Omg,Omg,Omg,Omg,Omg. I have just arrived back to my classroom after watching the 3rd and 4th grade talent show. It. was. not. okay. And, also it was. It was perfect, hilarious, and everything that is right in the world about slightly special children. Written on the walls, in huge cut-out letters were the words, "You've Got Talent!" One of my favorite teacher-friends, Fran was the MC, and she was amazing. She motivated that crowed like none other. After each act completed their "talent," the crowd would shout, "YOU'VE GOT TALENT," right back at the performers. (It gave me the chills, but in a good way). I had a smile glued to my face the entire show, because each act had bits of unintentional hilarity built in, and it was just plain old adorable. Here are some of my favorite highlights from the show. Enjoy.
1. Jack swung a baseball bat, while Take Me Out To The Ball Game played in the background. Yes. That is all that he did for the entire duration of the seven minute song. He just stood there, swinging his bat. Unintentional bit of hilarity: The entire act, as well as his "performing" with his body facing away from the audience.
2. Emily's Eiffel tower built out of cupcakes. This was actually a beautiful work of art, and looked delicious.
3. A "stand-up" comedy routine about cheese. Everything about this was unintentionally funny.
4. A dance performance by Ali, Rachel, Samantha and Tara to the Cotton Eyed Joe. (I mostly enjoyed this, because the four girls coordinated their outfits to match in plaid. (And, because it reminded me of dancing to the Cotton Eyed Joe at bar and bat-mitzvahs in the 7th grade).
5. Jeffrey created a Mexican meal, (burritos, quesadillas and tacos) entirely out of colored clay, and explained this to the audience.
6. Four students performed "The Limbo." Need I say more?
7. Julie sang a soulful song with the lyrics, "Boy, you won't wait for me tonight, you go and find your woman." Within the first two notes of her singing, someone snickered in the audience. She ran off the stage, lyrics flung behind her, screaming, "I'll never perform again, never!!"
8. Devil-sticks made a comeback in a routine done by Matt and Jon. Unintentional Bit of Hilarity: Matt and Jon's lack of coordination.
Overall, the Talent Show was a smashing success. And, I'm not sure who had more fun, the teachers or the students. Though, I'm pretty sure that I could venture a guess...
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Graduation Day
I don't cry very often. However, there are four life events that are guaranteed to make me cry. 1). The last episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 (You don't want to know how many times I've watched it) 2). The last day of sleep away camp (and subsequently the next two weeks that follow) 3). Watching a father walk his daughter down the aisle at her wedding (especially when that daughter is my friend). And, 4). Graduations. Both in real life and on television. Graduations tug at a piece of my soul that I didn't know was there. I know that graduation can be a time filled with hope, promise and excitement. But graduations also symbolize an ending. And for me, that has always been a tough pill to swallow. (I know--you don't say).
In two weeks, I am going to the University of Massachusetts to watch my younger sister graduate from college. Scary. Growing up, Heather and I were four grades apart, (and haven't been in school together since I was in the 5th grade). But, in real life years--we're almost five apart. I know that in the grand scheme of things this is not a very big age difference. But growing up, at times, our age difference, felt massive. It is hard for me to comprehend that Heather is a real person, (as are all of her friends). As the youngest of three, Heather will always be the baby of our family.
For so long, Heather (better known as Heatzbabi or Little Baby Fatt Face) was our pet. She was our mascot. She was this adorable little peanut, who you just wanted to squeeze. If you knew Heaty when she was younger, then you know the way her voice used to sound. (BGbabe does a pretty great impersonation). "War" is what she called me. (That's Laur-- in case you weren't sure, because someone couldn't pronounce their L's until they were nine). Heaty was always teeny tiny. (She still is). As an eight year old, she looked about four. (Now her teeny-tininess translates to killer bod).
Heatzbabi was my roommate (in a very small room) for seventeen years, (Ages 5-22). Seventy-nine percent of the time we lived together in a peaceful co-existence. But we had our moments too. When we were little, we had tea parties with our dolls in our room. Did I used to trick her into playing a game called "check" that forced her to clean our room? Yes. (Did my OCD kick in at early age?) Why, sure! Did I once try to deflate her little baby pot belly with a basketball pump? Okay, so sioux me. Did we once take part in an organized pie fight in our kitchen set up by our mom? And are there pictures to prove this? Sadly, the answer is yes. Did we stay up late on school nights discussing 3rd base? Duh. I was her older sister, I had to prepare her for what was to come. Did Jeremy (Judy) and I force her to sit bitch on every car ride ever, of her entire life, telling her that she had to, because she was "the smallest?" Guilty as charged.
It's hard to believe that in a couple of months, Little Baby-Fattface will enter the working world, (and will probably move to Murray Hill). It's hard to believe, because I am still having trouble comprehending that it has been almost four years to the day since my own graduation. It's funny...when I graduated from college, (and high school) I thought that my life was actually over. (I've always had a flare for the dramatics). The night that I graduated from college, my friends and I went to Charlie O's (our favorite bar), sat around a table and cried. And, when I say, "my friends" I do actually mean my manliest male friends. I remember feeling as though I was losing everything, and gaining nothing. The emptiness that I felt was overwhelming. After packing up the college home that I had loved, (Ocean View for only $450 a month...those were the days). I drove home to New Jersey. I listened to Daniel Powter's "Had a Bad Day" on repeat, for THREE HOURS, I cried myself straight through the state of Connecticut.
I thought that my life would never be the same again. And ya know what? It wasn't. There is no time like college. When else in your life can you sleep until two on a weekday, live with five of your friends, binge drink six nights a week, and have virtually no responsibilities? However, one can only live that lifestyle for so long before it starts to take a toll on your body. I feel happy and settled (and much healthier) in my life now, in ways that the twenty-two year old me could never have even imagined. I have made my home in NYC amongst so many of my greatest friends, and I still get to live like a college kid (on the weekend anyway).
Will I cry watching my sister graduate from college? Absolutely. But, do I know that she'll be just fine, and enjoy life post college? Of course. So, to Heaty--who I know is feeling sad--smile, babe. There is life after college, and a pretty good one too.
In two weeks, I am going to the University of Massachusetts to watch my younger sister graduate from college. Scary. Growing up, Heather and I were four grades apart, (and haven't been in school together since I was in the 5th grade). But, in real life years--we're almost five apart. I know that in the grand scheme of things this is not a very big age difference. But growing up, at times, our age difference, felt massive. It is hard for me to comprehend that Heather is a real person, (as are all of her friends). As the youngest of three, Heather will always be the baby of our family.
For so long, Heather (better known as Heatzbabi or Little Baby Fatt Face) was our pet. She was our mascot. She was this adorable little peanut, who you just wanted to squeeze. If you knew Heaty when she was younger, then you know the way her voice used to sound. (BGbabe does a pretty great impersonation). "War" is what she called me. (That's Laur-- in case you weren't sure, because someone couldn't pronounce their L's until they were nine). Heaty was always teeny tiny. (She still is). As an eight year old, she looked about four. (Now her teeny-tininess translates to killer bod).
Heatzbabi was my roommate (in a very small room) for seventeen years, (Ages 5-22). Seventy-nine percent of the time we lived together in a peaceful co-existence. But we had our moments too. When we were little, we had tea parties with our dolls in our room. Did I used to trick her into playing a game called "check" that forced her to clean our room? Yes. (Did my OCD kick in at early age?) Why, sure! Did I once try to deflate her little baby pot belly with a basketball pump? Okay, so sioux me. Did we once take part in an organized pie fight in our kitchen set up by our mom? And are there pictures to prove this? Sadly, the answer is yes. Did we stay up late on school nights discussing 3rd base? Duh. I was her older sister, I had to prepare her for what was to come. Did Jeremy (Judy) and I force her to sit bitch on every car ride ever, of her entire life, telling her that she had to, because she was "the smallest?" Guilty as charged.
It's hard to believe that in a couple of months, Little Baby-Fattface will enter the working world, (and will probably move to Murray Hill). It's hard to believe, because I am still having trouble comprehending that it has been almost four years to the day since my own graduation. It's funny...when I graduated from college, (and high school) I thought that my life was actually over. (I've always had a flare for the dramatics). The night that I graduated from college, my friends and I went to Charlie O's (our favorite bar), sat around a table and cried. And, when I say, "my friends" I do actually mean my manliest male friends. I remember feeling as though I was losing everything, and gaining nothing. The emptiness that I felt was overwhelming. After packing up the college home that I had loved, (Ocean View for only $450 a month...those were the days). I drove home to New Jersey. I listened to Daniel Powter's "Had a Bad Day" on repeat, for THREE HOURS, I cried myself straight through the state of Connecticut.
I thought that my life would never be the same again. And ya know what? It wasn't. There is no time like college. When else in your life can you sleep until two on a weekday, live with five of your friends, binge drink six nights a week, and have virtually no responsibilities? However, one can only live that lifestyle for so long before it starts to take a toll on your body. I feel happy and settled (and much healthier) in my life now, in ways that the twenty-two year old me could never have even imagined. I have made my home in NYC amongst so many of my greatest friends, and I still get to live like a college kid (on the weekend anyway).
Will I cry watching my sister graduate from college? Absolutely. But, do I know that she'll be just fine, and enjoy life post college? Of course. So, to Heaty--who I know is feeling sad--smile, babe. There is life after college, and a pretty good one too.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Speed Date
I am about to share something with all of you, that I should probably keep to myself. Correction: I should definitely keep to myself. But when have I ever kept anything to myself? That's right. Never. Allow me to set the stage...
It all began on Thursday night when Little Mimi Girl (that's my mom) called me on the telephone. Just some background on Little Mimi's frame of mind; all of her friends are beginning to become grandparents, (and while she is not quite ready for that), I think that she knows that at the rate that my siblings and I are going--grandparenthood is going to be far, far into the future. My mom, is constantly telling me how ______________(insert positive adjective here) I am. (She's my # 1 fan), and therefore thinks that it is some sort of human travesty that I don't have a boyfriend.
Little Mimi asks me to join Jdate every day (No, mom). Anytime that I mention a boy to her, I always feel regretful afterwards. And that is because, each day my mom will call me and ask me, "So, did you hear from______ (insert boy's name here) today?" (No, mom). I adore my mom, and I know that this interest is out of love, but lay off a little, okay?
On Thursday night Mimi really hit an all time low, and suggested that I try... speed dating!?!? At first I laughed at her, and simply said, "hell no." But then, I began to take her offer a bit more seriously. I began to think what is the worst that can happen if I try speed dating? Absolutely nothing. At best, I meet someone that I actually like. At worst, I don't meet anyone that I like, and I still get a blog entry out of it. My mom even suggested that I ask my friend Becky (Bgbabe--Wingwoman Extraordinaire) to speed-date along with me.
After hanging up the phone with Little Mimi, I called my Becca Girl right away. It took no arm twisting on her part, just a lot of laughing, asking each other if this was nuts, and well...Becky was in! We got down to work right away, and googled speed dating in NYC. Three sights came up; Latin Speed Dating, Indian Speed Dating, and Jewish Speed Dating. Neither Becky or I are picky about religion, but given our other options--Jewish Speed Dating it is! We signed up and were all set for Sunday night Jewish speed dating. After all, what else did I have to do on a Sunday night besides for cry that my weekend was over?
On the cab to the bar, Becky and I both felt like we wanted throw up. Neither of us are desperate, and both of us are happy, independent women. (All the women, who independent--throw your hands up at me!) Why were we putting ourselves through this unnecessary torture? Upon entrance into the bar, we immediately ordered drinks (Bacaaadi for me, and a glass of wine for BG). Our nerves were instantly calmed by the booze, and by the one seemingly normal male in the bar who took a liking to the both of us. Names and life stories were exchanged, and soon a bond was formed.
For those of you who have never participated in speed dating (which I'm assuming is the majority of my blog readers), speed dating is actually quite hilarious. Each person is given a sheet of paper. After you have a "date" with someone you write their name down if you like them. Translation: If you find your date to be mildly to moderately attractive, a name is written down. Overall, the girls of speed-date, appeared to look "normal." Unfortunately for me, the same could not be said about the male speed daters.
Each "date" lasts for five minutes. A speed-date representative stands in the middle of the bar yelling, "Five minutes are up--switch!" This time constraint is both a positive and a negative. With some of my "dates," the fifth minute marked the beginning of my stride. And for other dates, five minutes felt like an actual eternity. (Also, please do note that this event ranged from ages 23-38). Some of my "dates" were born in 1972. If you were actually in high school when 90210 aired, then you are probably a bit too old for me.
In the end, I deemed the night a success. Why? I think I got a pretty good blog out of the night,(if I do say so myself). More importantly, this experience became another to add to my arsenal of bizarre dating triumphs and tribulations. My night ended with dinner with one of my fellow male speed daters. He was an actor, and a bar-mitzvah dancer on the side. (An obvious aside: I wanted to be a bat-mitzvah dancer my whole life). However, he also conveniently "forgot" his wallet...hmm...will there be another speed date in my future? Chances are no...but only time will tell.
It all began on Thursday night when Little Mimi Girl (that's my mom) called me on the telephone. Just some background on Little Mimi's frame of mind; all of her friends are beginning to become grandparents, (and while she is not quite ready for that), I think that she knows that at the rate that my siblings and I are going--grandparenthood is going to be far, far into the future. My mom, is constantly telling me how ______________(insert positive adjective here) I am. (She's my # 1 fan), and therefore thinks that it is some sort of human travesty that I don't have a boyfriend.
Little Mimi asks me to join Jdate every day (No, mom). Anytime that I mention a boy to her, I always feel regretful afterwards. And that is because, each day my mom will call me and ask me, "So, did you hear from______ (insert boy's name here) today?" (No, mom). I adore my mom, and I know that this interest is out of love, but lay off a little, okay?
On Thursday night Mimi really hit an all time low, and suggested that I try... speed dating!?!? At first I laughed at her, and simply said, "hell no." But then, I began to take her offer a bit more seriously. I began to think what is the worst that can happen if I try speed dating? Absolutely nothing. At best, I meet someone that I actually like. At worst, I don't meet anyone that I like, and I still get a blog entry out of it. My mom even suggested that I ask my friend Becky (Bgbabe--Wingwoman Extraordinaire) to speed-date along with me.
After hanging up the phone with Little Mimi, I called my Becca Girl right away. It took no arm twisting on her part, just a lot of laughing, asking each other if this was nuts, and well...Becky was in! We got down to work right away, and googled speed dating in NYC. Three sights came up; Latin Speed Dating, Indian Speed Dating, and Jewish Speed Dating. Neither Becky or I are picky about religion, but given our other options--Jewish Speed Dating it is! We signed up and were all set for Sunday night Jewish speed dating. After all, what else did I have to do on a Sunday night besides for cry that my weekend was over?
On the cab to the bar, Becky and I both felt like we wanted throw up. Neither of us are desperate, and both of us are happy, independent women. (All the women, who independent--throw your hands up at me!) Why were we putting ourselves through this unnecessary torture? Upon entrance into the bar, we immediately ordered drinks (Bacaaadi for me, and a glass of wine for BG). Our nerves were instantly calmed by the booze, and by the one seemingly normal male in the bar who took a liking to the both of us. Names and life stories were exchanged, and soon a bond was formed.
For those of you who have never participated in speed dating (which I'm assuming is the majority of my blog readers), speed dating is actually quite hilarious. Each person is given a sheet of paper. After you have a "date" with someone you write their name down if you like them. Translation: If you find your date to be mildly to moderately attractive, a name is written down. Overall, the girls of speed-date, appeared to look "normal." Unfortunately for me, the same could not be said about the male speed daters.
Each "date" lasts for five minutes. A speed-date representative stands in the middle of the bar yelling, "Five minutes are up--switch!" This time constraint is both a positive and a negative. With some of my "dates," the fifth minute marked the beginning of my stride. And for other dates, five minutes felt like an actual eternity. (Also, please do note that this event ranged from ages 23-38). Some of my "dates" were born in 1972. If you were actually in high school when 90210 aired, then you are probably a bit too old for me.
In the end, I deemed the night a success. Why? I think I got a pretty good blog out of the night,(if I do say so myself). More importantly, this experience became another to add to my arsenal of bizarre dating triumphs and tribulations. My night ended with dinner with one of my fellow male speed daters. He was an actor, and a bar-mitzvah dancer on the side. (An obvious aside: I wanted to be a bat-mitzvah dancer my whole life). However, he also conveniently "forgot" his wallet...hmm...will there be another speed date in my future? Chances are no...but only time will tell.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Earth Day
Long ago, (four years to be exact) before I began my career as a teacher, the sight of small children working, playing, laughing, and learning together made my heart grow warm and fuzzy. I couldn't wait to jump right into the pool of education! The sound of children's laughter was like music to my ears.
Well, here I am four years later...and now when I see large groups of children heading my way, I run... in the exact opposite direction. Okay, so maybe teaching has slightly jaded my perspective of children. But--hey, you try spending 165 days a year with the same group of eight year olds who whine, tattletale and pick their noses like it's nobodies business. Just like family, I have grown to love them, but just the same, I also want to hit a few of them from time to time.
Today in honor of Earth Day, (Earth Day was the worst day--now we sip champagne when we're thirsty?) Sorry--my inner jukebox beckoned, the 3rd and 4th grades had an Earth Day trash cleanup. Again, the Lauren of yesteryear would have seen children working together to do good for the earth, and smiled. However, the Lauren of 2010 is absolutely exhausted. Who knew a walk around the block could be so mentally debilitating?
My students were fighting over who got to pick up which garbage, and place it in their individual trash bag. Really?! Shut the fuck up, and pick up the god damn trash. Papa John's menus were scattered across the streets. One student, with the menu in his hand, took out his cell phone and tried to place a delivery order. Sorry Charlie, cell phone confiscated. In the background, Sophie asked why we couldn't order pizza from Papa Joans.
Nick picked up a Trojan condom wrapper. Nick asked, "What's a trog-gen?" I told Nick that I had no idea. And what could have even been better? There was a used condom on the ground. Alexis picked up the condom (in her gloved hand), and asked me what it was. I said, "Ohhh Alexis, this is an ancient coin holder. Now let's throw it away, okay?" And so, our day continued, children helping the earth, children picking up litter, and children arguing over who got to throw out the ancient coin holder in their individual trash bag.
Well, here I am four years later...and now when I see large groups of children heading my way, I run... in the exact opposite direction. Okay, so maybe teaching has slightly jaded my perspective of children. But--hey, you try spending 165 days a year with the same group of eight year olds who whine, tattletale and pick their noses like it's nobodies business. Just like family, I have grown to love them, but just the same, I also want to hit a few of them from time to time.
Today in honor of Earth Day, (Earth Day was the worst day--now we sip champagne when we're thirsty?) Sorry--my inner jukebox beckoned, the 3rd and 4th grades had an Earth Day trash cleanup. Again, the Lauren of yesteryear would have seen children working together to do good for the earth, and smiled. However, the Lauren of 2010 is absolutely exhausted. Who knew a walk around the block could be so mentally debilitating?
My students were fighting over who got to pick up which garbage, and place it in their individual trash bag. Really?! Shut the fuck up, and pick up the god damn trash. Papa John's menus were scattered across the streets. One student, with the menu in his hand, took out his cell phone and tried to place a delivery order. Sorry Charlie, cell phone confiscated. In the background, Sophie asked why we couldn't order pizza from Papa Joans.
Nick picked up a Trojan condom wrapper. Nick asked, "What's a trog-gen?" I told Nick that I had no idea. And what could have even been better? There was a used condom on the ground. Alexis picked up the condom (in her gloved hand), and asked me what it was. I said, "Ohhh Alexis, this is an ancient coin holder. Now let's throw it away, okay?" And so, our day continued, children helping the earth, children picking up litter, and children arguing over who got to throw out the ancient coin holder in their individual trash bag.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
90210 TRIVIA CHAMPS!!!
Tonight may have been the single greatest night of my life. I know, I know--I make this statement a lot. But this time, I almost mean it. Go ahead, and congratulate me on my victory as a Beverly Hills 90210 trivia champ. The amount of obscure knowledge that I have accumulated over the years about this 90's television phenomenon borderlines on sickening, ridiculous and insane. But tonight, at long last-- all of that seemingly useless information was finally put to good use. Hallelujah!
I entered a 90210 trivia contest this evening at Metro53. I also made approximately twenty-seven new enemies this evening. (Aka...everyone else at the bar). Is it my fault that after each answer I got correct, I had to clap, scream, cheer and shimmy (mostly at myself)? I was solid as a rock, whipping out answers like the best of them, so don't stop me now! (Cause we're having a good time).
However, I did not work alone--and have to give credit, where credit is due. I had a fantastic team with me. There's Syd, one of my oldest Camp Schodack friends, who came prepared in her DONNA MARTIN GRADUATES jean jacket. Syd brought her friend Lauren too. Then came Dena, (Rweissypantz's college bestie), another die-hard fan, who sent me practice trivia questions that I completed all day at school when I should have been, ya know, teaching. Galzbabi came as well, but mostly just to make fun of me. Her boyfriend came--just in the nick of time, to take a picture of my tear-stained face after we were announced victorious. YES, I actually cried little girl tears when The New Evolution (our team name--season five reference, anyone? ) was announced as the winner of this trivia challenge.
The irony in all of this is, that I am NOT a competitive person in the slightest. In fact, in high school when my lacrosse coach asked my teammates and I what we wanted from our season, most girls answered with personal goals for themselves, as well as wins for our team. But me? Well, I responded with, "I just want our team to be best friends." Needless to say, my coach didn't care too much for me after I made that comment. I am not competitive...Except for when it comes to 90210 trivia. I am reveling in the glory of a fantastic win. 68 out of 70 questions correct! Okay, I admit--we did not get a perfect score--(so, sioux me). But I'll take it. And, oh...there's just one more thing, what's the prize you ask? We won a free happy hour, (food and drink) for all of our friends. Your welcome.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Birthday Party
Without birthday parties to attend each and every weekend, I'm actually not sure that I'd have any sort of social life. If there were no weekend bar birthday parties, I would actually have to use my brain, and think of bars to go to on my own, instead of having my night's whereabouts dictated by a facebook invite. That's a scary thought. And, even if I don't have a friends birthday party to attend, I somehow manage to end up at a friend's girlfriend's cousin's roommate's bar birthday party just the same.
This weekend was no different, and was birthday party jam packed. Friday night was one of my Camp Schodack bestie's, Meelzybabe's birthday party at The Woods in Brooklyn, and--what a blast! (Okay you guys, I admit it--I had fun in Brooklyn. Now get off my back).
So, you see--I often tend to drink like it's my birthday on best friends' birthdays. Between my love of all birthdays mentality, my flask of bacaaardi, and a $5 dolla beer and shot combo that the bar was offering, well--I never had a fighting chance. The bar's most charming perk was it's outdoor space, that housed an actual TACO TRUCK. I don't remember much about Friday night, but I do know this: At three am, Lilly, Nate and I devoured the most amazing chicken tacos of our lives in the back corner of the bar. On my way home from Brooklyn, I asked the cab driver to drop me off five blocks away from my apartment so that I could scower my own neighborhood in hopes of finding yet another chicken taco. My attempts proved to be unsuccessful. I did not find a chicken taco, and instead clomped around in high heels for an extra twenty minutes. Looks like, I was the big loser in all of this.
On Saturday night, (yet another birthday party), I attended the birthday party of a highschool friend. A friend of mine at the party, let's call him Mike--(because well, that's actually his name), asked me what he could do to get a shoutout in my blog. I told him that he'd have to do something that I would consider to be blog-worthy."Okay," Mike said as he appeared to be thinking this over...when seemingly out of nowhere Mike "meatball licked" my face. I don't even know what that means. I just know that my left cheek was covered in saliva. Was having my face licked revolting? Absolutely. Did it earn Mike an honorable mention in my blog? Of course.
As always, late on a Sunday afternoon, I find myself longing for another weekend once more, as I am given the glum opportunity of living five days for two. But atleast, I know that if all else fails, I have a birthday party (or eight) to look forward to next weekend.
This weekend was no different, and was birthday party jam packed. Friday night was one of my Camp Schodack bestie's, Meelzybabe's birthday party at The Woods in Brooklyn, and--what a blast! (Okay you guys, I admit it--I had fun in Brooklyn. Now get off my back).
So, you see--I often tend to drink like it's my birthday on best friends' birthdays. Between my love of all birthdays mentality, my flask of bacaaardi, and a $5 dolla beer and shot combo that the bar was offering, well--I never had a fighting chance. The bar's most charming perk was it's outdoor space, that housed an actual TACO TRUCK. I don't remember much about Friday night, but I do know this: At three am, Lilly, Nate and I devoured the most amazing chicken tacos of our lives in the back corner of the bar. On my way home from Brooklyn, I asked the cab driver to drop me off five blocks away from my apartment so that I could scower my own neighborhood in hopes of finding yet another chicken taco. My attempts proved to be unsuccessful. I did not find a chicken taco, and instead clomped around in high heels for an extra twenty minutes. Looks like, I was the big loser in all of this.
On Saturday night, (yet another birthday party), I attended the birthday party of a highschool friend. A friend of mine at the party, let's call him Mike--(because well, that's actually his name), asked me what he could do to get a shoutout in my blog. I told him that he'd have to do something that I would consider to be blog-worthy."Okay," Mike said as he appeared to be thinking this over...when seemingly out of nowhere Mike "meatball licked" my face. I don't even know what that means. I just know that my left cheek was covered in saliva. Was having my face licked revolting? Absolutely. Did it earn Mike an honorable mention in my blog? Of course.
As always, late on a Sunday afternoon, I find myself longing for another weekend once more, as I am given the glum opportunity of living five days for two. But atleast, I know that if all else fails, I have a birthday party (or eight) to look forward to next weekend.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
COLLEGE
In the reading class that I teach, my students are currently reading the biography of Helen Keller. The kids have been in absolute awe of her. They don't understand how such a person could exist, how Helen Keller functioned in life, and how she went on to achieve all of her amazing accomplishments. (To tell you the truth, neither can I).
Today we read aloud the chapter where Helen Keller goes to college. Before beginning the chapter, I asked my students to raise their hand and tell me anything that they knew about college. (Mostly for my own amusement). Below you will find some excerpts from eight year olds on college life.
In college, you can go to the movies whenever you want, and you don't have to ask a grown-up.
In college, you get to play twister with your friends.
In college you get to drink beer. (Gus said this, and immediately followed it with...)
Oh! And in college you can kiss as many girls as you want!!
In college you can wear a sweatshirt that says COLLEGE.
In college you have to set your own alarm clock, because your mom can't wake you up.
In college, you have to mow your own lawn. (?????)
In college you get eighty hours of homework a night. (Sophie, you do know that there aren't actually eighty hours in a single day, right?)
And, lastly for all those deep thinkers..."College is like a school, for sort of grown-ups. Cause like, college people are tall, but still sometimes need help with their homework."
Today we read aloud the chapter where Helen Keller goes to college. Before beginning the chapter, I asked my students to raise their hand and tell me anything that they knew about college. (Mostly for my own amusement). Below you will find some excerpts from eight year olds on college life.
In college, you can go to the movies whenever you want, and you don't have to ask a grown-up.
In college, you get to play twister with your friends.
In college you get to drink beer. (Gus said this, and immediately followed it with...)
Oh! And in college you can kiss as many girls as you want!!
In college you can wear a sweatshirt that says COLLEGE.
In college you have to set your own alarm clock, because your mom can't wake you up.
In college, you have to mow your own lawn. (?????)
In college you get eighty hours of homework a night. (Sophie, you do know that there aren't actually eighty hours in a single day, right?)
And, lastly for all those deep thinkers..."College is like a school, for sort of grown-ups. Cause like, college people are tall, but still sometimes need help with their homework."
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Asian Tranny
I know, this is a really clever blog title. However, today I learned that there is an Asian tranny living in my apartment building. No such discovery could have made me happier on a Saturday afternoon. (Also, beware as nothing about this blog entry will be politically correct). This woMAN is the type of person that you really can't miss. She is one of those apartment building regulars, who I see all the time going to and fro. I have even spotted her some mornings waiting for the number six train.
Asian tranny has long hair that looks similar to a horses mane--hair that falls to her hips. She wears an aggressive amount of make-up, morning, noon and night. She is always wearing something extremely low-cut, and can usually be found in four inch stiletto heels. She is broad, built like a line backer, and her calves are rather manly.
I walked into my building late this afternoon after having lunch with Rweissypantz, just as my Asian tranny was stepping off the elevator. Standing next to me were two hunk-o-rama soccer players who were trying their best to stifle their laughter. The three of us got onto the elevator, the door closed, and they both burst out laughing.
Hunk # 1 turned to me and said, "Do you see that Asian woman around a lot, in our building?" I said, "Yes, I do--I see her all the time." "Well, do you want to know something interesting about her? Hunk # 1 asked. At this point, Hunk # 2 said, "Dude--you're such a dick." To which I replied, "Well now you have to tell me." They both blurted out (like verbal diarrhea)--"She's a man!!" I asked if they were fucking with me and they assured me (as perfect strangers) that they were telling me the truth about her gender. I stayed on the elevator past my 4th floor stop, to hear how they knew she was actually a man. Their story made sense, and now so did everything else. Her look, her walk, her facial hair (just kidding). She really was a man. In the words of Nelly Furtado, Ja Branz, Nate Bish, BGbabe Cohen, and manlady himself...She's a manlady, make you work hard, make you sweat hard...
Asian tranny has long hair that looks similar to a horses mane--hair that falls to her hips. She wears an aggressive amount of make-up, morning, noon and night. She is always wearing something extremely low-cut, and can usually be found in four inch stiletto heels. She is broad, built like a line backer, and her calves are rather manly.
I walked into my building late this afternoon after having lunch with Rweissypantz, just as my Asian tranny was stepping off the elevator. Standing next to me were two hunk-o-rama soccer players who were trying their best to stifle their laughter. The three of us got onto the elevator, the door closed, and they both burst out laughing.
Hunk # 1 turned to me and said, "Do you see that Asian woman around a lot, in our building?" I said, "Yes, I do--I see her all the time." "Well, do you want to know something interesting about her? Hunk # 1 asked. At this point, Hunk # 2 said, "Dude--you're such a dick." To which I replied, "Well now you have to tell me." They both blurted out (like verbal diarrhea)--"She's a man!!" I asked if they were fucking with me and they assured me (as perfect strangers) that they were telling me the truth about her gender. I stayed on the elevator past my 4th floor stop, to hear how they knew she was actually a man. Their story made sense, and now so did everything else. Her look, her walk, her facial hair (just kidding). She really was a man. In the words of Nelly Furtado, Ja Branz, Nate Bish, BGbabe Cohen, and manlady himself...She's a manlady, make you work hard, make you sweat hard...
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Bradley Coopa
Contrary to popular belief, I can actually be quite girly sometimes. I care about my hair, my clothes, and boyyyys. And, you don't even want to know how long it takes me to get ready to go out at night. However, one thing that is not typically girl-like of me is that I am not ga-ga, googly eyed celebrity obsessed. Sure, I read US Weekly every now and then, and I will always have a special spot in my heart for 90's celebs who are dead to Hollywood. (ie: the entire cast of 90210, most specifically--Luke Perry of course).
But, it wasn't until today, when I realized that I am a 100 percent, red-blooded American girl. I was walking down Park Avenue, when I noticed a movie being filmed. In NYC, there are always movies being filmed, and I never seem to recognize any of the actors in them. I usually just feel annoyed by the crowds of people walking ahead of me, holding up pedestrian traffic.
Over the blare of Faded By Soul Decision on my ipod, I heard someone cry out, "Bradley!" Could it be? I looked up--and there he was. The most breathtakingly beautiful man that I have ever seen in real life; Bradley Cooper. My love for him began after I saw the Hangover, and he walked into that Vegas suite in his all black suit. Ladies: You know what I'm talking about. (Hubba-hubba). I stopped. Star struck. Bradley Cooper was five feet away from me, and he was actual perfection. He was wearing a suit, (and he looked dang good). I stood watching him until I was ushered away by filming personnel. I RAN home, (in my dress and flip-flops), changed my clothes, marked my sighting as both my ghcat and facebook status, put on my sneakers--and took a little jog back down to 18th and Park, to get one more good look at my favorite celebrity dreamboat.
But, it wasn't until today, when I realized that I am a 100 percent, red-blooded American girl. I was walking down Park Avenue, when I noticed a movie being filmed. In NYC, there are always movies being filmed, and I never seem to recognize any of the actors in them. I usually just feel annoyed by the crowds of people walking ahead of me, holding up pedestrian traffic.
Over the blare of Faded By Soul Decision on my ipod, I heard someone cry out, "Bradley!" Could it be? I looked up--and there he was. The most breathtakingly beautiful man that I have ever seen in real life; Bradley Cooper. My love for him began after I saw the Hangover, and he walked into that Vegas suite in his all black suit. Ladies: You know what I'm talking about. (Hubba-hubba). I stopped. Star struck. Bradley Cooper was five feet away from me, and he was actual perfection. He was wearing a suit, (and he looked dang good). I stood watching him until I was ushered away by filming personnel. I RAN home, (in my dress and flip-flops), changed my clothes, marked my sighting as both my ghcat and facebook status, put on my sneakers--and took a little jog back down to 18th and Park, to get one more good look at my favorite celebrity dreamboat.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Union Square Culture
Have you ever noticed the culture that co-exists with Union Square? Or why is it that the most interesting breed of humans all seem to convene there, together each day?
Today, Becky and I continued our crazaaay SprInG bReAk catching some rays in Union Square, (and simultaneously texting the shit out of Jimmytown O'Halloran--love ya Jimmy!)
(An aside: I began my beautiful spring day by first stopping for some lunch at McDonald's, (I'm soooo healthy), While in McDonald's, I ran into one of my students--who was like a deer in headlights. He was having trouble functioning--seeing me-- his teacher, outside of school...at McDonalds. When I asked him what he did over his vacation, he replied with, "Nothing. Oh! (he said excitedly), I went to my great-grandma's funeral!")
Sitting outside, Becky and I watched all the different people around us. Sure, there were some "normal" people there on their lunch break, and, there may have even been some crazy-ass Spring Breakers there just like us. (Just kidding). But also present were the hacky-sack players culture. The bubble blowing, dancing hippie culture, The"Free Hugs" sign carrier culture, The musical performer culture, the puppeteer culture, the adults dressed in costume culture, the small, awkward children playing tag culture, and my favorite (Perhaps you've seen him) A small tanned-skin man, wearing a button-down t-shirt, unbuttoned to his belly-button.(Culture). He usually wears some sort of beanie, and swaggers back and forth to the beat of his own drum, (literally).
Last spring, this man became a staple of our Union Square crew. My friends and I would often convene in Union Square to hang out outside on a beautiful day. Regardless of whether we were just a group of girls, or had a group of guys with us too, this man was never far. And that is mostly because, he was checking out my friend Shelby's rack. Don't misunderstand me: Shelby has great tits, but no matter what she wore (She could have been wearing a turtleneck), or what position she was sat in...there he was too--his eyes pointed dead center at her ta-ta's. It got to a point of such great discomfort, that we would need to re-locate and move spots. And, no matter where we went--there he was. His eyes burning two giant holes right through her chest. Without fail, each weekend this tanned skin man was there too. Just one of the gang!
One weekday last summer, I brought my new book with me, entitled, Loose Girl-A Memoir of Promiscuity, (Go ahead, and judge me--the cashier at Barnes and Noble did) to read with me in the park. I sat nestled in a cozy part of the grass in Union Square. I had my blanket out, and some fresh fruit with me. I was enjoying the gorgeous day, when I too felt eyes boaring into my soul. At first, I thought maybe someone else had caught a glance at the title of my book, but no--I was mistaken. When I looked up, there he was--our favorite Union Square staple, in his unbuttoned shirt, smiling his toothless grin at me. I smiled back, (with all my teeth), politely gathered my things, and left. Until we meet again...
Today, Becky and I continued our crazaaay SprInG bReAk catching some rays in Union Square, (and simultaneously texting the shit out of Jimmytown O'Halloran--love ya Jimmy!)
(An aside: I began my beautiful spring day by first stopping for some lunch at McDonald's, (I'm soooo healthy), While in McDonald's, I ran into one of my students--who was like a deer in headlights. He was having trouble functioning--seeing me-- his teacher, outside of school...at McDonalds. When I asked him what he did over his vacation, he replied with, "Nothing. Oh! (he said excitedly), I went to my great-grandma's funeral!")
Sitting outside, Becky and I watched all the different people around us. Sure, there were some "normal" people there on their lunch break, and, there may have even been some crazy-ass Spring Breakers there just like us. (Just kidding). But also present were the hacky-sack players culture. The bubble blowing, dancing hippie culture, The"Free Hugs" sign carrier culture, The musical performer culture, the puppeteer culture, the adults dressed in costume culture, the small, awkward children playing tag culture, and my favorite (Perhaps you've seen him) A small tanned-skin man, wearing a button-down t-shirt, unbuttoned to his belly-button.(Culture). He usually wears some sort of beanie, and swaggers back and forth to the beat of his own drum, (literally).
Last spring, this man became a staple of our Union Square crew. My friends and I would often convene in Union Square to hang out outside on a beautiful day. Regardless of whether we were just a group of girls, or had a group of guys with us too, this man was never far. And that is mostly because, he was checking out my friend Shelby's rack. Don't misunderstand me: Shelby has great tits, but no matter what she wore (She could have been wearing a turtleneck), or what position she was sat in...there he was too--his eyes pointed dead center at her ta-ta's. It got to a point of such great discomfort, that we would need to re-locate and move spots. And, no matter where we went--there he was. His eyes burning two giant holes right through her chest. Without fail, each weekend this tanned skin man was there too. Just one of the gang!
One weekday last summer, I brought my new book with me, entitled, Loose Girl-A Memoir of Promiscuity, (Go ahead, and judge me--the cashier at Barnes and Noble did) to read with me in the park. I sat nestled in a cozy part of the grass in Union Square. I had my blanket out, and some fresh fruit with me. I was enjoying the gorgeous day, when I too felt eyes boaring into my soul. At first, I thought maybe someone else had caught a glance at the title of my book, but no--I was mistaken. When I looked up, there he was--our favorite Union Square staple, in his unbuttoned shirt, smiling his toothless grin at me. I smiled back, (with all my teeth), politely gathered my things, and left. Until we meet again...
Friday, April 2, 2010
Wing Women
Wingwoman: (Noun) A girl (woman) one brings along to single outings (Ie: bars) in attempt to meet members of the opposite sex. In my time as a single lady, I've had many a wing woman. Some of my most favorite wingwomen are Rweissypantz (Rach) and Galzbabi, (Lindsay) whose selfless mission remains constant to land me a bar boyfriend for the night. Sometimes their attempts are successful, and other times they are not, but the end result is always the same; these friends live vicariously through me and my singlehood, as they are safe and secure, knowing that they don't have to meet a whole bunch of drunken idiots looking to get laid.
That being said, what these girlfriends of mine are lacking as wingwomen, is that neither of them are single. So while their efforts are greatly recognized and appreciated, it is just not the same without them actually being in the trenches with me. Besides, there is nothing like two guys and two girls chatting it up at the bar, only to find out that one person in the group has a significant other. This is a sure fire way to kill the wingman/wingwoman dynamic. Now answer me this: What single person wants to talk all night to someone with a boyfriend/girlfriend? Say it together, with me: No one.
I have one wingwoman in my life, who never lets me down. She hails originally from Westchesta (The Bestchesta). We met at sleepaway camp, and solidified our bestfriendship after working together as co-counselors for two summers in a row. You may know her as Becky, but she is my BGbabe. Becky and I make a great duo; and needless to say, we always have the best time together. Both of us are very un-shy, and neither of us give a flying fook about what strangers at a bar think of us. What this looks like is this: Becky and I can often be found doing some hideous, but entertaining dance move at any given moment. As my # 1 wingwoman, Becky always has my best interests at heart. For example, on Thursday night when a 6 foot 2 man accidentally stepped on my foot (My foot is now bruised), Becky tapped him on the shoulder, and let him know that he had accidentally stepped on me. In turn--I got a Bacardi and diet coke out of the deal. Not too shabby.
Both teachers, on spring break. (BG teaches the gifted and talented, and I teach Special Ed--our jobs, literal opposites), we decided to go out on the town on Thursday night, and really let loose. Maybe even enter a wet t-shirt contest or two. It's Spring break baby, we weren't ruling anything out.
Our friend Dave had said, we were out cruising for c-o-c-k. However, this was actually not the case. Becky and I were merely out to drink a few brewskies, and possibly do some grinding. Cock cruising was not on the agenda.
However, every so often, while out being wingwomen together, something beautiful happens. This instance that I am referring to, is when we (as single ladies) find two single gents, both who are attractive and funny. Thus was the case for me and my wing-womaned bitch, Becky on Thursday night. The night took an interesting (and hilarious) turn, that will be a tale for another time. But, just know this: Wing women stick together. We never leave a woman behind. And, if I ever need a dancing fanatic, beer guzzling partner in crime--I know just who to call. Thanks BG, lylat.
That being said, what these girlfriends of mine are lacking as wingwomen, is that neither of them are single. So while their efforts are greatly recognized and appreciated, it is just not the same without them actually being in the trenches with me. Besides, there is nothing like two guys and two girls chatting it up at the bar, only to find out that one person in the group has a significant other. This is a sure fire way to kill the wingman/wingwoman dynamic. Now answer me this: What single person wants to talk all night to someone with a boyfriend/girlfriend? Say it together, with me: No one.
I have one wingwoman in my life, who never lets me down. She hails originally from Westchesta (The Bestchesta). We met at sleepaway camp, and solidified our bestfriendship after working together as co-counselors for two summers in a row. You may know her as Becky, but she is my BGbabe. Becky and I make a great duo; and needless to say, we always have the best time together. Both of us are very un-shy, and neither of us give a flying fook about what strangers at a bar think of us. What this looks like is this: Becky and I can often be found doing some hideous, but entertaining dance move at any given moment. As my # 1 wingwoman, Becky always has my best interests at heart. For example, on Thursday night when a 6 foot 2 man accidentally stepped on my foot (My foot is now bruised), Becky tapped him on the shoulder, and let him know that he had accidentally stepped on me. In turn--I got a Bacardi and diet coke out of the deal. Not too shabby.
Both teachers, on spring break. (BG teaches the gifted and talented, and I teach Special Ed--our jobs, literal opposites), we decided to go out on the town on Thursday night, and really let loose. Maybe even enter a wet t-shirt contest or two. It's Spring break baby, we weren't ruling anything out.
Our friend Dave had said, we were out cruising for c-o-c-k. However, this was actually not the case. Becky and I were merely out to drink a few brewskies, and possibly do some grinding. Cock cruising was not on the agenda.
However, every so often, while out being wingwomen together, something beautiful happens. This instance that I am referring to, is when we (as single ladies) find two single gents, both who are attractive and funny. Thus was the case for me and my wing-womaned bitch, Becky on Thursday night. The night took an interesting (and hilarious) turn, that will be a tale for another time. But, just know this: Wing women stick together. We never leave a woman behind. And, if I ever need a dancing fanatic, beer guzzling partner in crime--I know just who to call. Thanks BG, lylat.
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