Sid has SIDS.

Oh, hey everyone--Happy Memorial Day!! During this past weekend; one of my most favorite life events occurred; and that is, when my world's collide. For example, each year at my birthday party, I am in one room filled with camp friends, high school friends, college friends and work friends. There is nothing that I love more then when all of my worlds come together and interact with one another. Bringing me even greater pleasure than that, is when actual friendships blossom between my different groups of friends. Nothing could me happier. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote that my sister's graduation from college had made me feel very nostalgic for my own college friends, and former college life. This weekend, I certainly got my fix.

For four years, nine months out of the year, I spent my time in a little place called Narragansett, Rhode Island. What most people don't know about this beach town, located right near The University of Rhode Island, is just how beautiful and scenic it is. I spent my junior and senior years living footsteps away from the ocean, in an adorable beach house, amongst all of my friends in an entire beach community of actual nice, (not just college-kid nice) houses. Real grownups rented their beautiful summer homes to college kids during the school year. (Needless to say, very few of us ever received our security deposits back).

On Friday, BGbabe and Meelz accompanied me to Rhode Island. Neither of the girls went to college with me,(they are my friends from camp), but we all were embracing the chance to get away from the city for a couple of days. We spent our first night in Rhode Island at the Anchor Motel. So what if the motel didn't provide us with pillows, and our blankets were made of sandpaper? Were we going to let that stop us from having the BEST WEEKEND ever? No way, Jose! After I gave the girls a tour of the town, aka...visiting the best ice cream shops, and a drive by tour of every boy's house that I ever liked/made out with in college...we got ready for our night!

Dinner was at Turtle Soup with Katiekiwi (college bestie), Brent, Andy and Sid (Jimmy's stand-in for the night, as he was home with a sinus infection). These college friends live in Boston and Providence, but drove down to reunite on our former stomping grounds. After dinner, we went to Charlie-O's, my favorite bar in college. Being in a college bar, four years post college, after the school year has ended is a strange thing. I kept looking around, expecting to see my friends in different corners of the bar, instead I saw newly graduated seniors, and creepy old men. None the less, we had a blast: Sid has Sids (Yes, Sid. We know that you don't actually suffer from SIDS), Katie kissed Hunter?

Saturday was breakfast at Crazy Burger (obvi), and laying out on da beach. Saturday night we arrived at Brent, Andy and Jimmytown's apartment in Providence. (Peanut butter Jimmy. Peanut butter Jimmy and a baseball bat?) It was like old times, playing old drinking games with my old friends. My college friends + camp friends= a perfect match, and it was like everyone had known each other for years. Nothing could make my heart happier. We went to the bar, and to spare the humiliation of all participants involved, I'll simply say this: We had a great time dancing our pants off, and someone, let's just call her GUZ, had a great time with a boy...in a graphic tee, wearing not one, but two diamond earrings.

Sunday was spent in Newport, Rhode Island. A delightful little tourist trap, but we loved it just the same. On our drive back to New York, I couldn't help but think about how lucky I am to have such hilarious, amazing and accommodating friends. I spent 72 straight hours with my friends, and I felt the literal opposite of sick of them, I never wanted to leave their sides.

By the time BGbabe, Meelzy and I crossed back over into NY state lines, (and put away our sweethearts) our car ride became hilarious. I'm unsure as to why raising the roof became so funny, but that motion amongst others had us in stomach wrenching laughter. You've all been there before; you are on some sort of long ride, a cabin fever of sorts sets in, exhaustion takes over, and suddenly everything becomes hilarious. And, I loved every minute of it.

Am I sad that this weekend that I have been looking forward to for weeks is over? Yes. But can I wait to see Becky's facebook album,which like this blog, will probably only interest about eight people? No. If your name is BGbabe, Meelzy, Katie-kiwi, Bman, Andy Voila! Jimmytown, and Sid has Sids--well, I hope you enjoyed. Miss you, love you, bye.

Field Trip

Have you ever traveled via the subway with twenty-three, eight and nine year old children? If you have not, consider yourself lucky, and if you have...then well--you have my shared condolences.

Today my class embarked on a journey to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And, oh! What an eventful day it was. We walked to the subway and entered what could only be known as the most crowded subway train known to man My students decided that this might be a nice time to play a game that they frequently played on the monkey bars called, "Banana." (Not seeming to notice the hundreds of other people smushed into this one train car).

Banana is when you swing from monkey bar to monkey bar just "like a banana." (Only in this case, substitute monkey bar, for train pole). I watched as Sari and Hannah played handgames, over some poor gentleman who sat in between them. They leaned over the man, slapping hands, in his lap. I stood there, pretending that I did not know any of them. (Just kidding...sort of).

My students have no concept of other people's personal space, and that was made quite apparent to me when I got my feet STOMPED on...by not one, not two, not three... but four different kids who have no center of gravity and went flying every time the train stopped. (Note to self: Never again wear flip-flops while riding the subway with 23 eight and nine year olds).

The two most interesting and exciting discoveries of the day actually had very little to do with why we were visiting the Met in the first place. Out mission was to explore the Japanese samurai exhibit. (Japan is our unit of study in Social Studies). But, what my students found far more interesting than the ancient samurai swords and ninja masks, were the buttloads (excuse my pun) of naked statues throughout the museum. My students literally lost their eight year old minds. I overheard Zack, telling Jason--"I'm gonna make that woman my wife." (Referring to a statue of a naked woman). The statues of naked men were far more frequent throughout the museum, and each time seen, were met with chants of "Weiners, weiners, weiners!"

The next most important discovery of the day was that Adam (my five foot 2, 118 pound nine year old student) has armpit hair. (He wore a tanktop to school today showcasing this new growth). I must admit, that even I was a little startled by this discovery. Sure, Adam is a big kid--possibly the biggest third grader I've ever seen in real life, but still--a 3rd grader with armpit hair?!

My own armpit hair did not come until 6th grade, and when it did, you know that I felt like a real woman. (That is until my mom forced me to shave my armpits). Adam, who may actually be the coolest kid I have ever met, took all of this in stride. While his classmates poked and prodded at his armpits, telling him how disgusting his bush of armpit hair was, all Adam said in return was "Well, that's what happens when you're the oldest and the tallest in the class, you grow up a little bit sooner." Well said, Adam, well said.

And so, with our last big field trip of the year, now under our belts, I think that we all learned a valuable lesson; and that is: If you are on a subway car, and a large group of children enter, you may want to think about switching to a different car. Unless of course you are up for a good game of banana.

Class Visitor

A very special visitor arrived in the 3rd grade today. My sister had a job interview in NYC, and decided to delight me, and eleven small children by taking a subway to Cobble Hill in Brooklyn for a classroom visit. I decided to wait to tell my students that my sister would be visiting until just before she arrived. This was in an effort to save my sanity, as otherwise you can bet that I would be hearing "Is she here yet!?!" All the live long day.

Do you remember being young and seeing your teacher outside of school? It was like seeing a fish out of water. Forget about your teacher wearing jeans, having friends, families and significant others. He or she was your teacher. And that was their one and only identity. Didn't your elementary school teachers sleep at the school? Mine sure did.

If only my students knew the truth about me...That sometimes we have matching maturity levels, and that my weekends consist of mid 90's dance music, Bacardi, and frosted flakes. It would blow their little eight year old minds. Naturally, meeting a member of my family was an exciting event, one that evoked quite a bit of commotion.

When Heatzbabi walked in the door, my students literally gasped, cheered and shrieked with pure delight.(No really, Heaty got QUITE the welcome). Some of the kids even stood on chairs to get a better look at her. You would have thought that, Justin Beiber, Lady Gaga or Pokemon himself had just walked through our classroom door.

As far as sisters go, I have been told that we look quite similar. Among our differences is that Heather can sit outside for five minutes, and will become a member of a different race, (while it takes me atleast six very painful sunburns before I look remotely tan). Damn her bronzed beauty. Also, she is a bite sized human. These two differences, my students noted as well.

After introductions were made, Heather to my class, and my class to Heather, mass chaos ensued, and the following questions/comments (amongst others) were heard:

Chase extended his hand to shake Heather's, to congratulate her on her recent college graduation. (Polite and Adorable). Colin looked quizzically at the two of us standing side by side. Cocking his head to the side, he said, "You guys have the same hair, only Heather's hair looks nicer right now." Thank you, Colzbabi! Sophie looked at us and said, "You guys, like have the exact same nose, eyes and mouth, but your faces look soooo different." (Did that make sense to you guys? Yeah, me neither). "How come Heather's skin is so much blacker than yours?" said Gus from the back. And, naturally four of my students shouted out, asking if Heather was a teenager. (Apparently, this is a right reserved for more than one Fisher). But perhaps my favorite question of all came from Chucky. (My #1 pain in the ass). "Heather, (Chucky said), What type of blood do you have?" In case you were wondering, Chucky is A negative.

Prom

Great weekend. Saturday night combined two of my most favorite social events, a Camp Schodack birthday party, and an LHS c/o '02 birthday party. And, to top it all off--Caitling Greatling (my college roomaay) was here visiting from Beantown.

As another weekend comes to a close, I write to you, thinking about a different weekend that springs to mind. Earlier this evening, I was perusing facebook, checking out the latest, when appearing on my newsfeed was an album entitled--"Livingston High School Prom." Obviously, this I had to see.

Yes, I have facebook friends that are still in highschool. Yes, I know how weird (and possibly creepy) that may sound to some of you. However, my teenaged facebook friends are my former Camp Schodack campers. One of them happens to be from Livingston, just like me. I clicked on her prom album--mostly because I wanted to see what the girlays were wearing to prom this year. (In case you were wondering, short dresses were all the rage). As stated in an earlier blog, I recently tried on my senior prom dress, and literally could not get the dress up over my ass. (RIP Highschool Body).

For a girl, getting ready for the prom is an all day ordeal. There's hair and make-up to be done, and mani/pedi's to be had. It takes hours to look that good! I would love to know how long it takes a boy to get ready for prom. My guesstimate is somewhere around twenty minutes. Once my hair, make-up, and nails were done, and my dress was on (seamlessly over my butt), my prom date came to pick me up. My prom date by the way, affectionately named me, Fish-tits (and still calls me that to this day). After taking a series of identical photos, we were ready for prom to begin!

(An aside: Years later, (aka...last year), I made out with my prom date's older brother. Things did not work out between us, as I am 99% certain that he was sincerely frightened after seeing the lifesize poster of Luke Perry in my room. Can't say I blame the guy).

Prom was an eventful night, but most eventful of all was the weekend that was to come. I look back in awe that we actually pulled this off without anyone getting arrested, (or killed).

180 kids in my class, rented 18 houses in the Poconos, where we spent Thursday-Sunday.

And, so I ask you; who the fuck would rent EIGHTEEN houses to 180 seventeen and eighteen year old kids, who were just looking to get drunk/laid all weekend?!? (An aside: Though, I did not lose my virginity on prom night--about eleven of my friends did, and I still to this day find that to be hilarious, cheesy and cute all in one). And oh yeah, most of us girls came back with lovely post-prom parting gifts--Urinary Tract Infections.

Post-prom weekend was a memorable one. One that I will remember, well...probably forever. Writing this blog entry inspired me to look back at my prom pictures. I love that the people in my photographs are still my best friends today. The pictures from post-prom are unreal. We all look so young, and baby-faced. And, that is exactly what we were--we hadn't even gone to college yet! So, on the eight year anniversary of prom night approaching, I realize that not a whole lot has changed since that night. Instead of people from my class asking each other to prom, people from my class are beginning to ask each other to marry them. So, are things changing? Sure, maybe a little. But deep down, where it counts; we are still those same seventeen and eighteen year olds who just want to get drunk and do it.

TeeVee

TV, you have not disappointed me this week. Beginning on Sunday night with the Desperate Housewives season finale (holy smokes!), continuing Monday night with Tori and Dean Home Sweet Hollywood, (Yes, I actually love that show), followed by the new 90210 and Glee on Tuesday night (I love you, May Sweeps), and then topping it off with Modern Family on Wednesday night, I've been one happy television watcher. (Do I watch too much tv?)

The scene in Modern Family, when Mitchell runs rampant through his house, screaming in terror, because a dirty street pigeon is flying around his house, had me laughing so hard that I cried. This may seem like humor for dummies--but the sound that came out of Mitchell's throat was highly entertaining.

(This scene reminded me of the summer of 2004. I was living in a glorified trailer park at Camp Schodack (aka..Hillcrest). A squirrel accidentally snuck into the trailer, and ran through each room, terrorizing all who lived there).

Next, I feel the strong urge to write about Glee this week. If you are not a gleek, then I'm sorry if this entry bores you, but, well...Neil Patrick Harris (Doogie Howser, MD) and Matt Morrison (Will Schuster)'s rendition of Aerosmith's DREAM ON, had me on the edge of my seat. My eyes were GLUED to the screen. Matt Morrison (Mr. Schue) has a certain boyish charm to him, (that I love) and he looked pretty effing adorable in his white v-neck tee, and black vest. (I'm a sucker for the v-neck). Those muscular toned arms! Holding that mike!

But perhaps, more importantly were both of their voices. In the final chorus of the song, both Doogie and Will were on their knees, leaning against one another, singing that sweet, sweet melody. There is no way for me to describe how good they both sounded unless you saw the episode. But, I will leave you with this. Last night my roommate, (Bonk) came home at ten pm, to find me sitting in a towel, on our couch, rewinding the Dream On duet over, and over, and then, well...over again.

Third Grade State of Mind

As a third grade teacher, part of my job is to try and understand the mental psyche, and rationale of eight and nine year olds. Often times, I can easily empathize with my students. For many adults, this is not an easy thing to do, as they find it hard to remember what it was like to be a kid. (These are probably the same adults that claim to hate children). And while some of the situations that upset my students baffle me, (Ie: Nick breathing too loudly) I don't have a particularly difficult time relating to my students. I've been told once, twice (or eighteen times) that I have a very kid-like persona. (3rd grade is probably a pretty good place for me). However, every once in a while, I am floored by the insight and thoughts that are produced by these children.

A group of third grade girls were sitting at a table creating paper dolls,clothing and accessories for their dolls to wear. I sat down at their table with them and began to chat about what they were making. The girls were discussing their paper dolls, when Emily lifted her head up, put down her marker and asked, "Do you want to get married?" Caught off guard at the frankness of her question, Emily continued on..."Why aren't you married, you are soooo nice!" (I love you, Emily).
(An aside: At this point in the year, with thirteen school days to go, "nice" is the not the word that I would use to describe myself. Exhausted, frustrated, exasperated, irritated, agitated, annoyed, any of those would do)....But, Nice? Not so much anymore. Each morning I come into school, with positive attitude, and a smile on my face, but by the time 2:45 pm rolls around, I am ready to chuck one (or eleven) kid(s) out of our 4th floor window.

Before, I could respond to Emily's question, Sari jumped in. "Well, Emily--she's not married yet because she is just waiting for the right guy!" Chelsea chimed in with, "Of course, you're going to meet the right guy--you have such a great personality!"

STOP. (Collaborate and listen, Ice is back with a brand new edition).

Sorry, as per usual, my inner jukebox beckoned...but, seriously... STOP. When did my students become therapists/my # 1 fan club/ myJewish mother, aunt, and grandmothers!?!?

Are these not very same conversations that I am forced into every holiday season and family occasion? Was I aware that eight year old girls were capable of this kind of thought? No, I was not. Did their insight amaze me? Yes. Are these girls Junior Jewish mothers, aunts and grandmothers in training? Yes. Yes, they are.

A Fatt-Face Graduation

I learned some very important things over this past weekend.

1. Ear plugs might make for a good investment

2. If I don't tell people my age, they automatically assume that I'm seventeen years old.

3. My ipod consists solely of pop hits, without a mellow song in sight.

4. Seven female graduates, dressed in cap and gowns, will take at least seventy-nine of the exact same photograph.

5. Great news! If I am not married by the time I am 35, I have a back-up plan. (Thanks, DBA!) And, oh yeah--we're getting married at the Livingston High School Gazebo. See ya there?

The journey to Little Baby Fatt-Face Graduation Weekend 2010 began like any other. We arrived in Amherst, Massachusetts on Friday evening, just in time for our dinner reservations. After a lovely and (free) meal, (Thanks Mimi and Dad!), I went back to my parents' hotel. I figured that I would stay there Friday night since Heatzbabi had to be up earlier than we did for graduation. I thought I'd capitalize on a little extra sleep. I should have known better. (And that, was a mistake I won't soon be making again). I don't know how many twenty-six year olds have recently shared a room with their parents, but let me tell you-- it was quite an experience.

Little Mimi was dressed in her best moo-moo. And, I'm not even going to tell you what my dad wears to sleep. My parents were giggly and gassy! The two of them took turns stinking up our room. And, I mean it STANK. Just as the smell was beginning to die down, the snoring started up. My parents literally snore in rhythm with one another. (Sweet, right?). But, what do you do when you are sharing A SMALL ROOM with not one, but TWO snorers?

I did the only thing that I could do. I took out my ipod and tried to blast out the sound, which by the way sounded something like a moose in heat. (Or what I would imagine a moose in heat would sound like). Unfortunately for me, my ipod (which only consists of twenty-four songs) has no mellow music. Yeah, you try falling asleep to Christina Aguilera's, Fighter. Sleep did not come easily on Friday night. After each fart, raunchy comment or otherwise...my parents asked if I would be blogging about it. (FYI: My dad just learned how to use his e-mail account this year, so I'm not overly concerned with him reading his smelliness exploits).

We woke early on Saturday. The graduation ceremony was long, but provided me with many close to tears moments. (And, oh yeah, I just happened to sit next to a total hunk. Did we speak once? Of course not). When the 5,000 graduating seniors moved their tassles from one side of their cap to the other...well, I. was. done. for.

After caps sailed in the air, we celebrated back at Heaty's place with her seven roommates, and their families. After eating and drinking on her front lawn (We're pretty classy). We left to go eat and drink some more, at a fine Italian restaurant with one of Heaty's besties, and her family. Our families get along great, and we enjoyed a lovely evening together.

Afterwards, I went back with Heatzbabi to experience all that UMASS night life has to offer on graduation night. We went to her friend's apartment to pregame, where I was mistaken for a seventeen year old consistently throughout the night. I get it, I look young. After the pregame, we headed to the bar. (An aside: In the bar restroom, which was a single bathroom (no stalls) were not one, but TWO toilets. What this means is, you can pee side by side with your friends (or sister). Genius!

I left UMASS on Sunday, feeling extremely nostalgic for my own college days, (Thank god for Andy-Brent-Jimmy weekend in two!) I thought about my own tear filled drive home back in 2006, (Daniel Powter, Had a Bad Day on repeat). And, just as we pulled out of Heaty's driveway, 100 Years (Five for Fighting)was playing. It was kind of the perfect exiting song, as the lyrics discuss how time moves all too quickly. I could feel myself getting emotional, and swallowed a big lump in my throat. It's not easy growing up, is it? But as long as I am mistaken for a teenager... maybe I'll always feel young.

Meta-Cognetics

For the first time in two years, I finally learned something useful in graduate school. (It's a good thing that I've taken out 30 grand in loans and am getting so much out of this mother-forking degree). What I've learned is: As human beings, we do not take our last meta-cognitive leap until we are thirty years old. So, essentially, the whole growing up/maturity/thought processing part of you, doesn't really kick into full swing until you are thirty. And suddenly, everything makes sense! It seems almost excusable that I still wake up on Sunday mornings with a pit in my stomach over some poor decision that I made the night before. And, why some of the boys that I know still act like fourteen year olds. (Hey, I still act like a seventeen year old, so I'm not judging). Regardless, it was extremely helpful for me to learn that there is a scientific explanation for an occasional lapse in judgement, and that I still have four more years before I'm expected to correct this. To all of you that find this news to be comforting too...then, well...your welcome.

This weekend was a good one. I spent Saturday and Sunday in Livingston, (land that I love) welcoming back an old friend, and honoring Little Mimi Girl on Sunday.
Sheetal, my friend since I was eleven years old, has spent the last two years living in Ethiopia working with children who have AIDS. (What a bitch!) She is back home in the USA, and dang--it feels good to have her back.

After a romantic dinner together, where we caught up on the last year and a half of our lives, we went to our local town establishment; The Landmark, where we met up with some of our other friends who were also in town for the weekend. While at the the Landmark, we did what we do best, and that is, of course, to make fun of each other. I set up camp in front of the jukebox, playing mid 90's hits, that every other bar patron hated me for, while my friends took turns being affectionately tortured by one another. Collectively, our level of maturity last night, peaked somewhere near the age of fifteen. But, hey--it's not our fault. Our last meta-cognitive leap hasn't taken place yet...and ya know what? That's pretty okay with me.

Ya Don't Say!

Sometimes I like to sit silently at my computer in my classroom. My students in the room think that I am busy doing "research," but in reality--I am listening to their conversations with one another. (Well that, and sometimes I'm gchatting/facebooking). But, OMG--the things that come out of their mouths! (An aside: In my first year of teaching, I would online shop at Urban Outfitters while my students did independent work at their desks, my students would often ask what I was doing at my computer; my answer was always the same: research, of course).

As I sit and listen to my student's conversations, I hear all sorts of things. Conversations that would make you laugh, (a whole lot of farting talk) and sometimes cringe, (booger stories). Earlier this year, I overheard Colin telling his fellow male classmates that they should never get married. "Because,(his voice lowered to a hush), once you're married you can't kiss as many girls as you want." An eight year old player? I couldn't help but wonder who told him that...

Very recently, I overheard Nick telling two of the other boys what sex is. By definition: "Sex is when a mom and a dad lay on top of each other, (naked) and kiss each other, a lot. And, that is how a baby is born." I guess that is the gist, though there are some other logistics involved...

Yesterday, one of the boys in my class Gus, announced that his grandpa had died on this day five years earlier. He had died of lung cancer, because he had been a smoker. Each student went around saying why he/she thought that smoking was bad. It was like an adorable little public service announcement. Gus (who is wise beyond his years) said, "When you're older, like a teenager at a party, and you get drunk--you might want a cigarette.
" Excuse me!?! How do you know such things?
That's when Chase chimed in, "yeah, I heard that at parties, they have this special kind of cigarette. It makes you feel really dizzy, funny, and oh---I hear you get pretty hungry too."

It was at that point, that I choked back my laughter over an eight year old unknowingly describing the munchies. I stepped in, and told my class that they needed to talk about something more appropriate in our classroom. And, so they did. Charlie burst out with, "Ooohh, want to see the orange thing I just pulled out of my ear?"

Now, that's more like it...

Facebook Wall Post

This morning I went on facebook. I noticed that quite a few people had written on my wall. What a delightful morning suprise! However, upon checking my wall, I found an amazing collection of reasons why my friends hate (love) me. If you haven't checked my facebook wall, you are in for a real treat. To the Tune of One--We are the White Team...

Amelia: One! she eats her soup cold
two! her pinky's mutant
three! spat on by homeless
four more more more!
five! uses a drumstick
six! watches me sleep
seven! quotes pink daily
eight eight great great!
nine!

Becky: ten! she's always naked
eleven! string cheese salads
twelve! she doesnt carry an epi pen even though she could die
thirteen! she worked at dip n dots
fourteeeeeen... (who's taking over??)

Amelia: fifteen! leaves people voice mails
sixteen! knows everyone's birthday
seventeen! dips broccoli in ketchup
eighteen nineteen twenty goodnight.

Derek: 21 her number of speeding tickets
22 and three in one day
23 two of those by the same cop
24 she pees her pants
25 lipsmacker necklace ...
26 walked backwards at lake George
27 drumsticks
28 boil
29 thought u get annual salary all at once so she went on shopping spree
30 sucked her tats!

Rachel:31 loves to clap - in your face
32 ketchup
33 grilled chicken
34 hersheys bars
35 spanx

Katie: 36 bag of m&ms
37 entenmann's cake
38 diarrhea farts
39 pooping on the phone, whilst blogging, reading Tori Spelling, etc. etc.
40 clapping...


I'm sure that this list can (and will) be continued. But for now... I think that FORTY things to hate(love) about me is just fine.

Season of the Cloat

It's Cloat-ing season, baby! For those of you that don't know, a Cloat (cloating) verb, is a word that was created by my college roommate of three years, Caitling Greatling. Caitlin coined this phrase when she was awoken in her sleep many a night, to hear me making horrifying sounds with my throat. Cloat stands for Clearing of the Throat. It is an involuntary throat action that I have virtually no control over, as it usually occurs when I am not awake. It is my actual worst fear that I will cloat while I am sharing my bed with someone else. Note: The sound that the cloat makes has been compared to that of an exorcism being performed.

Cloating is a way for me to relieve my allergy symptoms. It is not easy being a spring time allergy sufferer. Sneezing, itchy eyes and throat, and the worst part is; it's spring! All I want to do is be outside and be one with nature. However, unfortunately for me, I am allergic to the great outdoors, amongst others. I've been dealt a bad allergy hand, (as seasonal allergies is not where my list stops). I am also allergic to CATS (yuck) and dogs too. (An aside: My friend Derek once said that the reason that he has two cats at his apartment is to keep me away. Sweet, right?)
Each time that I go to Derek's apartment, I actually want to hurl his cats right out the window. Because well, I hate cats, and secondly, I enjoy breathing, and can't seem to do that in his cats' presence. Most recently, when I was at Derek's apartment for a pregame in honor of his birthday, WALTER (his cat) made his home inside my jacket. Oh goody!

I'm allergic to seasons, pollen, dogs, cats, (I'm a huge nerd, I know). And, we can't forget my deadly allergies! Bees, wasps, and whore-nets. I would also like to point out that someone else quite close to me has all these same allergies, I call him dad. So, well...Thanks Dad!

In the summer of 2006, I worked with seven other counselors to help "train" eighty sixteen year old guys and girls to become future counselors at Camp Schodack. It was the actual best summer of my life, and I'll love it forever. It was Becky, Amelia and I (FAB), and we worked with da boyzz. Derek, Perlman, Mags, Carter and Jay. These boys were such BOYS. Each one of them had an unbelievable sense of humor, and they were constantly playing pranks on everyone around them. What this meant is that together, the eight of us had the best summer of our lives, and got paid the big bucks to laugh, cheer, shimmy (and make fun of me).

It was during one of our very busy times as LT Staff, (aka...we were hanging out together, not teaching anyone how to be a counselor), when seemingly out of nowhere a bee crawled up my leg and stung me. At this point in time, I knew that I was allergic to bees, but would not find out until later to what extent. Up until this point, I had only been stung a couple of times prior, and my reaction had been severe swelling. When I was eleven, I got stung right on my chest. I was so proud. I walked around with one big boob, (until the swelling went down), and I liked it.

Within a half hour of being stung, I was having a full anaphylactic reaction. I looked similar to Will Smith in Hitch. There was literally no distinction between my head and my neck. (They were one). I was itchy everywhere, and oh yes. My throat was beginning to close. I was in the camp nurse's office, and it was becoming increasingly clearer to me that I would need to be epi-penned. Help! I was scared!

The nurse that summer was named Helen, nicknamed by camp, Crazy H. Would you want a woman named CRAZY H jabbing a six inch needle into your upper thigh? No. I didn't think so. Just before Crazy H stabbed me in the leg, she began to fiddle with the epi-pen. She looked at me ( as tears streamed down my face--hey, it was REALLY scary). She looked at Amelia, who was sitting next to me, rubbing my back, Crazy H said..."I've never done this before, I'm nervous!" Had it not been for Amelia taking charge and giving Crazy H instructions on how to epi-pen the shit out of me, I may not have been here to write this blog today! (Thanks Meelzybabe!) After you are epi-penned,(by law),an ambulance has to come. Within minutes, I was a celebrity around camp, and rumors of what had happened to me ran rampant across camp.

What was the outcome of this tale? Well. For starters, I began weekly allergy shots, and carry an epi-pen with me where ever I go. And, the five male counselors that I worked with took it upon themselves to take part in a dare. Someone had to lick the wasp that almost killed me. In the end, it was Perlman who came face first with that fuzzy wasp.
And from that day forward, cries of "I shot epi-penning Fisher" could be heard across the camp.

The End.

FYI

Oh, hey you guyyys!! A new blog (Belated Weekend Update) has been posted. However, for some reason of which I am not sure, blogger.com has put it below "Kids Say The Darndest Things." (And I am not technologically savvy enough to know how to fix this). That's all. Hope you enjoy, and as always, thank you to everyone who continues to read!! Lylat, Lauren.

Kids Say The Darndest Things

Kids really do say the darndest things. I was amidst teaching a division lesson, (dividing by Threes to be precise), when I asked if there were any questions about what I had just taught. Nick raised his hand and said, "Do you live in Manhattan?" "Nick," I asked, Does your question have anything to do with what I'm talking about right now?" "No," he said. Okay, (I rephrased), "Does anyone have any questions that have to do with what I just explained in math class?" Nick raised his hand again, "Yes Nick," I said. Nick asked, "Do you go to Crunch gym? My mom goes to Crunch, and she has really nice abs, and you have really nice abs."

"Thank you Nick," No I don't go to Crunch gym, but again--that doesn't really have anything to do with dividing by threes. (Also: it kind of cracked me up that Nick, an eight year old boy, knows about abs, and more specifically about his mom's abs. In addition, I am not exactly coming to school sporting my 1996 belly tee's, so, this compliment about my abs is merely a hypothetical one).

We were practicing counting aloud by 3's. I was explaining various strategies that we could use. I asked if there were any questions. Chase raised his hand. "Yes, Chase." Chase began speaking, "You look like someone I know, she's kinda tall, wears leggings a lot, and has sort of puffy hair, like you." (Puffy hair=frizz=Give me a god damn break, it's humid today!) "Chase, that's really interesting, but let's try to make comments that relate to what we are talking about in math class, okay?"

As math class was drawing to a close, I began passing out homework for tonight. I asked if any of the students had questions pertaining to their math homework. Emily raised her hand and announced that for Halloween she wanted to dress up as a frog. "Okay, Emily. That sounds like a really good idea, but maybe we can talk about it again in October."

Belated Weekend Update

One could say that it was quite an eventful weekend for me! Friday night, was ladieezz night. And, oh. What a night. While stopping in an ATM next to our bar destination, a mention was made that my friends and I were dead sober. As luck would have it, the bar's owner was also in the ATM vestibule with us at the very same time. He told us not to worry, drinks would be on him for the rest of the night, and on him they were. Six free Bacardi and diet cokes later, and I was on my way!

Saturday was Rudy and Judy's birthday weekend. (Rudy is Becky's older brother who is not actually named Rudy; similarly, my older brother is not actually named Judy). I attended Rudy's birthday at an outdoor bar on Saturday afternoon. I love you, almost summer time. Saturday night, I attended Judy's (Jeremy)'s 30th birthday bash. When did this happen? I have a thirty year old brother? I don't like this one bit. Throughout my day and night's travels, I saw five different people in places that were unexpected to me. Each person, more surprising than the next. New York City, you sure know how to keep me on my toes!

On Sunday, I spent the day in Central Park with Becca-Girl and Meelz. I have never laughed harder than I did on Sunday afternoon. Okay, that may not be true, but I sure laughed a lot. I may have even spat up my ice cream on the sidewalk from laughing so hard. (I'm not proud). I love that my friends and I finish each other's sentences. Although, finishing my sentences isn't too much of a challenge, considering they all end the exact same way, in one of two song lyrics.

This is Amelia's tale to be told, but I simply had to share it. (c. Amelia). Amelia was sunbathing with some of our friends on Saturday afternoon. A mention was made of a small, troll-like gay man, with terrible backnee (acne on one's back) tanning nearby. This man was a complete stranger to my friends, but someone who they noticed (and made fun of) right away, for being well...disgusting. Five minutes later, the small man crouched down in front of Amelia's face, and asked her if she wouldn't mind "doing his back." He handed her the bottle of sunscreen, and said, "Thanks--I'm a pale bitch." Did Amelia apply sunscreen to a disgusting stranger's back? The answer is yes. Are there pictures on facebook that show a revolted Amelia applying sunscreen directly to back acne? The answer is again, yes.

And, oh. One more thing. Speedate-date (the actor/bar-mitzvah dancer who "forgot" his wallet) has officially driven me to my breaking point. (Maybe this is some sort of karmic retribution for being an occasional crazy-pants). After multiple calls and texts (per day), he called on Thursday asking if I had plans. I told him that I did. This was true. I had plans with Galzbabi for dinner. After we hung up, my phone rang ten minutes later. It was speedate-date, AGAIN. What did he want now? We literally just spoke, (and have only met once at a god damn speed dating event). He told me that he had an amazing idea, and asked me if I was ready to hear it. I said, "Yes. I'm ready." He replied and said, "I don't think you're ready" (for this jelly). I said, "I'm ready." He said, "No, no, no. I don't think you're ready!" "I'm ready." I said, my voice growing more and more agitated. " WHAT!? (he said), I CAN'T HEAR YOUUUUUU!" I SAID, ARE YOU READDYYYY? (Yes, I swear that this exchange of words actually took place).

I'm fucking ready. I'm trying to fucking get ready to meet my friend. I don't have time for this shit. What was Speedate-date's brilliant idea that required me to feel such exhaustion? Get Ready!! "Let's meet one night for coffee." THAT is your AMAZING idea?!?! Get a clue, nim-rod. (Also: Please note that I am not a terrible person, and weighed the meanness of telling this story verses. that it was in fact, a pretty good story. Pretty good story won, and yes, I'm probably going to hell).

And so, another weekend bites the dust. Until Friday, see ya!