It's my first day back on the job after my four day sick hiatus. Here, in no particular order are the perfect, amazing and hilarious things that have happened to me since my return back to the 4th grade.
1. In math class while giving a lesson on division, I was showing 5 divided by 5 equals 1 using a visual. Unfortunately, the visual I chose was less than ideal. I drew 5 circles, with 1 dot in the middle of each circle. What I failed to notice...was that I accidentally drew 5 breasts on the board to a group of nine year old boys. The boys exchanged glances with each other. Sam raised his hand (while rubbing his own chest) and said, "Um--what are those drawings supposed to be?" You know those times when you know that you need to be a grown up, but it's just so hard to be? Yes, that was one of those times. I had to excuse myself for a moment, while I stepped outside to laugh at the five tits I had just drawn on the whiteboard as part of my math lesson.
2. I was once again coerced into a game of Squeeze the Lemon with my students during recess. Yes, I again fell prey to peer pressure. (Can you even call it peer pressure, when it is not a group of peers pressuring you?) I got sandwiched between Fred and Pedro. Let's just call it even and say that their body weight is equivalent to the weight of me, a small family of orphans, and a baby elephant.
3. Two students in my class asked me if I was absent at all last week. Did you see me or did you not see me for four days straight last week?
4. During reading time, we read a book that used the word fad. I asked the students if they knew what a fad was. I was giving examples of fads from my own youth such as slap bracelets and pogs. One of my students asked me if poodle skirts and saddle shoes were a fad when I was a kid? Was I born in 1951? I didn't think so.
5. And lastly, during recess--Sam feeling frustrated with some of his classmates during a game of tag, stepped into the middle of the playground, and screamed on the top his lungs, "DAAANGNABBIT!" For the record, it's pretty difficult to take someone seriously who uses the word "dangnabit" as a word to release frustration." Maybe next time he should try yelling the word fuck instead.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Journals
Hallelujah! I am FINALLY freeeee of the sickness that kept me cooped inside of my 4 x 4 foot apartment for five whole days. On the fifth day of sickness, I decided that enough was enough! After days of fever, night sweats, and chills--I finally agreed to let my mom (better known as Little Mimi Girl) come, pick me up and take me back to New Jersey with her. Within minutes of being under my mom's nurturing care, I felt ions better. Mimi Girl fed me soup and provided me with the chance to sleep in a room that was not previously infested with my germs.
With some extra time on my hands, I decided to clean out some of the crap collecting in my childhood room. Doing this always brings back sentiments and memories from my past. Any time I go home, I tend to feel very nostalgic. (Who me?) I maaay have even pulled out my high school year book, (Once again re-confirming my peaking at 18 theory). After laughing out loud alone in my room for about an hour, I realized that I wasn't done yet--I was ready for more.
I decided to look through the box where all of my journals that I have been keeping for the past thirteen years are stored. One day I would love to publish these journals for all to see. (Undoubtedly sexually exploiting the shit out of some boys I know).
Below is a list of some of the interesting discoveries I made while rifling through thirteen years of my own history.
Interesting Discovery # 1
I received more love letters in the 1995-1996 school year, than I have in the past fourteen years combined.
Interesting Discovery # 2
I started wearing a bra on April 4, 1995. I know this because I saved the bra's original tag, and wrote on it..."The day I got my first bra, 4/4/95." Additionally, the bra size was 26. I didn't even know that they made bras that small. Since I weighed about 44 pounds, and would not actually need to wear a bra until the year 2000--that first bra (which you better believe had an elastic band-- did not have a cup size.)
Interesting Discovery # 3
In my later years of journaling, I wrote a lot about boys.(Shocker, I know). I wrote about my relationships with them, both emotionally and sexually. I wish I had seen He's Just Not That Into You in my late teens and early 20's. The phrase, "_____(insert boy's name here) was going to call me, but he told me, that by accident he fell asleep." (This phrase was seen rampantly throughout my journals). If only I knew what I know today. Fucking fell asleep, my ass.
Interesting Discovery # 4
I practiced grinding with my girlfriends to get ready for the junior prom.
Interesting Discovery # 5
With the exception of location: high school/college/real world/job--it would be hard to tell exactly how old I am in any given entry written after the year 2000. I write like a sixteen year old girl in every entry I write.
Interesting Discovery # 6
I used to make lists of people that I wanted to invite to parties when my parents were away. I would eliminate three to four people off a list of 115 people, and feel really satisfied that I had cut the list down.
Interesting Discovery # 7
If you are a boy, and I liked you at some point in the past, (and we talked on AOL--not aim).then there is definitely an AOL conversation between the two of us printed, folded and taped to a page of my journal.
Interesting Discovery # 8
Every year for fourteen summers, when camp would end, the first entry back home-- without fail, began with "I want to die."
Interesting Discovery # 9
"Being nineteen isn't all it's cracked up to be." (I must have forgotten how awesome being nineteen is supposed to be).
With some extra time on my hands, I decided to clean out some of the crap collecting in my childhood room. Doing this always brings back sentiments and memories from my past. Any time I go home, I tend to feel very nostalgic. (Who me?) I maaay have even pulled out my high school year book, (Once again re-confirming my peaking at 18 theory). After laughing out loud alone in my room for about an hour, I realized that I wasn't done yet--I was ready for more.
I decided to look through the box where all of my journals that I have been keeping for the past thirteen years are stored. One day I would love to publish these journals for all to see. (Undoubtedly sexually exploiting the shit out of some boys I know).
Below is a list of some of the interesting discoveries I made while rifling through thirteen years of my own history.
Interesting Discovery # 1
I received more love letters in the 1995-1996 school year, than I have in the past fourteen years combined.
Interesting Discovery # 2
I started wearing a bra on April 4, 1995. I know this because I saved the bra's original tag, and wrote on it..."The day I got my first bra, 4/4/95." Additionally, the bra size was 26. I didn't even know that they made bras that small. Since I weighed about 44 pounds, and would not actually need to wear a bra until the year 2000--that first bra (which you better believe had an elastic band-- did not have a cup size.)
Interesting Discovery # 3
In my later years of journaling, I wrote a lot about boys.(Shocker, I know). I wrote about my relationships with them, both emotionally and sexually. I wish I had seen He's Just Not That Into You in my late teens and early 20's. The phrase, "_____(insert boy's name here) was going to call me, but he told me, that by accident he fell asleep." (This phrase was seen rampantly throughout my journals). If only I knew what I know today. Fucking fell asleep, my ass.
Interesting Discovery # 4
I practiced grinding with my girlfriends to get ready for the junior prom.
Interesting Discovery # 5
With the exception of location: high school/college/real world/job--it would be hard to tell exactly how old I am in any given entry written after the year 2000. I write like a sixteen year old girl in every entry I write.
Interesting Discovery # 6
I used to make lists of people that I wanted to invite to parties when my parents were away. I would eliminate three to four people off a list of 115 people, and feel really satisfied that I had cut the list down.
Interesting Discovery # 7
If you are a boy, and I liked you at some point in the past, (and we talked on AOL--not aim).then there is definitely an AOL conversation between the two of us printed, folded and taped to a page of my journal.
Interesting Discovery # 8
Every year for fourteen summers, when camp would end, the first entry back home-- without fail, began with "I want to die."
Interesting Discovery # 9
"Being nineteen isn't all it's cracked up to be." (I must have forgotten how awesome being nineteen is supposed to be).
Monday, March 23, 2009
18
Last night, my friend Lindsay O and I sat in my living room, reminiscing about high school, while we looked at old pictures from my senior prom. I know, get out of town! Me? Reminiscing and feeling nostalgic for times that have passed!You don't say!
As we sat looking at old pictures, I found myself growing increasingly sad. And, not for the usual reasons. Not because seven years seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, or because I loved high school, and tend to have trouble moving on from different life experiences. (All of which are true). Despite all of these things, I felt sad for a much shallower reason. I may have peaked at eighteen years old. I'll say it. During my senior year of high school, I looked good. There are no pictures up on facebook to prove this fact, but I speak only the truth.
I think that I have earned the right to say that. For the five years that led up to my senior year of high school I battled with an awkward stage truly unknown to man. An awkward stage so terrible, that no one should ever have to suffer through such tumultuous times. (ever.) If you were lucky enough not to remember me during this period, let me refresh your memory.
Oh where to begin? I suppose we could start with my bangs that resembled something similar to your pubes. Short, pieces of brown fuzz resting on the top of my forehead. I had braces that I changed the color of the bands according to seasons and holidays. And, oh yes then there were my eyebrows. I was too "scared" to tweeze my eyebrows, afraid of the pain. So, instead I decided to inflict a different kind of pain on myself and onto everyone else who had to look at me. I had one large Caterpillar across my forehead for a good five years. However, by the time my senior year rolled around, I had most of these issues resolved. (Thanks to Christine at Antonio's my eyebrows never looked better!)
My hair which had formerly been mousy, frizzy and short, had grown long-- and with the invention of the flat iron (which would later become my hair's demise), my hair was now soft, straight and lovely. And then there was my body. While I had developed tits earlier in high school, I was still wearing bras with an elastic band. That's right, I did not wear under wire. There I was carting around D boobs with only a thin band of elastic to hold them up!
Finally, the summer going into my senior year, it had occurred to me that I should probably wear under wire bras. And BAM! Just like that, my rack had never looked better. All of my wardrobe malfunctions of the past were finally water under the bridge. (The Winnie the Pooh sweatsuit and chapstick necklace finally retired). As for the rest of my body--I really didn't know how good I had had it. I was truly blessed with a metabolism that moved at the speed of light. I ate ice cream sundaes, chicken fingers and other assorted evils whenever I wanted and yet--my body never showed it. I was just barely 100 pounds, standing at 5 foot 6 inches tall. Of course at the time, I never even thought about my body, not even once. I didn't even know what a calorie was! No, I'm not kidding. I did not learn what calories were until my sophomore year of college when I was informed that I had been eating more calories at lunch than I needed in a given day. Who knows? Maybe seven years from now I will look back and think that I peaked at 25? Maybe? I'll check back in when I'm thirty-two. Me being thirty-two. Now, that might even be scarier than my five year awkward stage.
As we sat looking at old pictures, I found myself growing increasingly sad. And, not for the usual reasons. Not because seven years seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, or because I loved high school, and tend to have trouble moving on from different life experiences. (All of which are true). Despite all of these things, I felt sad for a much shallower reason. I may have peaked at eighteen years old. I'll say it. During my senior year of high school, I looked good. There are no pictures up on facebook to prove this fact, but I speak only the truth.
I think that I have earned the right to say that. For the five years that led up to my senior year of high school I battled with an awkward stage truly unknown to man. An awkward stage so terrible, that no one should ever have to suffer through such tumultuous times. (ever.) If you were lucky enough not to remember me during this period, let me refresh your memory.
Oh where to begin? I suppose we could start with my bangs that resembled something similar to your pubes. Short, pieces of brown fuzz resting on the top of my forehead. I had braces that I changed the color of the bands according to seasons and holidays. And, oh yes then there were my eyebrows. I was too "scared" to tweeze my eyebrows, afraid of the pain. So, instead I decided to inflict a different kind of pain on myself and onto everyone else who had to look at me. I had one large Caterpillar across my forehead for a good five years. However, by the time my senior year rolled around, I had most of these issues resolved. (Thanks to Christine at Antonio's my eyebrows never looked better!)
My hair which had formerly been mousy, frizzy and short, had grown long-- and with the invention of the flat iron (which would later become my hair's demise), my hair was now soft, straight and lovely. And then there was my body. While I had developed tits earlier in high school, I was still wearing bras with an elastic band. That's right, I did not wear under wire. There I was carting around D boobs with only a thin band of elastic to hold them up!
Finally, the summer going into my senior year, it had occurred to me that I should probably wear under wire bras. And BAM! Just like that, my rack had never looked better. All of my wardrobe malfunctions of the past were finally water under the bridge. (The Winnie the Pooh sweatsuit and chapstick necklace finally retired). As for the rest of my body--I really didn't know how good I had had it. I was truly blessed with a metabolism that moved at the speed of light. I ate ice cream sundaes, chicken fingers and other assorted evils whenever I wanted and yet--my body never showed it. I was just barely 100 pounds, standing at 5 foot 6 inches tall. Of course at the time, I never even thought about my body, not even once. I didn't even know what a calorie was! No, I'm not kidding. I did not learn what calories were until my sophomore year of college when I was informed that I had been eating more calories at lunch than I needed in a given day. Who knows? Maybe seven years from now I will look back and think that I peaked at 25? Maybe? I'll check back in when I'm thirty-two. Me being thirty-two. Now, that might even be scarier than my five year awkward stage.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Umbrella Culture
We get it New Yorkers. You like your offensively large umbrellas. What could be worse than getting stuck walking behind an extremely slow moving pedestrian?(When you are already running fifteen minutes late for work.) Now, let's add something else to the mix. How about walking behind an extremely slow moving pedestrian carrying an umbrella the size of a small house? So fine, you want to stay dry...I get it. But at least, stay on your side of the street with your gigantic umbrella. Let the rest of us have a prayer of passing you.
Move it buddy, because you are blocking the way of the people in front, behind, to the right and the left of you. And oh yeah, another thing. Please close your umbrellas before you hit the stairs going up or down into the subway. I love it when the remnants of water are flung from your umbrella onto my head. As one subway car lets out, and people race up the stairs to get to work, another group of people try to make that same subway before it pulls away. This means that we are all using the staircase at the same time. When you are coming up the stairs, and your obnoxiously large umbrella is ALREADY OPEN, (c'mon we aren't even outside yet) you are slowing me down, and making me even later for work. Umbrella culture. Who needs it?
Move it buddy, because you are blocking the way of the people in front, behind, to the right and the left of you. And oh yeah, another thing. Please close your umbrellas before you hit the stairs going up or down into the subway. I love it when the remnants of water are flung from your umbrella onto my head. As one subway car lets out, and people race up the stairs to get to work, another group of people try to make that same subway before it pulls away. This means that we are all using the staircase at the same time. When you are coming up the stairs, and your obnoxiously large umbrella is ALREADY OPEN, (c'mon we aren't even outside yet) you are slowing me down, and making me even later for work. Umbrella culture. Who needs it?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Spring has Sprung.
A large weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The dreaded parent-teacher conferences are now behind me. They went pretty great (thanks for asking), with one little exception. A parent made the following comment to me: "No offense Lauren, but I'm so thrilled about Matthew's new school next year. All of the teachers at his new school are much older, and seem to be much more experienced. Thank you, Matthew's mom--regardless of your "no offense" disclaimer, I still think that you are moderately tactless. At least on the bright side, I know one person who would appreciate having a young teacher. That person is my great uncle, who recently said to me..."they didn't make teachers like you, with curves like yours when I was a kid." I never really know how to react when my seventy-three year old uncle compliments my body. So, thanks? I think.
Now that conferences are over I can concentrate on more important things... like tomorrow. The much anticipated first day of spring.
In high school, the first day of spring meant ultimate freedom. With my sunglasses on, and my sunroof down, I was invincible. And oh yeah, let's not forget my seven friends smushed into the backseat of my car too. Oh, the perks of being the first one with a driver's license. Each day after school, we drove to TCBY and ate free frozen yogurt for hours on end. Hell yeah, we had connections! I guess it was no surprise when TCBY went out of business a short year later. (And oddly was turned into a store that sold decorative scrub sets for nurses.) Spring also began the start of lacrosse season--Sweaty team runs around town, contemplating if our female lacrosse coach was actually a man, and primitively flirting with the boys baseball team were our spring rituals.
In college, the first day of spring was signaled by the first warm day that girls broke out their short skirts and flashed their newly tanned legs courtesy of _______(insert tropical spring break destination here.) Every year I watched as my guy friends gathered together on the quad oogling girls from a far. Each year they had the same verbal reaction..."I never knew how many hot girls went to this school."
Here in NYC the way I know that spring has sprung, is the return of the outdoor tables and chairs. Last year I stood outside of BANC (BONK!) mesmerized in excited anticipation, watching the waiters hose down the tables and chairs, ready for some outdoor, late night martinis and apple pie desserts. No matter what spring means to you--spring is in the air my friends-- spring has sprung.
Now that conferences are over I can concentrate on more important things... like tomorrow. The much anticipated first day of spring.
In high school, the first day of spring meant ultimate freedom. With my sunglasses on, and my sunroof down, I was invincible. And oh yeah, let's not forget my seven friends smushed into the backseat of my car too. Oh, the perks of being the first one with a driver's license. Each day after school, we drove to TCBY and ate free frozen yogurt for hours on end. Hell yeah, we had connections! I guess it was no surprise when TCBY went out of business a short year later. (And oddly was turned into a store that sold decorative scrub sets for nurses.) Spring also began the start of lacrosse season--Sweaty team runs around town, contemplating if our female lacrosse coach was actually a man, and primitively flirting with the boys baseball team were our spring rituals.
In college, the first day of spring was signaled by the first warm day that girls broke out their short skirts and flashed their newly tanned legs courtesy of _______(insert tropical spring break destination here.) Every year I watched as my guy friends gathered together on the quad oogling girls from a far. Each year they had the same verbal reaction..."I never knew how many hot girls went to this school."
Here in NYC the way I know that spring has sprung, is the return of the outdoor tables and chairs. Last year I stood outside of BANC (BONK!) mesmerized in excited anticipation, watching the waiters hose down the tables and chairs, ready for some outdoor, late night martinis and apple pie desserts. No matter what spring means to you--spring is in the air my friends-- spring has sprung.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Ruminations
Where have I been living the past twelve years?!
I was out to dinner on Monday night with my friend, Josh. We were discussing how for the first time in our lives, people seem to be moving in different directions...and at very different speeds. In college we were living variations of the same life. Go to class, write a paper, get drunk, eat ramen noodles. (Maybe in that order, maybe not). Then after graduation, we moved on--moved onto the "real world." Again, all living in similar looking apartments on the East side of Manhattan. Now would be a great time to make a joke about living in Murray Hill, but I won't. We worked during the week and lived like college kids on the weekends. But now, at twenty-five, some of us are paving our own paths. Some are living with boyfriends and girlfriends, some are getting engaged--and then there are those of us who are still waking up in our own vomit (or urine), in a stranger's bed.
It was at this point in the conversation when Josh asked me if I had ever read Aaron Karo's Ruminations. I said that I hadn't. Once I climbed out from beneath the large boulder that I've been living under for the past twelve years, I discovered an amazing world of hilarity. Aaron Karo's ruminations is a column that he's been writing for the past twelve years that has successfully documented his life from his third week of college in 1997 through being a 20something in NYC. Reading his column has been life changing. He writes the way we think about relationships, sex, and meeting girls/guys living in New York. His column really inspired me. And so, I did what I do best. I wrote Aaron Karo an e-mail. In the e-mail, I may have confessed my new found love for him, as well as asking him to marry me. (Yeah, I wish that I was kidding too). But, the best part was--he wrote back! While he did not accept my marriage proposal, he did tell me that he would be doing stand up in NYC this fall. Aaron Karo inspired me to ruminate, and to keep on writing, because well...what started off as an e-mail to his high school friends from Long Island spun him into a career as a columnist, author and stand-up comic. So yes, this is a big shout out to him--but his writing makes me laugh out loud, because as he says it best--he's been writing what you're thinking... since 1997.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Parent-Teacher Conference Day
With parent-teacher conferences just around the bend, I thought I'd prepare by sharpening up on my euphemism skills, and share a few of them with all of you. Parent-teacher conferences. One giant euphemism for your kid is a freakshow.
Euphemism:"Your child struggles to navigate social situations."
Translation: Your kid is a socially inept freak, and is going to be a loser in high school.
Euphemism: Your child has some difficulty attending to the lesson.
Translation: Your kid can't concentrate for shit, get him/her on meds NOW.
Euphemism: Sometimes ___________(insert child's name) needs reminders to raise his/her hand.
Translation: Your kid doesn't shut the hell up, ever.
Euphemism: At times, we've noticed some mean-spirited behavior displayed by your child.
Translation: Your kid's an ass.
Euphemism: At times your child struggles with managing his/her emotions.
Translation: Your kid's a cry baby. Man up.
Doesn't it make you wonder what your teachers used to say about you? I can only imagine what mine said about me...
Euphemism:"Your child struggles to navigate social situations."
Translation: Your kid is a socially inept freak, and is going to be a loser in high school.
Euphemism: Your child has some difficulty attending to the lesson.
Translation: Your kid can't concentrate for shit, get him/her on meds NOW.
Euphemism: Sometimes ___________(insert child's name) needs reminders to raise his/her hand.
Translation: Your kid doesn't shut the hell up, ever.
Euphemism: At times, we've noticed some mean-spirited behavior displayed by your child.
Translation: Your kid's an ass.
Euphemism: At times your child struggles with managing his/her emotions.
Translation: Your kid's a cry baby. Man up.
Doesn't it make you wonder what your teachers used to say about you? I can only imagine what mine said about me...
Monday, March 16, 2009
Oh, just your ordinary class trip
Unless you are a teacher or have been a camp counselor, it is hard to understand what it's like to travel with large groups of children. Today me, a handful of other teachers and thirty six nine year olds braved the mean streets of Brooklyn and ventured by subway and a freaking ferry to Ellis Island. Nothing about class trips are fun when you are the adult in charge. I don't care if you are going to Disney World, it is impossible to enjoy the sights and relax.
I take for granted what it feels like to walk down the street at my own pace, engaged with my own thoughts, calmly listening to my ipod. When I walk down the street with my students, I am busy with many different things. I am constantly counting kids, (terrified that I may have lost one) telling children that it is not okay to walk in one straight line across a crowded Manhattan avenue. I am telling Fred that no--we cannot stop to get a hot dog. I am busy explaining to Christian why he cannot play hopscotch and walk in a straight line at the same time. I am asking Mike to stop asking homeless men questions, and I ask Jane to keep her eyes open when she crosses the street at least three different times. Nope, going on a field trip with thirty-six 4th graders--not so fun.
Each student attending the Ellis Island trip were broken up into "families." We were taking the ultimate simulation as immigrants traveling to Ellis Island. My "family" consisted of myself (the mother), and my three children, Lily, Liam and William. As soon as I heard my group, I felt like I was actually in the 4th grade-- my heart sank. I knew that any shot of peace and quiet I may have had throughout the day was gone.
People have always told me that I talk a lot, I've been called a chatterbox all my life. But, William, (my son for the day) makes me look like a mute. Here in no particular order are the questions that Will asked me on our ten block walk from school to the subway at rapid fire speed.
"What is your favorite marsupial?" Do you know how odorless gas lost it's smell? Do you know which countries have never hosted the Olympics? Who was the president in 1832? Do you know how the woodchuck got it's name, Have you ever won the lottery? (Well, Will...if I won the lottery, I wouldn't still be here talking to you, now would I?) What do you want to be when you grow up? (Um?) Do you know that my twin sisters threw up last night? Listen William, I actually need you to shut the hell up so that I can concentrate on making sure that we don't die walking to the subway. Thanks.
Once we arrived at the subway things didn't get much better from there. The kids were like caged monkeys, swinging from the bars, and screaming to each other from across the subway car. (As if we were the only people on the train.) Don't worry, we were traveling at nine am, so it wasn't rush hour or anything. After an hour ferry ride, at which the kids complained that they were cold, hungry, tired, scared, and seasick-- we had arrived. (Feeling similar to the way that the immigrants did, I would imagine.) I was already emotionally and physically drained, and it was hardly eleven am. Our immigrant family just barely survived the day. We had a couple of setbacks, ya know--like William deciding it would be a good idea to play hide and seek at Ellis Island and not tell anyone that he was playing. Or like the minor back pain I was beginning to develop from carrying the groups lunches for three hours. I've been told that people immigrating to the United States kissed the ground when they arrived at Ellis Island. Yup, me too. I kissed the floor of my classroom, at 3:15 pm, when all of my students were gone.
I take for granted what it feels like to walk down the street at my own pace, engaged with my own thoughts, calmly listening to my ipod. When I walk down the street with my students, I am busy with many different things. I am constantly counting kids, (terrified that I may have lost one) telling children that it is not okay to walk in one straight line across a crowded Manhattan avenue. I am telling Fred that no--we cannot stop to get a hot dog. I am busy explaining to Christian why he cannot play hopscotch and walk in a straight line at the same time. I am asking Mike to stop asking homeless men questions, and I ask Jane to keep her eyes open when she crosses the street at least three different times. Nope, going on a field trip with thirty-six 4th graders--not so fun.
Each student attending the Ellis Island trip were broken up into "families." We were taking the ultimate simulation as immigrants traveling to Ellis Island. My "family" consisted of myself (the mother), and my three children, Lily, Liam and William. As soon as I heard my group, I felt like I was actually in the 4th grade-- my heart sank. I knew that any shot of peace and quiet I may have had throughout the day was gone.
People have always told me that I talk a lot, I've been called a chatterbox all my life. But, William, (my son for the day) makes me look like a mute. Here in no particular order are the questions that Will asked me on our ten block walk from school to the subway at rapid fire speed.
"What is your favorite marsupial?" Do you know how odorless gas lost it's smell? Do you know which countries have never hosted the Olympics? Who was the president in 1832? Do you know how the woodchuck got it's name, Have you ever won the lottery? (Well, Will...if I won the lottery, I wouldn't still be here talking to you, now would I?) What do you want to be when you grow up? (Um?) Do you know that my twin sisters threw up last night? Listen William, I actually need you to shut the hell up so that I can concentrate on making sure that we don't die walking to the subway. Thanks.
Once we arrived at the subway things didn't get much better from there. The kids were like caged monkeys, swinging from the bars, and screaming to each other from across the subway car. (As if we were the only people on the train.) Don't worry, we were traveling at nine am, so it wasn't rush hour or anything. After an hour ferry ride, at which the kids complained that they were cold, hungry, tired, scared, and seasick-- we had arrived. (Feeling similar to the way that the immigrants did, I would imagine.) I was already emotionally and physically drained, and it was hardly eleven am. Our immigrant family just barely survived the day. We had a couple of setbacks, ya know--like William deciding it would be a good idea to play hide and seek at Ellis Island and not tell anyone that he was playing. Or like the minor back pain I was beginning to develop from carrying the groups lunches for three hours. I've been told that people immigrating to the United States kissed the ground when they arrived at Ellis Island. Yup, me too. I kissed the floor of my classroom, at 3:15 pm, when all of my students were gone.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
All The Single Ladies
It always amazes me when there are lines to get into NYC bars. With so many bars to choose from in the city, lines should be virtually impossible! And yet to my great disappointment, when I stepped out of the cab in front of Fiddlesticks last night ( a glorified pub in the West Village), I was shocked to see that such a long line had formed. I had arrived by myself, I was running late, and was meeting up with friends (Shout out to ma Becca-Girlay and T. Sama). A large bouncer man approached me and very loudly said, "ARE YOU A SINGLE LADY?" Um, well I mean--I am, but did he really need to announce this to a line with thousands of people?(Ok, so there were probably like 25 people out there tops, but what-ever). I said, yes--to which he replied in the same booming tone, "Are you here alone? Before I could respond and explain to this man that I was having one of those nights where the dinner I was at ran late, and that I had to race home, only to try on every outfit that I owned, making me even later and...the large bouncer man shouted..."WE HAVE A SINGLE LADY, AND SHE'S HERE ALONE."
FANTASTIC.
Oh hey, group of twenty-five people I don't know, Not only do I not have a boyfriend, but apparently I don't have any friends either. The one perk of being a "single lady" arriving alone, was that I was pushed ahead in line onto the "Single Ladies Express Line." Kind of like the express, of lines.
I was quickly moving ahead in line, when the bouncer changed his mind. The Single Ladies Express line quickly turned into a couples only line. Just great. But, as luck would have it, a boy next to me on the regular local line volunteered to be my boyfriend for the next twelve minutes. Crisis averted.
My boyfriend and I waited in line together, grateful that we'd both be able to get inside a little bit quicker. I thought maybe, we'd share some jokes, some laughs, and exchange life stories. However, what I did not anticipate was having my ass grazed by my pseudo boyfriend's fingertips. Great. Now, I have a creepy stranger touching my butt, with nowhere to go. He looked at me with a semi-devious look on his face, and said.."hey, you gotta play the part right?" I meekly smiled back at him. Finally, in what felt like a lifetime, our time in line was done, and we were granted our rights to step into the bar. With one foot forward, I walked away from my couples only line boyfriend...and never looked back.
FANTASTIC.
Oh hey, group of twenty-five people I don't know, Not only do I not have a boyfriend, but apparently I don't have any friends either. The one perk of being a "single lady" arriving alone, was that I was pushed ahead in line onto the "Single Ladies Express Line." Kind of like the express, of lines.
I was quickly moving ahead in line, when the bouncer changed his mind. The Single Ladies Express line quickly turned into a couples only line. Just great. But, as luck would have it, a boy next to me on the regular local line volunteered to be my boyfriend for the next twelve minutes. Crisis averted.
My boyfriend and I waited in line together, grateful that we'd both be able to get inside a little bit quicker. I thought maybe, we'd share some jokes, some laughs, and exchange life stories. However, what I did not anticipate was having my ass grazed by my pseudo boyfriend's fingertips. Great. Now, I have a creepy stranger touching my butt, with nowhere to go. He looked at me with a semi-devious look on his face, and said.."hey, you gotta play the part right?" I meekly smiled back at him. Finally, in what felt like a lifetime, our time in line was done, and we were granted our rights to step into the bar. With one foot forward, I walked away from my couples only line boyfriend...and never looked back.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
It's been one week...
...It's been one week since...I've posted a blog. Did you think for a minute that I was going to burst into One Week, by the Bare Naked Ladies? You know how sometimes when you hear a certain song, you can be easily transported in time to whatever you were doing when you first heard that song? I am going to take you back to my transported time moment. The fall of 1998, the first day of highschool--sitting in Mr. Weis's homeroom (E221 to be exact), waiting for AM Wired, LHS's morning tv show to begin. Each morning, as I would soon learn, the show would begin with a popular song. One week must have been big. It was being played on the first day of school. This song had the potential to set the tone for the whole year! And besides, who isn't crazy about a song with lyrics like chick-a-da-china-the-chinese-chicken? The opening credits rolled...One Week would play in the background, and the morning hosts (aka, senior gods) would give us our daily news, and we would never be the same.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Loraine
Over the years I have been called a lot of different names by a lot of different people. You might say that I have accumulated a nickname...or eight. I have loved them all. From Lorna,Loretta,Fishballz, Lorny, Lu-Lu-Wagon, whore,F ishsticks, Fishcakes and Lootie-bell...I really have heard them all. But tonight, I was mistakenly called a new name. LORAINE. I apologize in advance if your mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, best friend, wife, girlfriend or therapist is called Loraine, but it really is a terrible name.
I'm not sure how many of you remember the commercial that aired on TBS a couple of years ago. It was about a man named Raphael, who works in a cubicle. He decorated his cube with RAPHAEL branded items, and his boss still calls him by the wrong name. Tonight that was sort of my life.
In my grad class earlier this evening, we had to complete an assignment in groups. (Who doesn't love awkwardly conversing with people you don't know during a three hour class?) Fred, the man sitting next to me asked me what my name was, I replied Lauren. (I was also wearing my Lauren name necklace). I agree that's not completely fair--it is in cursive, in small letters, and he may not have been looking at it--but c'mon--it was there.
Fred did not hear me correctly, as I would soon find out. We were "thinking, pairing, sharing" and Fred had to introduce me to the class. He introduced me as Loraine. I could have corrected Fred, but I didn't want to embarrass him, and just hoped that nobody heard him. Wishful thinking. Fred said my name every time he addressed me. "What do you think, Loraine?" "Loraine, that's a really good point." Sorry, Loraine, I didn't hear you, could you repeat that Loraine?" Loraine, can you pass me a worksheet, Loraine?" I wanted to die, but only a little. Eventually, I had to leave the room, because I could no longer keep a straight face. I felt like I was in a scene of some kind of really bizarre comedy. Finally, class ended and I could escape the wrath of the wrong name. I walked out the door, but not without a goodbye from my new pal Fred, "Have a great night Loraine!"
I'm not sure how many of you remember the commercial that aired on TBS a couple of years ago. It was about a man named Raphael, who works in a cubicle. He decorated his cube with RAPHAEL branded items, and his boss still calls him by the wrong name. Tonight that was sort of my life.
In my grad class earlier this evening, we had to complete an assignment in groups. (Who doesn't love awkwardly conversing with people you don't know during a three hour class?) Fred, the man sitting next to me asked me what my name was, I replied Lauren. (I was also wearing my Lauren name necklace). I agree that's not completely fair--it is in cursive, in small letters, and he may not have been looking at it--but c'mon--it was there.
Fred did not hear me correctly, as I would soon find out. We were "thinking, pairing, sharing" and Fred had to introduce me to the class. He introduced me as Loraine. I could have corrected Fred, but I didn't want to embarrass him, and just hoped that nobody heard him. Wishful thinking. Fred said my name every time he addressed me. "What do you think, Loraine?" "Loraine, that's a really good point." Sorry, Loraine, I didn't hear you, could you repeat that Loraine?" Loraine, can you pass me a worksheet, Loraine?" I wanted to die, but only a little. Eventually, I had to leave the room, because I could no longer keep a straight face. I felt like I was in a scene of some kind of really bizarre comedy. Finally, class ended and I could escape the wrath of the wrong name. I walked out the door, but not without a goodbye from my new pal Fred, "Have a great night Loraine!"
What is my Life?
I am here...in my classroom while my students are participating in "choice time." Choice time is when the kids choose an activity to partake in for an allotted amount of time. We have just returned from lunch and recess. As a result my classroom smells like a mixture of peanut butter and prepubescent BO. Each student is busy, involved in various activities around the room. One group of students are creating "gloppy's." A gloppy is a small creature made from model magic (Aka..clay made by Crayola). Each gloppy has a name that ends in y. There is Ruby, Judy, and Smiley. There is Club Gloppy, and you have to undergo an oath of loyalty that specifically states that you will not harm the gloppies in any way. I'm actually not kidding.
Additionally, another student Sam, is busy creating the ultimate cruise vacation. I am watching him as he is pouring over the globe, trying to plan the perfect cruise. Simultaneously, one of his "cruise line workers," Paul, is taking a poll of where each student in my class would like to visit on their cruise. Chuck is busy tracing Frankenstein heads, and has an entire page of of just heads. Meanwhile, I am overhearing a conversation about "sexy ladies" that I know I should be stopping, but I just really don't have the energy right now. And, what seems to be in stereo is a new hit song that my students have created..."o.m.g. I like pie. o.m.g. I like pie." ON REPEAT, for the past twelve minutes. Every few minutes Bill farts loudly, Pedro screams when he drops a lego, Chris Brown beating up Rhianna is being debated, and Jane is in the corner laughing like a hyena. What. is. my. life?
Additionally, another student Sam, is busy creating the ultimate cruise vacation. I am watching him as he is pouring over the globe, trying to plan the perfect cruise. Simultaneously, one of his "cruise line workers," Paul, is taking a poll of where each student in my class would like to visit on their cruise. Chuck is busy tracing Frankenstein heads, and has an entire page of of just heads. Meanwhile, I am overhearing a conversation about "sexy ladies" that I know I should be stopping, but I just really don't have the energy right now. And, what seems to be in stereo is a new hit song that my students have created..."o.m.g. I like pie. o.m.g. I like pie." ON REPEAT, for the past twelve minutes. Every few minutes Bill farts loudly, Pedro screams when he drops a lego, Chris Brown beating up Rhianna is being debated, and Jane is in the corner laughing like a hyena. What. is. my. life?
Monday, March 2, 2009
The Bachelor
WHAT. THE. FOCK.
I just spent the past three hours watching Bachelor history being made. Although I read the spoilers weeks ago to this final dramatic conclusion, nothing could have prepared me for how angry, upset, and appalled I feel. (Yes, I am aware that you are not supposed to become this emotionally invested in reality tv). None the less, what Jason did tonight actually made me lose faith in the human race, and makes me hate men...just a little.
Jason Mesnick was the only reason that I watched the Bachelor this season. And why not? He is charming, handsome, a loving father, and most importantly has gotten his heart broken in the past, (on national television). In this final conclusion of what seemed to be a gut wrenching decision, Jason chooses Melissa over Molly. He seemed to have a strong connection to both girls, both girls-- bonafide babes. Personally, I am a big Melissa fan, but I've got bigger fish to fry.
After Jason proposes to Melissa, (after only knowing each other for eight weeks--who smells disaster? The happy couple jumps into the pool in their formal evening wear. (Did anyone else find this scene to be ridiculous?) We are led to believe that Melissa and Jason will have their happy ending. (Did I really think this? No, but on camera this was all tied up very nicely).
Immediately following the show, an "after special" aired, where Jason realizes that he has made the wrong choice. He decides to tell Melissa, his fiance, that he no longer wants to be with her, and that he wants to be with Molly instead. Alright. But give the girl some freaking warning that this is coming. Ya know--like NOT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. (I personally loved when Melissa called him a bastard under her breath.) Minutes after Melissa's exit from the set, it is Molly's turn to come sit in the hot seat. Jason tells Molly that he still loves her, and asks her if they can go out for coffee one night!?!?! Then they proceed to make out on the couch for the next fifteen minutes, while Chris (the show's host) simply sat and watched. It was so sick. Congratulations Jason, you just made every woman in America hate your guts.
I just spent the past three hours watching Bachelor history being made. Although I read the spoilers weeks ago to this final dramatic conclusion, nothing could have prepared me for how angry, upset, and appalled I feel. (Yes, I am aware that you are not supposed to become this emotionally invested in reality tv). None the less, what Jason did tonight actually made me lose faith in the human race, and makes me hate men...just a little.
Jason Mesnick was the only reason that I watched the Bachelor this season. And why not? He is charming, handsome, a loving father, and most importantly has gotten his heart broken in the past, (on national television). In this final conclusion of what seemed to be a gut wrenching decision, Jason chooses Melissa over Molly. He seemed to have a strong connection to both girls, both girls-- bonafide babes. Personally, I am a big Melissa fan, but I've got bigger fish to fry.
After Jason proposes to Melissa, (after only knowing each other for eight weeks--who smells disaster? The happy couple jumps into the pool in their formal evening wear. (Did anyone else find this scene to be ridiculous?) We are led to believe that Melissa and Jason will have their happy ending. (Did I really think this? No, but on camera this was all tied up very nicely).
Immediately following the show, an "after special" aired, where Jason realizes that he has made the wrong choice. He decides to tell Melissa, his fiance, that he no longer wants to be with her, and that he wants to be with Molly instead. Alright. But give the girl some freaking warning that this is coming. Ya know--like NOT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. (I personally loved when Melissa called him a bastard under her breath.) Minutes after Melissa's exit from the set, it is Molly's turn to come sit in the hot seat. Jason tells Molly that he still loves her, and asks her if they can go out for coffee one night!?!?! Then they proceed to make out on the couch for the next fifteen minutes, while Chris (the show's host) simply sat and watched. It was so sick. Congratulations Jason, you just made every woman in America hate your guts.
Snow Days and Bruises.
I take it all back. A few weeks ago I complained in a blog posting that NYC will never get a snow day...Well. After five long years of waiting...THE IMPOSSIBLE HAS HAPPENED!!!! SNOW DAY FOR NEW YORK CITY, BABYYYY!!! On a Monday morning, what a treat! What I ask you, could be better?
I would also like to add that on Saturday night, I soberly tripped on my own heel, causing me to fall down an entire flight of stairs in a crowded bar. The staircase was positioned in front of a large glass window where a bar full of people saw me tumble down thirteen stairs. (Naturally, assuming I was THAT drunk girl who had just fallen down the stairs). A crowd of worried people, including a kind bouncer who said, "mama, mama--you okay?" approached me. The incident was moderately humiliating, and now my left leg has turned a lovely shade of grayishbrown bruise color.
I would also like to add that on Saturday night, I soberly tripped on my own heel, causing me to fall down an entire flight of stairs in a crowded bar. The staircase was positioned in front of a large glass window where a bar full of people saw me tumble down thirteen stairs. (Naturally, assuming I was THAT drunk girl who had just fallen down the stairs). A crowd of worried people, including a kind bouncer who said, "mama, mama--you okay?" approached me. The incident was moderately humiliating, and now my left leg has turned a lovely shade of grayishbrown bruise color.
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