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.