key to my heart). As the night ended, we parted ways--but not without exchanging numbers first. I'm a phone number whore. I'll give it out to anyone who asks. (I know what some of you are thinking--that's not the only thing I'll give away--hehehhohoh). But, really...unless the guy seems completely inept at life, what do I have to lose by giving him my number...there is only like a .432 percent chance that he will call anyway.

As we parted ways, I wondered if I'd ever see my bar cutie again...About four days later, my phone rang, and it was my bar crush--Mike. Score! We made plans to see each other. I was excited, but also growing increasingly nervous. I realized that I could not remember what he looked like. I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up. How would I pick him out when we meet at a bar? It's one thing to meet a blind date, looking around, confused and unsure...but what about when you've already met the person? I'm pretty sure that's just considered rude.

Lucky for me, Mike decided that he would wait outside of the bar to meet me. As the only male standing outside at arrival time, I had a pretty good idea it was him. I greeted him like I'd known him my whole life. As the night went on, we were having a pretty good time. Conversation was flowing, and so were the bacaaaadi and diet cokes. And that's when it happened. Mike was telling a story, where a friend of his had to call his name, "Jasoooon." (They said), "Jason, dude."

Jason!?

I thought his name was Mike, and I had thought that for weeks. I was on a date with a guy who I had literally mis-named. Luckily, I masked my surprise, and lightly punched his arm, "Jason," you're too funny." Crisis averted.

You're probably wondering how on earth I thought his name was Mike? Well. I don't know. I only know this: When Mike/Jason called--he did not have to identify himself--isn't that the beauty of caller id? And anytime I had to call him, it never went to voicemail, so I never heard the, "Hi--you've reached Jason's voicemail." I went with my gut--and my gut told me that his name was Mike.

I'll leave you with this simple moral: Listen carefully when people speak to you. And listen even more carefully, if you've been drinking. Luckily for me, Mike/Jason will never know that I had no idea what his name was...unless of course he reads my blog.

Camp Schodack, boiiii

I have no voice. My feet are filthy. There is a tan line in the shape of a watermelon on my right cheek. My wrists are covered in friendship bracelets. And, there is also a Camp Schodack shape sized hole in my heart. I had the greatest weekend of my life. As my bestie, Becca Girlay said to me, I always say that-- I am the girl who cried fun. Well, I'll take that huge compliment--and also say this: I really do mean it this time. This weekend was so incredible on so many different levels. It is going to be difficult for me-- to try and conjure up the words to explain why this weekend was so amazing, and why camp has completely changed me, and my life forever. I'll give it my best shot...

I began writing this blog last night, but was too emotionally exhausted to finish. I cried myself to sleep. I can't remember the last time that I did that, or even the last time that I cried. I guess I needed that release. Entering my "grown-up" apartment alone, it felt like the last day of camp for me. I came home, a huge lump in my throat, and I didn't want to talk to, or see anyone. The rational part of my brain knows that by technical standards, I am grown up. I have grown up. Could anything sound more frightening? My brain also knows that my time at camp is over. I know that it wouldn't feel right being there this summer, as a 25 year old,(without my best friends) while all of my former campers are staff members, (and were born in 1992). I do know this: Being with MY friends, on camp, the place where we all met, fell in love, and made some of the greatest and strongest relationships in our lives is fucking powerful, and I don't want to give that up, ever. We are the luckiest people to have found each other, and to have almost all of us, found our homes in NYC together.We always have a good time. But our amazing times together in NY, do not seem to compare to the way we have fun at Camp. Camp has made us confident, daring, carefree, bold with our actions/songs/dances and words, witty, hilarious and kook-ay.

My non-Schodack friends and family all know that when I'm at camp--I literally fall off the face of the planet for two months. Weeks will go by without any sign of life from me. It's not that I don't care about my non-Schodack friends and family--but there is something in the air there--that is literally paralyzing. Camp makes you forget that you have another life. It makes you lose track of time, makes you forget your problems, your worries and your cares. Have you ever felt completely carefree? There is no greater liberation. At Schodack--I am carefree. What a rare thing to feel after the age of thirteen. The past two days that were spent there, I didn't look at my cell phone once. I didn't check my e-mail. I did not need to. I had everything that I needed right there.

As my first experience, as a visitor to camp, on alumni weekend, I was unfathomably excited. I was driving to camp with my best girlays, BGBabe (Becky), Amelierannebabi-boo (Amelia) and Brookie2000. (Brooke). The journey started early Saturday morning, Brooke picked each one of us up at our respective apartments. An excellent playlist provided by Becca Girl was ready to go. The trip took a total of 2 hours and 45 minutes. For 2 hours and 42 minutes, there was screaming, clapping and cheering. The energy in that car was amazing. We could not wait to step foot onto our favorite place in the entire world. The really awesome thing is that all of the current staff have been my campers at some point or another. From the youngest staff members who I shared my first three staff summers with, to the older counselors, both guys and girls, who I worked with as teenagers. I had every single counselor that grew up at camp, as one of my campers. This makes my connection to camp feel that much richer.

From the minute we stepped foot on camp, we were so warmly welcomed. It was completely heart warming. Every time I turned around, there was another face to see and body to hug. It was amazing and overwhelming all at the same time. From that point on, the weekend brought nothing less than hilarity and perfection. Here are just a few of the mildly to moderately hilarious moments that made my weekend. Disclaimer: Most of these are "you had to be there moments." To those that were there, I hope you enjoy.

1. The Knights Inn (our beautiful motel) had a red, heart shaped bathtub in the room. (The honeymoon suite, if you will). Naturally, Brooke had to get naked and sit in the tub, in front of all former Camp Schodack goers. Don't worry, there are pictures.

2. Meelzy and I got our faces painted at the carnival which was going on in the well on Sunday afternoon. I asked for a watermelon. Amelia asked for a football. (When do you not see Amelia carrying a football around?) Nope. These girls did not get our humor, but whatever. (Side note: Amelia's "football" resembled a brown mole with black hair attached). We were wearing name tags that said our years spent at camp. Mine said, 1995-2008. Amelia's said, 1996-2006. One of the girls painting our faces noted that she never overlapped at camp with Amelia. Getting excited at the chance to share that I had been there when she was, I said--Look! (pointing to my nametag)I was there when you were there! She said, "I know. You were my counselor."

Oh. My. God.

3. The Holt's family dog is called JON QUILL. (pronounced with a French accent). Are you laughing yet? Who has a fucking dog named JON QUILL? Her family recently got a new dog. They named it Spot. No, just kidding--they named it Vanilla. But can you imagine, if Jon Quill and SPOT were their names?

4. Moo-Moo--this Farm Goo! Jang/Limb, (former asian camp beauty) JonQuill (Jamie Holt's dog)--(all sung to the tune of Jai Ho!)

5. Sitting on a field of grass with Andy, Justy, Nate, Ryan, Meelz, Noaayer, Emilay, and Becca, singing, permutations (to the tune of na-na-na, hey, hey hey, goodbye), and then making impromptu pryamids with our bodies.

6. So, Sioux us if we're little douchebags.


7. My former counselor, Finkle--telling me that in her gut of guts, she is pretty sure that I am a slut.

8. Having the chance to shimmy the shit out of my tits. There aren't many opportunities to shimmy at strangers walking down 3rd avenue.

9. Brooke showing her tits, upon hearing "show us your tits." at any given moment.

10. 1, 2, 3...It's Opposite Day.

There are so many more noteworthy things that happened throughout the course of the weekend. I just know this: my abs got a great workout. And, I haven't had such stomach hurting laughter like that in a good long while. I can't wait to go back and visit in August...Below, you will find an excerpt from an e-mail that I recieved from Ryan late last night...

Why are there so many cool people at camp? well, have a great night, week, life, and always remember: blood is thicker than water and use that blood to get your friends drunk so we can all never remember the time with our friends that we will never always mostly forget.
Love, Ryan

A hodge-podge collection of sorts

I sincerely apologize for my lack of blog posts this summer. It's just that without my students present, I just don't have the same caliber of material that I can produce throughout the school year. So, instead, I will share with you brief ramblings of events/happenings in my life over the past couple of weeks.

I went to the beach this weekend. As a fair skinned gal, I was not well equipped with enough suntan lotion. In the words of my great pal, Bruno Brusnikoff--I am pink and raw. The worst is that my knee pit (the crack between my thigh and calf) is burned, badly. Every time I walk, skip, hop, jump (or breathe)--I am in excruciating pain. I know, I know--I've learned my lesson, (yet again) the very painful way. Next time, I will coat my body with SPF 75.

Craig's List Missed Connections is really fun to read. For those that don't know--if you see a hot man, woman or child on the subway/Starbucks/bench or tree stump, (but were too shy to say anything) Fear not! You can write that person a posting on Craig's List describing yourself, and the person who you so wish to meet! (This all in the slim chance that should they see your post, you meet one another, go on a date, and fall madly in love). Hey, it happened on Ellen! Today, as I rode the subway I made it a point to make deep, intimate eye contact with every handsome stranger that I saw, all in hopes that they would watch me get off my stop, fall in love with me, and race to their computer to compose a poetic Craig's List ad. A girl can dream, right?

Finding a summer job has been harder than I ever imagined it would be! I responded to a job listing (on the ever reputable Craig's List). When I arrived at my "interview,"at the time that the interviewer had set for me. A man in his late 20's (the interviewer) answered the door wearing only his boxers. "Oh, hang on, (he said)--let me throw on my pants." Really?


Trying to rent out our own apartment has been tough, but in this interesting process I've met some lovely people. One of them I kind of wanted to go on a date with. Is it weird to start screening people who are interested in our apartment by asking who is single? You have a girlfriend? Oh, sorry! We just found someone else-- Best of luck to you in your apartment search!

I couldn't sleep last night. Camp Alumni Weekend is less than two weeks away!(And this is technically my first summer as alumnus).I was up all night dreaming up the outfits that I would wear during the weekend. Yes, fantasizing about outfits, or feeling like a burn victim restless in my bed, either one of those could work.

My body has a new fun reaction to excitement, and or nervousness. I went to Rhode Island to visit Brent, Jimmy and Andy, three of my great college friends a couple of weeks ago. Upon arrival at their place, red blotchy hives covered my body. Not only was it attractive, but it also went unnoticed. (Nope). I sure hope me and my body figure something out--who doesn't love a girl broken out in hives?

Lastly, it was 85 and sunny today. What could be better? Nothing. I freaking love summer.

Lessons Learned The Hard Way...

I seem to learn all of my lessons the hard way. My mom has always said that I am my own worst enemy. Any negative events that have happened in my life, are usually a result of me, myself and I. Translation: Other people rarely harm me, and I do some stupid shit. As a result, I always learn my lessons the hard way.

When I was 22, and a senior in college, after 17 speeding ticket violations, the state of Rhode Island FINALLY took my license from me. When the sentence was handed to me, I cried for four hours. I though that life as I knew it (bye bye wheels, hello hot pink bike) was over. If I had just stopped speeding after the first time that I was pulled over, (or the second, or the eighth time,) I would not have had to spend the better part of 2006 riding a hot pink bike with a bell and a basket. But alas, I learned my lesson (don't speed) the hard way.

When I was a freshman in college, I was loving my new found freedom, fake id, classes of 500 people+, and professors who had know idea who I was. Six months later, I nearly got myself kicked out of school. Had I listened to warnings from my parents and from professors, I would have saved myself lots of aggravation, stress, visits to the dean, and tears. Ultimately,I was not kicked out of school, but it was a very rough patch between me and my parents, that took a lot of mending. And for that, I learned my lesson the hard way.

In college I was given a credit card for the first time. At the time, I saw this card as free money. Oohh, I like that shirt! (I'll take it in four different colors). What do you mean I have to pay for that eventually? And with interest? I simply thought, hm, no big deal. When I get a job, I'll pay my debt off immediately. This was before I knew that I would be paid in peanuts (on a teacher's salary). This was also a much simpler time, a time when I thought that you were paid your annual salary in full, at the start of your job. (Yes, I can be a little slow at times). Well, here we are 6 years later, thousands of dollars in debt, living life as the richest homeless person you know. Had I gone a little easier on the spending, after numerous warnings from Little Mimi and Dad, things would be a lot different for me now. I learned my lesson the hard way. There were some other lessons that I learned the hard way too, but they involve boys, relationships and STD's, so I will save those for the book that I am currently writing this summer.


This past week, I learned a very, very important lesson, and that is to always read the fine print. My roommate and I were excited and ready to move forward in our lives. It was time to graduate from Murray Hill to a further downtown section of Manhattan. (For those of you reading this that do not live in NYC, Murray Hill is reserved for 22-25 year old Jews, who all attended the same 7 universities, and went to the same 5 sleepaway camps). Bonk, (that's my roommate) and I were ready to sign a new lease, for an amazing new apartment. After days of apartment hunting, we had found the one--and at unbeatable price! We were so excited, I had my certified check in my hand, ready to sign our new lease... when the unthinkable happened. A call from our current property holder confirmed for us that we had not signed a one year lease ending in August 2009, but we had actually signed a TWO year lease, ending in August 2010. THAT'S RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTELMAN. My roomate and I signed a two year lease, and had absolutely no idea, until TODAY, when we were about to sign another lease. Go ahead, call us stupid, call us idiots, call us fools. You can't say anything that we haven't already said about ourselves. So, now as we desperately try to rent our aparemtent privately (If you know anyone who needs a place in Murray Hill--we are here for you!) We are left, feeling distraught, and dissapointed about the apartment that will ultimately slip through our fingertips. It was graduation day, and we are being left behind. We are left with the new found knowledge of a very important lesson, one that we truly learned the hard way: always read the fine print, or else you learn, as my good friend Jared pointed out, "you're a re-re."

All The Single Ladies: Part Deux

Being a single 20-something in NYC can be really fun. All the women who are independent, throw your hands up at me! I feel young, invincible and free! I excitedly get ready to go out, ( mid-90's dance music blasting in the background). As I apply my makeup, I wonder where the night might take me. (Placing aside, the obvious value and blessing of having great, fun friends who I love to spend time with), the possibilities of the night that lies ahead seem truly endless. Who will I meet? Every bar I step into holds the promise of my future boyfriends and husband. And if not, no worries--there is always next weekend. No strings, no ties to hold this girl down! Hypothetically speaking, if I wanted to make out with my next door neighbor in our elevator, fine! (Making every sober encounter for the next six months extremely uncomfortable, fine!) I dare you to stop me.

And then there are the other times...the times that being a single 20-something in NYC can be really confusing, irritating and well... frustrating as fuck. Case and point. You DO meet someone. You hit it off. Numbers are exchanged, (you pick out future names for your children)...And, then you wait. And wait. And fucking wait some more. Sure, I could text or call him first, but if I do that, I can pretty much be guaranteed that I will never hear from him again--and be pegged as crazy. (Who me?) So, instead I wait some more. And as luck would have it...I do hear from him! The waiting game is over. I hear from him at 2:47 am, 3:13 am, and 3:36 am. Hmm. That's so interesting! I wonder why he's texting me at these times? (An aside: I think we are all guilty of booty-texting, but at least I know that I feel some remorse after soberly assessing the damage the following morning).

What has dating in NY (and maybe all major cities) come to? Meeting someone drunk in a bar, exchanging some form of bodily fluid, (the type of bodily fluid, I will leave up to you), and then praying that the person speaks to you again!? This can't be normal. And yet, somehow it is. I recently met someone out at night, and was shocked to receive an actual phone call from that guy. Not a text message, face-book message, e-mail, BBM, or smoke signal, but just an old fashioned telephone call. My phone rang, and conversation was exchanged through real words and voices. NOT through my text messaging personality. (Which I think has become quite witty). After hanging up the phone, I realized that I could not remember the last time a boy (that wasn't my dad, brother or platonic friend) CALLED me, on the actual telephone.

Remember when people had phone/address books? Friends phone numbers were written inside. And, in middle school the addition of your own private line was added under your name in the phone book? Remember when there were ONLY land lines, (and they weren't called land lines back then). And if you were REALLY lucky, your family may have also had a car phone too! I can't imagine what dating was like during that time. Did you booty call someone and have it wake up an entire household? I think not. Will the invention of cell phones, and other technological means mark the beginning of the end for chivalry? Only time will tell...

The Last Day of 4th Grade

I've been dreaming about this blog post for weeks now. The blog that I would write on the last day of fourth grade. And suddenly, here it is! The day has snuck up on me sooner than anticipated. It is mind boggling. One minute it's September, and the next--it's June! (When you work in a school, you still think of "years" as September-June, rather than the actual calender). And as I sit here in my chair, at my desk, typing on my computer--I feel compelled to tell you, my loyal readers, that I am filled with a range of emotions. (Beware). But, most of all right now--I just feel blue.

Each year I think that I am going to feel a huge sigh of relief on the day that school is done. After all, what better season is there than summer? And, each year I am surprised (I have a selective memory) that I don't feel relief (that usually comes about 4-5 days from now). Instead, right now in this moment--I feel pangs of sadness. Now, I'm no mathematician (and I'm sure my i-banking/accountant friends could help me do the math on this one). But, no matter how you slice it, I spend a large percentage of my week with my students. Some could say these kids have become like family. (Family that I occasionally want to punch in the face), but none the less family. A love/hate relationship if you will.

I think about all the joy that my students have brought me this year. And, believe you me--there was lots of joy. There was the Variety Show, where William sang "Staying Alive" with such emotion, I thought I would pass out from trying to hold in my laughter. Or when Jake bounced a basketball for six minutes, while the audience exchanged tortured glances as to why we were watching someone dribble, and calling it a "talent." I will miss Sam asking me each, and every day who my favorite Looney Toons charcter is. And, each day without fail, Sam would bring in his entire Looney Toons dvd collection. (He had 11 dvds that he carted around to and from school every single day). I think about Cam who appointed other girls to be his girlfriend for the day, when his real girlfriend was absent. Or how Rose would try to hold my hand every chance she got. At first, I would grow annoyed, and try to shake her hand off. (I'm soooo loving and affectionate). Until it occurred to me: All Rose wants to do is hold my hand. How could I ever be annoyed by that? I think about how sarcastic Jillian is, and that I love joking with her the way I can with my friends. Jillian literally not only takes my shit, but she gets it too. I will miss William rocket-farting ( Yup, that's just what it sounds like) at his friends, and I will miss Pete challenging me to a race every single morning. Yeah, you could say--I'm gonna miss these kids. Though at times, things were rough, (Pedro's tantrums in museums, mistakenly drawing tits on the board during math, and field trips from hell), But what's most important is that these kids have warmed my heart, and made me feel like an important, special grown-up, who really has had a hand in their growth, development, happiness and overall well-being. It feels really, really good.

I have officially completed my third year of teaching, and when I return in the fall, I will be at year # four. That makes me sound somewhat reputable, like I should kind of know what I'm doing by now. How terrifying. This also marks another end for me. Next year, I will no longer be in the fourth grade, but I will be working in the third grade. I'm sure that my new position will bring laughter and challenges along the way. But, I won't think about that just yet--instead, I will quote something that Zack(who has been known to threaten my life with a non-existent gun, and once asked me what I would be doing over my nine day vacation) said. "Have a super special, awesome, wonderful Zachary summer." And ya know what? I think that's just what I'm going to do.

Wanted:

With summer rapidly approaching, (Schoooool's out for summer as of June 10th!). A couple of thing come to mind. For the first time in fifteen summers, (that's the summer of '94 for all you math buffs), I am not going anywhere! This is the first time since fifth grade that school is ending, and I am NOT packing my bags for sleep away camp! (or a Hawaiian/Alaskan teen tour). Yes, that's right--at 25 years old, it is finally time to stay put, right here in New York City--and I am very excited! In the mean time, I have been rapidly searching on Craig's List for a summer job of sorts. Camp Schodack was job security! This is the first time that I need to look for a summer job in eight years. This has been a bit of a difficult process, seeing as I do not wish to have a job having anything to do with children. You might say, I need this three month break from nine year olds.

I have not have found my summer dream job just yet...However, while searching on Craig's List, I did run into a very interesting posting. Under the Wanted section, the posting was listed as: Man Looking for Supple Breast. I must admit--I was intrigued. A man describing himself as "normal" posted an ad in search of a supple breast, for which he could gather some breast milk. Also, included in the ad was a disclaimer: You need not worry if you are not currently lactating, as this "normal man"will work with you to help produce milk. (I am terrified thinking about what he does to help aid this process). And, oh. He is looking for the breast milk for himself,(he's thirsty). He is NOT helping a lactaid deficient woman. What the fuck, people!? There are actually ads, on a reputable website, for a lactating breast!?!?! And, with that being said...I may need to expand my search for the summer job of my dreams.

Here Comes The Bride

I have said it before, and I'll say it again: Being in your 20's is this sort of strange phenomenon. We may all be in the same age demographic--but everyone seems to be moving at a very different pace. Case and point: Not only do I still doodle Mrs. Lauren Perry on spare pieces of paper (That's Luke's last name in case you weren't sure). I still fret daily over boys that I meet in alcohol induced stupors. Does he like me? Will he text me? What did he mean when he said nice to meet you? And, if I do receive a text message from a bar crush, I must consult at least four friends before any response can be sent. Similarly, other girls my age are making seating arrangements, picking out china patterns, and deciding on floral arrangements for their weddings. Yup, we're totally on the same page.

Today was a semi-milestone in my life. I attended my first bridal shower for one of my childhood friends. It was a lovely party, but none the less--extremely surreal. Heather walked into the room, looking adorable, and tearful from the surprise. Her whole entrance into the room gave me the chills. (I know, everything gives me the chills.) But really, my entire leg hair(s) grew back simultaneously with her arrival. As I looked at Heather, her tiny frame, her young looking face, I could not help but think--this is a friend that I have had since I was seven years old. And, she is actually old enough to have a husband. Technically, that makes me old enough to have a husband. I have been married on facebook now for the past four years. (I know, that's almost like a real marriage). I don't remember why or how Jay (my facebook husband) and I decided to announce our faux nuptials via facebook--but here we are four years later...still married. This was all in good fun. Until now... In the past year, I have received six e-mails from old college friends, who I had fallen out of touch with--congratulating me on my wedding. My wedding!? Excuse me? Is it time to get a facebook divorce?

While Heather unwrapped her gifts, all the women (ages 50 +) ooohed and ahhed over flatware and glass bowls. I don't think that I'm ready for that. Although to be fair, I'm not sure that I will ever be ready to oooh and aahh over glassware. Note to my future bridesmaids/fellow shower goers: At my wedding shower, please buy me the following items: the complete 90210 DVD set, a lifetime supply of ketchup, and an all expense paid shopping spree to Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, H&M, and Forever21. If I have learned anything from this small milestone of today, it is that it's okay to be in different life places at different times. After all, to each their own--right?

May Twenty-Sixth

I think it can become pretty easy to take for granted how well we know our friends. When you know someone really well, you come to accept, and even love all of the idiosyncrasies that make us individuals. Close friends know each other's habits, (like coming home and watching 90210 every day while eating an ice cream sundae). Their likes, (grilled chicken, string cheese salads, rainbows and watermelon), their dislikes (math), what makes that person happy, (sunshine, sleepaway camp and ketchup),what makes that person sad, (highschool's end seven years ago) and even what makes that person angry (freakshow students). We just get those things about each other. The quirks that you love your friends for, and those that they love you right back--just might be the very same things that are confusing, odd and just plain frightening to a stranger.

An example of this: If you were to walk into my bedroom right now--you might think that a twelve year old girl,(possibly a lesbian) circa de 1991 lives inside. There is a large rainbow colored flag on the wall, a polka-dotted rainbow blanket on my bed, and a life size poster of Luke Perry on the wall next to my bed. But alas, looks can be deceiving--there is no 12 year old living inside those walls, just a 25 year old living in 2009. For those that know me well, seeing these things in my bedroom would not surprise you at all, but for someone who does not know me as well--these are the very things that could send a person running!

I may sometimes take for granted my friends genuine acceptance, and understanding of me, and my many quirks. However, as for the likes of a pseudo stranger--that may not be the case. It is hard for me to go into further detail without becoming too tactless, or compromising my integrity. So, I will leave you with a short, but important moral of the story. If you meet someone in a bar, perhaps a gentleman suitor-- and bring them home with you--your life size poster of a 90's pop icon may scare them, just a little.

Fair View Lake Thirty Three and a Third

The moment I have been waiting for is finally here. I am well rested. (Took a four hour nap). I am finally clean. (Took my first shower in three days). But most importantly, I am back--from the woods--with thirty-six fourth graders. The trip to Fair View Lake truly was the best of times, and the worst of times. And, I would like to recap this two night-three day adventure with all of you.

The trip began back in Brooklyn. I stood by the door, "checking in" each student and their luggage.Throughout this process, I was asked by nine different kids why I was I...A). dressed funny B). wearing my pajamas and C). looked weird. Dontcha just love kids? ( Sidenote:I was wearing a sweatshirt, leggings and a headband.) What did they expect-- for me to arrive dressed in an evening gown to go camping?
After forty-five minutes of chaotic play on the playground, we were off, and on our way on the two hour bus ride to Fair View Lake, located in Newton, New Jersey. My impending doom was upon us.

Upon arrival at Fair View Lake's spacious camp grounds, we dispersed into our designated cabins. My roommates for the next three days would be five girls: Jane, Kristi, Laura, Lindsay and Britt. The girls, all best friends, decided that they wanted to give our bunk a name. Perfect, I thought--we're really bonding now. They decided to call themselves "The Tomboys." From that point on, whenever I needed to gather my girls in a jiffy, I would call out..."Tomboys, over hereee." Something about that was mildly hilarious to me. Even better than having a cabin refer to themselves as the tomboys...is actually being given an explanation on the vast differences between being a tomboy and being a girly-girl. The girls told me that I was definitely a girly-girl. Here's why: 1. I have bangs. 2. I sometimes wear dresses 3. I like pink, and 4. I have my ears pierced. (seven times). Glad we got that straightened out. Even though, I'm a "girly-girl," the tomboys still accepted me with open arms, and treated me like one of their own. The tomboys # 1 mission on our trip was to make sure that no boys could see through our windows. They took the liberty of covering every single window in the cabin with pieces of notebook paper.There. Now, we were safe from those mischievous wandering eyes.

One of the best parts of the trip was meal time. Meals were the one semi-form of a break that we ("the grown-ups") had (in between giving the students their ADHD medicine). We used our meal time to recharge, eat smiley faced french fries and tell funny stories that had happened in our individual cabins. And believe me, there were plenty of funny stories to tell. One student, William (the avid conversationalist from the Ellis Island trip) talked in his sleep, loudly, having a conversation with himself for FIVE hours. That's not an exxageration, that was the painful truth for my teacher friend-Fran who lived in William's cabin. The next day, a group of boys, were eating ice cream at our ice-cream social..Ilana and I saw them "cheers-ing" with their bowls of ice cream..."to bunk beds!" they said as they clinked their icecream sundaes together. Now, there's something you don't see too often in a bar--cheers-ing to bunk beds. Think I'll try that one this weekend.

Something that surprised me in my own cabin was the openness that the girls chose to take around me. While getting ready for the shower, Kristi was walking around completely naked. While, I can appreciate that--as that is one of my favorite pastimes...I usually don't do it with my 4th grade math teacher present. Kristi looked at me and said, "I mean, we're all girls right?" I had to agree with her--tomboys or girly-girls--we were all girls none the less. However, I couldn't help but thinking that teaching long division to her will never the same again.

Among others, topic of conversation in the cabin revolved around deodorant. Who wore it, what kinds there were, what they smelled like, and how often it is used. All of this deodorant talk made me reminiscent about my first armpit hair. It was the summer going into 7th grade, I had no boobs and no period--but I had my armpit hair. I refused to shave it. I was proud of the small black bush that was beginning to develop beneath my underarms. Needless to say, when I got home from camp, and my mom saw what was going on under there, I quickly lost that hair and I've been armpit hair free since 1996.

Another really amazing thing about the trip was getting to hang out with the kids in a non-pressure, non-academic, fun, easy going setting. I raced against all of the 4th grade boys. (Rumors of my speed had surfaced). It was literally me, and eighteen 9 and 10 year olds on the start line. Guess who won? Yeah, I'm pretty fast--but I've also got a twelve inch lead in the length of my legs. I played soccer and basketball too! I competed in a sandcastle competition, and I got to do it all in my sofees and a white hanes tee. (My favorite Camp Schodack attire).

We went boating on Fair View Lake. Four boys approached me asking to be in their group, (thinking that I would be an asset as a rower). Instead I got my group stuck on rocks in between two trees, the boys screamed bloody murder, while I tried to release us from the rocks...only to be rescued by the on-duty lifeguard in her canoe.

The worst of times on this trip, were actually surprisingly far and few between, but none the less there were some. 1). Being woken at six am by the tomboys to tell me that there was a wild turkey outside. I don't give a shit. 2).Being woken every half hour on the first night by Laura, asking me what I would do to comfort her if she couldn't fall asleep. Nothing, Laura. 3). The swamp hike. I don't think I need to go into any further detail. 4). Sleeping a total of five hours in two nights, and literally feeling like a dead woman walking...luckily my second wind kicked in, just in time for s'mores and camp fire songs. Overall, Camp Fair View Lake was a success, but I am glad to be back! I can't wait to have me time, not be a mother to five tomboys, and sleep in a bed not made of metal. Until May, '10--see ya later Fair View Lake!

Camp Fair View Lake...Here I come!

Why is it that just when I feel like I have reached my breaking point...When I feel like I just can't take anymore...Like all of the patience that I have left could rest on my pinky toe...Just when I can't break up one more fist fight (and consequently get punched in the left tit), Just when I can't ask Fred to stop gargling water at the sink while I am trying to teach a lesson...Just when I can't tell Matthew NINE times that snack time has ended twenty minutes ago, and to put his freaking snack away...Just when I can't tell Pedro to stop crying over spilt milk (literally), untied shoelaces, boring math homework, and Christian's humming. (Man the fuck up, Pedro). I have to go on a Three Day overnight camping trip with my students come this Monday. Camp Fair View Lake, here I motherfucking come...

Each year the 4th grade heads to Newton, New Jersey to Camp Fair View Lake for a luxurious two day, three night vacation. And by vacation, I do mean just barely surviving unfathomable emotional and physical pain. The children look forward to this trip all year long. They mentally prepare for the amount of fun that they are going to have. I mentally prepare too. On the different ways that I can get out of going on this trip...Only to realize that there is no way out. I am stuck...and for the third consecutive year in a row, I will be there...with or without a small flask of Bacardi.

Each year, I try to call friends and family (for moral support), standing outside of the gnat infested bunk, with my cell phone held high above my head at 11:30 pm, when the kids have FINALLY fallen asleep after a 17 hour day. And, just when I need that moral support the most, I am cut off, as there is 1/27th of cell phone reception at Fair View Lake. With this righteous journey upon me, I thought that I would try and get back into the spirit, and enlighten all of you, on what it is like to go on a three day overnight trip with your students. Below you will find a list of memorable moments from years past, some have made me laugh, some have made me cry. Please, keep right on reading.

1. Being woken at 5:45 am by Tracy, telling me that there was one deer standing outside the bunk. Wide eyed, oooohs and ahhhs heard all throughout the cabin. Really? I've almost hit about 17 deer with my car. Sorry, no thanks. And, thank you so very much for waking me to tell me.


2. Matthew threw up on the bus ride, and didn't tell anyone...The teachers only realized the upchuck, as the bus slowly began to linger with the smell of fruity Doritos.


3.Last year, it poured for the full two nights and three days that we were there. Does Camp Fair View Lake have excellent indoor facilities? Nope. Instead we did archery, played baseball and went boating...in FREEZING rain. Afterwards, the girls living in my bunk thought that it would be funny to prank me; and put shaving cream...in my ONLY dry pair of sneakers. Listen girls, I know where you sleep.

4. I watched as Alana lay on the floor, so that she could peer underneath Lizzie's towel as she stepped out of the shower.

5. Helping Nick to change his underwear because he peed his pants (during wax candle making!?!?)

6. Not showering or pooping for three days.

7. Collecting samples of moss, algae, pollen and ragweed in the rain. Oh, don't worry my seasonal allergies never fared better!

8. And finally, the brilliant idea of serving ice cream sundaes to 36 ADHD children at 9:30 pm.

Stay tuned, for Camp Fair View Lake Part III.

The future Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Pratt

For those of you Hills enthusiasts, (and those of you who have been to any supermarket/drug store over the past week) know that Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt were married (for real this time) just a couple of weeks ago. The thought of these nuptials actually make me want to upchuck. Furthermore, I strongly feel that Speidi (while amazingly entertaining) may be the actual worst, most heinous couple of all time...and with that...enter Charlie...

Charlie, a small, blond hair, blue eyed boy in the third grade is head over heels in love with Stacey, a small blond hair, blue eyed girl in the third grade. For the past three days, Charlie has been walking around with a magazine picture of Heidi and Spencer's wedding in the pocket of his jeans. While Charlie has absolutely no idea who this couple is, (only that they share the same eye and hair color,) Charlie looked up at me and smiled, as he proudly said..."See...(pointing to the Speidi wedding picture)..."that's gonna be me and Stacey one day when we grow up."
For the sake of you and Stacey, let's all hope not.

Hello May!

It sure has a been a while since I've written...but what can I say? I've been super busy with the thirteen collective assignments that I had to hand in for grad school over the past week. I sure worked hard, but that doesn't really make for an interesting blog entry, now does it? And now that I'm free, I'm ready for my weekend to begin!

Have you ever gone disco bowling at nine am? Didn't think so. But, guess who has?
Yesterday, the third and fourth grades loaded up the buses, and were on our way to Memory Lanes to bowl our hearts away. (Just in case you were wondering, I bowled a 130). I'm pretty sure that my dad will be proud. Nothing brings out light heartedness, smiles and chuckles quite like a morning bowl. The kids were having the freaking time of their lives! The disco lights were on, and High School Musical blared in the background. I only knew one song, and felt disappointed that I could not join in, belting out lyrics, like the rest of 'em. But what can I say? These kids are down with High School Musical.

The kids were singing, dancing, and literally hurling bowling balls down the lane. I saw quite a few questionable bowling techniques...I also began to question something else. Is it okay that I occasionally wonder how my students feel about each other? In, ya know--like, a like-like sort of way? When I see a boy and a girl who spend a lot of time together, I think to myself--do they like each other? My instinct is to think,"nahhh," they are so young. But, then I remember that I had more boyfriends in elementary school than I've had in my adult life. (I know--not something to brag about). I watched one "couple"(Jeffand Lindsay) literally maul each other. They looked like mini adults--it was frightening. Or Hank and Jane who I caught holding hands on the bus ride home, gazing into each other's eyes.

These kids have it easy! Being 25, in NYC is not quite as easy as being romantically mauled in a bowling alley. To try and make this difficult process a little simpler, I have done something that I am about to admit to all of you, my loyal and faithful blog readers. I have joined Jdate. This decision was tri-fold. 1). I have appeased my mom on so many levels
2). My mom offered to pay the monthly fee
3). I've actually heard success stories, and thought that perhaps it is time that I let my cynical guard down.

While, Jdate has not exactly been my cup of tea--I decided to stick it out, at least for a month--and keep my options open. Two nights ago, I was on Jdate, (the website) when a super attractive 32 year old man imed me. Believe me friends, this is a rare occurrence. Usually, the ims that I receive are from 300 pound men, bald men or men under 5'2. Now, there is nothing wrong with any of these physical attributes, except for the fact that I am not bald, I am 5'6 and weigh just 180 pounds shy of 300. Needless to say these qualities are not my ideal physical matches. So, you can understand that when this total babe imed me--I was souped! It was too good to be true, and as I would soon find out...it was.

After Gentleman asked me how I was doing, Gentleman took it upon himself to tell me how he was doing. Short and to the point...he said, "I'm horny." To which I replied, "Oh."

I am all for sexually expressing yourself, but listen sexy, thirty-two year old, with amazing dimples, creep--I don't know you. We've never met. Maybe we should try learning a little more about each other, before you attempt to get laid. (Just an aside--as this was happening, I was wondering which of my friends could be pranking me).

Once I made it clear to sexy, thirty two year old, with amazing dimples creep, that we would be changing the subject, or I would be outta there... He complied, and asked another question..."What are you wearing?" "I'm horny, you?" and "What are you wearing?" were his next EIGHT ims. Finally, it was my cue to exit.

Leaving the Jdate website feeling mentally exhausted, and like I will never find a normal person on there, I realized this: This situation had a very familiar feel to it. Then I remembered one of my favorite former past times, AOL chat rooms, circa de 1998.

Just an ordinary class trip II

Well my good friends...it's that time again. I'm back.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of having one of my former Camp Schodack campers, recycling extraordinaire, Ben come and speak to my class about well... recycling. The lesson culminated with a recycling relay race event. The kids had an absolute blast, and fell head over heels in love with Ben. And, what's more...the kids saw Ben hugging me goodbye! (gasp). For the rest of the day, I overheard students saying that Ben and I were "busy," making out. I sure hope they go home and tell their parents that.

But, the real gem of this week was today's trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And by gem, I mean slit my throat, shoot me in the ribs, pain in my ass. Let's start with the basics, shall we? As you all know, traveling via subway with a large group of nine and ten year olds is never fun and consistently stressful. One sophisticated young student decided that he was going to develop the swine flu if his face was exposed on the subway. He decided to zip his whole upper body and face into his jacket. The next thing I knew I had twelve children with no faces. It did not help anything that the moment we stepped off the train a woman walked by with a mask. Jane immediately screamed, "She has the wine flu--she's a Mexican! (she was Asian). And, it's Swine, not wine. Coincidentally, as Jane made this comment, she was holding Laura (her best friend)'s hand. Laura is a tiny Chinese girl. I have to wonder if all this time, Jane was confused thinking that Laura is actually a Mexican.

Next, I overheard Jason telling Will that he was adopted. (lie). That his "real" mom has blonde hair, and lives in New Jersey. His "real mom" had to give him up after the Great War. The Great War? You were born in 1999.

Once at the museum, we were in pursuit of the Japanese samurai armor exhibit. (Supporting our unit study of Japan). Once in the museum, I noticed a flock of students posing in front of one particular exhibit. Can you guess which one? Oh, just the Japanese samurai whose junk was covered in armor. That's right, twelve identical photos of kids posing with the statue and his weiner. Once, I herded the special cattle elsewhere, I heard an eruption of sorts that can only be heard from one student. Student screamed, as he slammed his body on the ground, in the middle of the Japanese armor. There were some classy looking people there, they looked less than pleased. I pulled him aside, and told him that he needed to lower his voice, as I put my finger up to my lips, to make the "shh" sound. Student looked into my eyes and roared, "I hate when you do that to me--do not shhhhhhh me." The kid's got a point--no one likes being shushed at--but I was at a loss for words, as to why I had a tantruming ten year old crying over Caleb asking to borrow a pencil. (Yes, he really cried over a borrowed pencil). After, said student's third meltdown, my co-teacher and I decided it was time to book it out of there.

We decided to eat lunch in a nearby park. Guess who threw bread on the ground attracting dozens of pigeons? Yup, my students--that's who. Goodie. Now there was a flock of disgusting pigeons circling me while I ate my sandwich. Soon after they finished eating lunch, they were released into the wild to play on the playground. We soon found out that there was an age limit, four years old, to play on this playground. We had to cut their playground time short. The kids were NOT happy. (You would have thought we just announced that we'd be slaughtering all of their puppies after lunch). Listen up bitches, you got to miss math, reading, science and social studies-- Now enjoy this day, and shut the fuck up.

On a side note, I now feel terribly for all those trips to the mall, where my brother, sister and I would make our poor mom hold all of our coats and belongings. As per usual, I was the resident mom on this trip, carrying the groups lunches, clipboards, and other worldly possessions. I still can't feel my right shoulder. The good news is, the field trip, and the hour long subway ride back to school is over. The even better news is that we are going on another field trip...tomorrow. To quote FML...FML.