Weekend Update

My weekend began Thursday night with an excitingly awesome, unexpected visit from one of my most favorite college friends in all the land, Corey D-W. Corey and I met our freshman year, on the first day of class. It's funny the things that you remember about people. But, I can still remember what Corey wore on that first day of class. (Creepy and weird? Yes. Corey, still be my friend?) Corey and I became friends fast, and our friendship blossomed over daily lunches at Subway. (Sure, we're pretty classy).

Corey has been living in Japan since college graduation. In the past four years, I have only seen him once when he came home for the holidays two years ago. (That is, until Thursday night, when Corey arrived in NYC). What do Corey and I remember about Thursday night? Well, not a whole lot. What I do know is this: Being sleep deprived and hung over, when you work with eight year old children is a fate more torturous than death. And also this: Corey texted me on Friday morning to tell me that if I even think about blogging about the previous night's events, that he would murder me in my sleep. Since I value my life (and Corey), I will respect his wishes, and only say this: Welcome back, 2005. Nice to see you again.

Friday night was a party at Rockoff's (Modern Life). And, Saturday night was a party at Meelzy, France and Shelbay's. An excellent crew made for two very fun nights. But, the most important thing that I came away with, was a story told by Miss Rweiss on Friday night. A story, so terrifying, that it will continue to haunt me for days to come. However, this story is too good NOT to share with all of you. I give you the following tale:

Rweiss's friend went on a date with a guy. Things went really well, and said friend went back to the guy's apartment. I think we all know what happens next.

The next morning, when Rweiss's friend woke up, the guy had already left for work. As friend got ready to go about her day, she made a little stop in the bathroom...and pooped. When she went to flush, she realized it was not going down. (FYI: This is one of my top 5 worst nightmares). After many attempts to unclog the toilet, Rweiss's friend did what any twenty-six year old girl would do in this situation. She scooped out her own shit and placed it into a ziplock bag that she had found in the kitchen. She left the bag of her shit on the kitchen counter, as she would dispose of it when she left the apartment. Rweiss's friend liked this guy, and hoped to see him again. Before leaving, She wrote him a note, and placed it on the counter, "Had a great time last night, call me." She slipped out the apartment door, and just as the door clicked, and locked behind her...she realized that her fate had already been sealed. Rweiss's friend had accidentally left the baggie of shit next to the note. Yes, you read that correctly. Rweiss's friend LEFT A BAG OF HER SHIT, NEXT TO A NOTE THAT SAID, "CALL ME."

Needless to say, her date did not call her, as per her request. But, I think that an extremely important lesson has been learned. It is this: If you take a shit at the apartment of someone you have just exchanged bodily fluids with, and the toilet is not flushing, forcing you to scoop out your own feces, and placing it into a ziplock bag...then please be sure to dispose of any and all fecal matter immejiately. That's right, immejiately.

Treasures Beneath My Bed

As per usual, when finding myself home in New Jersey, I am forced to look through old mementos in my room. Shockingly, tonight's search was not fueled with my usual bout of nostalgia, but rather because I am a mess of life, and am losing all of my belongings. First there was my wallet, (Grandma Eva found it, thankfully!) Next came my ipod, and now one of my favorites shirts is missing. (A travesty in my opinion). Both objects seemed to have disappeared right from thin air, so I hoped for the slim chance that these items could be found in my Livingston, New Jersey bedroom. Both my ipod and my shirt were no where to be found, but all was not lost. Instead I found myself on the floor of my room, knee deep in the past. Here is what I discovered:

1.Delia's Catalog circa de 1997. I love that the early 90's fashion is infused everywhere, even the mid 90's styles are back. (Ie: plaid, flannel, and animal print). But, please, please, please don't bring back the late 90's. Nothing about these styles are flattering. Ladies, this Delia's catalog speaks for itself.

2. A map of Camp Schodack circa de 1997. (This is coming back to the city with me, framed).

3. The handwritten lyrics to Crystal Waters, Pulse. (From the back to the middle and around again, I'm gonna be there till the end--100 percent. Pure love).

4. A slew of old college pictures. Hm. I wish someone would have told me that tight tank tops did not match well with a beer gut.

5. A picture of my dorm room, sophomore year of college. (2003-2004). The room had a rainbow border (that I bought from a teacher store) and the walls were covered in assorted rainbows, pictures of my friends, and 90210 paraphernalia. Hm. Sounds vaguely familiar...

6. The MOST unbelievable pair of teacher-on-Halloween earrings. (Picture your 4th grade teacher on Halloween). Dangly jack-o-lanterns dressed as tricker treaters. (These will also be returning to New York City with me).

7. A pink ballet tutu. I must find a way to wear this out.

8. A sparkly hat that looks similar to what I would imagine a cartoon DJ would wear. Can that be my Halloween costume, cartoon disc jockey?

9. The Mt. Pleasant Middle School Phone Directory from the '96-'97 school year. Something about seeing the name Lauren Fisher ,with my own private phone line, (which no longer exists anymore), and Grade 7 written next to my phone number really, really made me smile.

10. An entire book of stamps!! (This would be a huge score, if the stamps weren't from the year 2000).

11. A pair of bowling shoes, taken right from the alley.

12. And, lastly...A paper dog wearing a sign that says, "I like it ruff!" (No doubt this was stolen from Jay-Riv's house in college).

Just a Little Bloodtest

This morning, I had to go to a lab for some routine blood work. I hate blood work, (no duh). And, I can't help but wonder about the people whose job it is to prick people with needles on a daily basis, filling viles with human blood. Just so you know, the very typing of that sentence makes me queasy.

As the blood technician filled out my paperwork, she asked me basic questions; such as my name, my address, and my date of birth. Then, she paused, and asked me how many sexual partners I had in the past year. Excuse me? She then continued and asked me how many sexual partners I had in my life time. Mind you, this was not a blood test for Sexually Transmitted Diseases. (As, I started to do the math, Well let's see, I'm twenty-six, and I've been having sex for x number of years...Just kidding, I know my numba!) I began to wonder to myself, why was this information pertinent to a routine blood test? Wasn't that line of questioning a bit evasive? I sure thought so; but I answered her honestly just the same. (FYI: Not even my gynecologist asks me these questions about my sexual history). Here's the thing: No matter what your sex number is, whether it is big or small, nothing will make you feel like more of a slut-ass-hobag than baring your personal sexual stats to a total and complete stranger, who is probably judging you. Let's face it, it is nearly impossible not to judge someone based on their number; and yet the curiosity to know still remains. (For me anyway). Anywhooo...

Right before the technician was about to take my blood, I began to get really nervous. I could feel my heart starting to race, and I started to feel a little bit light-headed. Yes, I'm a big fat baby. I always get nervous before any sort of shot, blood test, (or piercing). (I've been known to faint once, twice or eight times). And, in these moments what I need is a sensitive and compassionate technician. Well, we can't always get what we want. I asked the technician how many tubes of blood were going to be taken. She sharply told me four. My heart stopped a little. "Okay, I said--I'm pretty nervous about this." The technician looked me directly in the eyes and said, "Girl, this ain't the romper room, you're twenty-six years old, cut the shit."

And, cut the shit I did. I was very brave, and on my way I went, but not first before grabbing a lollipop off of the technician's desk.

The First Day of School

For the past twenty-four years, I have attended a first day of school. (I am twenty-six, and began going to nursery school at age two, thus equaling twenty-four years). And, because my memory is built upon useless facts, 90210 trivia and pure nostalgia, I remember almost all of my first days of school each year.

In the fall of 1989, I began my first day of kindergarten. For a reason that I'll never fully understand, my mom (Little Mimi Girl) dressed myself, my older brother, (who was in 4th grade at the time), and my younger sister who had just turned one, (and who was not going to school that day), in head to toe tye-dye for our annual first day of school photos.

In the fall of 1995, I began my debut at Mt. Pleasant Middle School. This was a big event, not only because I was starting at a new school with older, cooler kids, but also, because this was the first time that I was coming to school with shaved legs and a bra. Did my negative A boobs need to be supported in a bra? Absolutely not. But, did I feel like a real-life woman walking down those halls in my little white bra? You betcha.

In the fall of 2001, I began my senior year of high school (and what could have easily been the greatest year of my life). I never felt cooler, and more womanly than I did driving to school, on the first day of senior year in my blue jeep. This was the first time that I had a driver's license for the first day of school, (and would not have to be dropped off by my mom).

In the fall of 2002, I attended my first day of college. I was in Sociology101. There were 500 other freshman in that class, I had my journal with me, and I actually penned the words..."I'm really a college girl now." (Proving that even being able to drive myself to school, I'm still a big loser).

In the fall of 2006, I had my first day of school...on the other side. I began my job as a teacher at the school that I still teach at now. I was nervous that September morning; probably more nervous than the kids. But, all of my nerves aside, nothing could have prepared me for what was about to occur. Amidst me explaining our classroom job chart to my class, Kim (one of my students), projectile vomited onto another student, Rebecca. At the sight/smell and touch of Kim's vomit, Rebecca vomited, immediately. I herded my class outside the classroom, while pounds of vomit sat on the floor...well, not quite what I had envisioned for my first day as a real life teacher.

And today, on September 8th, 2010, I began my twenty-fourth first day of school. (My fifth one as a teacher). Thus far, (day one), my students are just adorable; they really are. Highlights include: Andrew taking a small pill out of his lunch, and explaining to me that his mom packs this pill on days that he brings beans for lunch, since well, he farts a lot.

Miles (who is half-Asian, half-African-American, and half-Jewish, with a huge fro, and wrists covered in silly bandz) told me that his favorite song of the summer is Hot in Here, by Nelly. I hope that someone reading this post finds the humor in that. And, oh yes. Chris (one of my students from last year), came tearing into my classroom, nearly barreling me over, to give me an all enveloping hug hello. I hugged Chris, and just as I was about to tell him how nice it was to see him, (as I had not seen him since June), he looked up at me with his big brown eyes and said, "Wait, what's your name again?"

Day One wiped me the fuck out. On my bus ride home to Livingston (to celebrate the Jewish holiday), I passed out cold. I woke up, and realized that I had drooled a little...(on the person sitting next to me). Oh, for the love of God; you really can't take me anywhere.

Nine-Oh-Three-One-Oh

Yes, that's right. That's me, posing with my Luke Perry poster in honor of 9-02-10. Thank you to Loosh for your excellent photography skills. I would also like to point out what my t-shirt says, (just in case you can't tell). Across my chest, are the faces of Dylan McKay and Brenda Walsh. Written underneath are the words, "I Slept With Him First." Genius.

If ever a night was more destined to be my personal picture of perfection, if ever a night was to capture all of my favorite things in one, and if ever there was to be a night that captured my ultimate oasis, and dreams came true; last night would have undoubtedly been it.

Naturally, 9-02-10 was a great day for me. It began early in the morning with phone calls, text messages, and e-mails wishing me a happy 90210. To be quite honest, it felt like my birthday. Yes, I know it was not actually my birthday. But, did I feel a post-birthday sadness, usually reserved for January 24th this morning, on September 3rd. Yes. And, as Amelia pointed out to me this morning, this is not normal. Yes. This fact I am aware of, (I'm working on it). But oh, can't I just get one more 9-02-10?

My night began with Loosh (thanks for lending me your best tu-tu) and BGbabe hanging at my apartment pre-bar, taking pictures posing with my Luke Perry poster, and the other various 90210 paraphernalia found around my room. Cool, right? We got ready to go to M-15 bar, where we met other friends, (Brookie2000 and Dena). The instant that I stepped foot into the crowded bar, I knew that my dream had come true. I could die happy. Playing on each of the large television screens in the bar were various episodes from season three of 90210. (Circa de 1992-1993). But, even better than the seventeen year old episodes playing on the big screen, was the music that the DJ played. If I could pick my ultimate play list (sans California Girls of course), this would have been it. The DJ only played hits from the 90's, and each 90's song played was better than the last. To the three boys who threw this party, (especially the one wearing a backpack around the bar), Thank you. I may not know you, but I love you. You gave me my birthday present four months early this year.