And now for the blog posting that came much too soon. The LAST DAY OF SUMMER VACATION, BLOG 2009. The air has gotten a little bit cooler, and it is beginning to get dark a little bit earlier...this is the end of summer. (Taylor Townsend--The OC--anyone!?)
I have the Sunday night blues, big time. I haven't had these so-called blues in almost three months, and I'll tell ya--I did not miss the sinking pit in my stomach Sunday nights this summer. Who doesn't love living 5 days for 2? Everybody's working for the weekend. Where oh where did the summer go? It feels like only yesterday, that I was sitting at my computer writing my last day of school blog, feeling so saddened by the end of the school year.
What kind of crack was I smoking!?
I have been off now since June 12th, and this is the life. Anyone that tells you otherwise has clearly never had a 2.5 month paid vacation.
I know that most of you who work 12 months a year do not feel sorry for me. In fact, you probably hate my guts--but I think we can all agree that the longer you are off from work, the harder it is to get back. I will miss my lack of routine. Waking up when my body wants to, not at 6:30 am, (which I am so greatly looking forward to doing tomorrow morning). I will miss sending e-mails naked, and spending the day in soffee shorts and a wife beater. (An outfit that I'm pretty sure would be looked down upon in my school). Not to mention-- that the majority of my wardrobe is either too tight or too short for a child-friendly environment. I will miss my ME time all day, every day.
Am I excited to see my work friends, most of whom I have not seen since school ended? Sure! Though, I have a feeling that novelty will wear off, once I am putting fadeless bulletin board paper up on the walls (a job that only teachers can understand just how sweaty and miserable). I bid you adoo summertime freedom, and I will continue to mourn your loss every day--until June 2010.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Mike-Jason Take Two
Just in case you were curious, there was a second date with Mike/Jason. Unfortunately for me, I am not sure that there will be a third date. I take full responsibility for that fact, and for the story that I am about to dispose.
Mike/Jason and I decided to meet at eight o' clock on Friday night on the Upper East Side. Seeing as the UES is not my usual stomping grounds (but his), I was not familiar with the restaurant that he had chosen. The shots of bacardi that I had taken (alone in my apartment) probably did not help with my dis-orientation. Taking shots before a date is not one of my finer moments. Can I get away with having 2nd date jitters?
It was raining outside and as per usual, I was running late. I arrived on the corner that Mike/Jason had specified, but I could not find the restaurant. (Could've been the bacaaadi). I did see a boy(man) waiting outside in the rain, clearly a true gentleman. The man was the only other person standing outside, except of course for me. I was certain that I had never seen that human being before in my life. Feeling guilty that I was late, I got on my cell phone and called Mike/Jason to ask him where the restaurant was. (At this point, I had sort of walked around the corner). Mike/Jason answered the phone and said, "Did you just walk past me?I"m outside looking for you."
Busted.
How humiliating. For both of us. OMG, again. I literally did not recognize my date, (the only other person standing outside the restaurant), on our not first, but SECOND date. I'm really on a roll with this guy. Date # 1--I forget his actual name. Date # 2--I forget his actual face. Date # 3--Oh wait, I'm pretty sure that he's never going to call me again. Boys out there reading--what do you think?
Mike/Jason and I decided to meet at eight o' clock on Friday night on the Upper East Side. Seeing as the UES is not my usual stomping grounds (but his), I was not familiar with the restaurant that he had chosen. The shots of bacardi that I had taken (alone in my apartment) probably did not help with my dis-orientation. Taking shots before a date is not one of my finer moments. Can I get away with having 2nd date jitters?
It was raining outside and as per usual, I was running late. I arrived on the corner that Mike/Jason had specified, but I could not find the restaurant. (Could've been the bacaaadi). I did see a boy(man) waiting outside in the rain, clearly a true gentleman. The man was the only other person standing outside, except of course for me. I was certain that I had never seen that human being before in my life. Feeling guilty that I was late, I got on my cell phone and called Mike/Jason to ask him where the restaurant was. (At this point, I had sort of walked around the corner). Mike/Jason answered the phone and said, "Did you just walk past me?I"m outside looking for you."
Busted.
How humiliating. For both of us. OMG, again. I literally did not recognize my date, (the only other person standing outside the restaurant), on our not first, but SECOND date. I'm really on a roll with this guy. Date # 1--I forget his actual name. Date # 2--I forget his actual face. Date # 3--Oh wait, I'm pretty sure that he's never going to call me again. Boys out there reading--what do you think?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wedding Bells are Ringing
Alright, alright. I apologize for the revolting blog entry written below. But actually, I only half-way apologize for writing it. That entry was real and true--in short, it's me, people. Take it or leave it.
But to prove to all of you that I am not filled with disturbing/disgusting thoughts all of the time, I decided to blog again, and fast. Lucky for me, I had quite an eventful weekend, left with lots to write about.
This past weekend I attended my first wedding of a friend. This was the first wedding, where I was not seated at a table with my older brother and younger sister. This was the first wedding where Grandma Eva's table was not just a mere inch away from mine. Nope, this was the wedding of my childhood friend, Heather--and I was lucky enough to be there with a great crew of friends.
When Heather and I were little, we attended Harbor Hills Day Camp together. This was where we met, and would later go to middle and highschool together. Heather and I used to dress up in "twin" outfits. As small children, it was not just our outfits that were the same. Both of us had light brown hair, blue/green eyes, and had faces smattered with freckles. Both of us were tiny little girls. One particular day we decided to dress up to camp as "twins." We each wore a hot pink tank, paired with black and white checkered shorts. (Even though it was 1990, I would totally wear that outfit again). On some sort of parents Visiting Day, Heather's dad ran up to me and hugged me, thinking that I was his daughter. He never forgot that moment, as it became one of those memories that our parents would bring up at bat-mitzvahs, graduations... and now at Heather's wedding. During the cocktail hour of the wedding,Heather's dad approached me and said, "Looks like you and Heather decided to wear different outfits today."
" Yup...looks like it."
My high school friends and I took our seats and prepared to watch our friend get married. We watched as the bridal party and groomsmen walked down the aisle. As familiar faces glided down that aisle, I waited for the one face I needed to see to make this whole thing real. A dramatic change in music; the doors opened and Heather walked in, her mom and dad on each arm. That was all I needed-- and it looked like I wasn't the only one. I looked at my girlfriends' faces-- completely tear streaked. (Myself included). Naturally, the boys did not cry...but I know this was just as surreal for them, as it was for us. Heather had taken that irreversible plunge towards adulthood. And there was no turning back.
Weddings have always kind of made me a little sad. Something about a father giving his daughter away, really just kind of rips me up inside. Weddings also remind me that I have friends with husbands, and I still don't have a boyfriend. But perhaps, most importantly of all--weddings force me to recognize the fact that (whether we want to or not) we certainly are growing up, and people are announcing their grownupness in front of family, friends and local religious figures alike.
In short, let me say this: The wedding was a total blasty blast. Heather and her HUSBAND (gasp!) walked into the party room to "I gotta feeling." So, I knew--this really was going to be a good, good night. I danced my pants off, drank my face off, and talked to a boy that I made out with nine years ago and had not seen since 2001. An amazing time was had by all. While I felt like I was reliving my youth at a bat-mitzvah, I had to keep reminding myself: this is a wedding, not a bat-mitzvah, and you're not thirteen years old anymore.
And, just in case you (my readers) have not yet realized--this remains to be a constant reminder.
But to prove to all of you that I am not filled with disturbing/disgusting thoughts all of the time, I decided to blog again, and fast. Lucky for me, I had quite an eventful weekend, left with lots to write about.
This past weekend I attended my first wedding of a friend. This was the first wedding, where I was not seated at a table with my older brother and younger sister. This was the first wedding where Grandma Eva's table was not just a mere inch away from mine. Nope, this was the wedding of my childhood friend, Heather--and I was lucky enough to be there with a great crew of friends.
When Heather and I were little, we attended Harbor Hills Day Camp together. This was where we met, and would later go to middle and highschool together. Heather and I used to dress up in "twin" outfits. As small children, it was not just our outfits that were the same. Both of us had light brown hair, blue/green eyes, and had faces smattered with freckles. Both of us were tiny little girls. One particular day we decided to dress up to camp as "twins." We each wore a hot pink tank, paired with black and white checkered shorts. (Even though it was 1990, I would totally wear that outfit again). On some sort of parents Visiting Day, Heather's dad ran up to me and hugged me, thinking that I was his daughter. He never forgot that moment, as it became one of those memories that our parents would bring up at bat-mitzvahs, graduations... and now at Heather's wedding. During the cocktail hour of the wedding,Heather's dad approached me and said, "Looks like you and Heather decided to wear different outfits today."
" Yup...looks like it."
My high school friends and I took our seats and prepared to watch our friend get married. We watched as the bridal party and groomsmen walked down the aisle. As familiar faces glided down that aisle, I waited for the one face I needed to see to make this whole thing real. A dramatic change in music; the doors opened and Heather walked in, her mom and dad on each arm. That was all I needed-- and it looked like I wasn't the only one. I looked at my girlfriends' faces-- completely tear streaked. (Myself included). Naturally, the boys did not cry...but I know this was just as surreal for them, as it was for us. Heather had taken that irreversible plunge towards adulthood. And there was no turning back.
Weddings have always kind of made me a little sad. Something about a father giving his daughter away, really just kind of rips me up inside. Weddings also remind me that I have friends with husbands, and I still don't have a boyfriend. But perhaps, most importantly of all--weddings force me to recognize the fact that (whether we want to or not) we certainly are growing up, and people are announcing their grownupness in front of family, friends and local religious figures alike.
In short, let me say this: The wedding was a total blasty blast. Heather and her HUSBAND (gasp!) walked into the party room to "I gotta feeling." So, I knew--this really was going to be a good, good night. I danced my pants off, drank my face off, and talked to a boy that I made out with nine years ago and had not seen since 2001. An amazing time was had by all. While I felt like I was reliving my youth at a bat-mitzvah, I had to keep reminding myself: this is a wedding, not a bat-mitzvah, and you're not thirteen years old anymore.
And, just in case you (my readers) have not yet realized--this remains to be a constant reminder.
Friday, August 14, 2009
The Grossest Blog Entry Of All
Everyone has their alone habits right? You know--those things that you do when you are completely alone, in the privacy of your own home. This may come as a shock to you, (please note the sarcasm), but one of my most favorite alone past times is being naked. I would go ahead and say that 93% of the time that I am home alone in my apartment, and my roommate is at work (Ah, the joy of summer vacation), I am naked. I am eating breakfast naked, vacuming naked, talking on gchat naked, and of course--dancing around my apartment, you guessed it--naked. Sometimes I'll throw on a pair of boxers for good measure. But, I can assure you that is only if I start to feel guilty that my roommate has to sit on the same couch that my bare ass was just touching. (An aside: I really wanted to make a HOME ALONE reference, but didn't feel it fit in above. I am stealing this one from Droom--"Buzz, You're girlfriend, woof.")
So, there--I just shared an alone habit that I have. I have many more alone habits too--most of them are absolutely revolting. And I was just completely horrified by one of them, and I immediately felt the need to blog about it.
Sometimes I pick my nose. So, sioux me? C'mon you guys--we all do it. Who doesn't love pulling out a big crusty one? (I also love picking off the crusties that my earrings leave behind, and picking/smelling my belly button lint). I am sooo totally going to find my husband writing these blogs.
Anyway, back to my nose picking. When I pick a booger out, and it's not easily flick-able, I have developed the disgusting habit of sticking it places. (I know, I am filthy). The number one place to stick my boogers are underneath my desk drawer. It makes sense. I'm amidst typing a really good blog entry, or having a really funny convo on AIM, I simply don't have time to get up and throw my booger away. So instead, I stick it underneath my desk drawer. Tonight was no different. Sitting at my computer, I picked out a good booger, and stuck it underneath my desk drawer...when the unthinkable happened. I accidentally touched a cluster of old boogers. Oh my god. I almost just threw up in my mouth, for realzies. They say old habits die hard. Boy, am I in trouble.
So, there--I just shared an alone habit that I have. I have many more alone habits too--most of them are absolutely revolting. And I was just completely horrified by one of them, and I immediately felt the need to blog about it.
Sometimes I pick my nose. So, sioux me? C'mon you guys--we all do it. Who doesn't love pulling out a big crusty one? (I also love picking off the crusties that my earrings leave behind, and picking/smelling my belly button lint). I am sooo totally going to find my husband writing these blogs.
Anyway, back to my nose picking. When I pick a booger out, and it's not easily flick-able, I have developed the disgusting habit of sticking it places. (I know, I am filthy). The number one place to stick my boogers are underneath my desk drawer. It makes sense. I'm amidst typing a really good blog entry, or having a really funny convo on AIM, I simply don't have time to get up and throw my booger away. So instead, I stick it underneath my desk drawer. Tonight was no different. Sitting at my computer, I picked out a good booger, and stuck it underneath my desk drawer...when the unthinkable happened. I accidentally touched a cluster of old boogers. Oh my god. I almost just threw up in my mouth, for realzies. They say old habits die hard. Boy, am I in trouble.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Mike-Jason
Did you guys miss me?
I took a mini hiatus--it's summer, so sioux me?
I thought I'd slowly inch back into each of your lives with a small tale from my dating adventures.
A few weeks ago, I met a guy at a bar. (Now there's a novel idea!)My feet were hurting from all the dancing I had been doing, so I decided to take a break and bench myself. I eased onto a soft bench. (The kind your butt molds right into). I looked to my right, and saw a girl sitting next to me. As I glanced to my left, I noticed a pretty cute guy. I use the term "pretty cute," loosely, because once the night was over--I had absolutely no recollection of what this fellow looked like. (And as I would find out, his appearance was not the only thing that I would forget). He noticed me, and soon conversation would begin. I can't really remember what we talked about, I just remembered him commenting on my rainbow heart shaped bracelets. (He liked them, and thus--had found the key to my heart). As the night ended, we parted ways--but not without exchanging numbers first. I'm a phone number whore. I'll give it out to anyone who asks. (I know what some of you are thinking--that's not the only thing I'll give away--hehehhohoh). But, really...unless the guy seems completely inept at life, what do I have to lose by giving him my number...there is only like a .432 percent chance that he will call anyway.
As we parted ways, I wondered if I'd ever see my bar cutie again...About four days later, my phone rang, and it was my bar crush--Mike. Score! We made plans to see each other. I was excited, but also growing increasingly nervous. I realized that I could not remember what he looked like. I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up. How would I pick him out when we meet at a bar? It's one thing to meet a blind date, looking around, confused and unsure...but what about when you've already met the person? I'm pretty sure that's just considered rude.
Lucky for me, Mike decided that he would wait outside of the bar to meet me. As the only male standing outside at arrival time, I had a pretty good idea it was him. I greeted him like I'd known him my whole life. As the night went on, we were having a pretty good time. Conversation was flowing, and so were the bacaaaadi and diet cokes. And that's when it happened. Mike was telling a story, where a friend of his had to call his name, "Jasoooon." (They said), "Jason, dude."
Jason!?
I thought his name was Mike, and I had thought that for weeks. I was on a date with a guy who I had literally mis-named. Luckily, I masked my surprise, and lightly punched his arm, "Jason," you're too funny." Crisis averted.
You're probably wondering how on earth I thought his name was Mike? Well. I don't know. I only know this: When Mike/Jason called--he did not have to identify himself--isn't that the beauty of caller id? And anytime I had to call him, it never went to voicemail, so I never heard the, "Hi--you've reached Jason's voicemail." I went with my gut--and my gut told me that his name was Mike.
I'll leave you with this simple moral: Listen carefully when people speak to you. And listen even more carefully, if you've been drinking. Luckily for me, Mike/Jason will never know that I had no idea what his name was...unless of course he reads my blog.
I took a mini hiatus--it's summer, so sioux me?
I thought I'd slowly inch back into each of your lives with a small tale from my dating adventures.
A few weeks ago, I met a guy at a bar. (Now there's a novel idea!)My feet were hurting from all the dancing I had been doing, so I decided to take a break and bench myself. I eased onto a soft bench. (The kind your butt molds right into). I looked to my right, and saw a girl sitting next to me. As I glanced to my left, I noticed a pretty cute guy. I use the term "pretty cute," loosely, because once the night was over--I had absolutely no recollection of what this fellow looked like. (And as I would find out, his appearance was not the only thing that I would forget). He noticed me, and soon conversation would begin. I can't really remember what we talked about, I just remembered him commenting on my rainbow heart shaped bracelets. (He liked them, and thus--had found the key to my heart). As the night ended, we parted ways--but not without exchanging numbers first. I'm a phone number whore. I'll give it out to anyone who asks. (I know what some of you are thinking--that's not the only thing I'll give away--hehehhohoh). But, really...unless the guy seems completely inept at life, what do I have to lose by giving him my number...there is only like a .432 percent chance that he will call anyway.
As we parted ways, I wondered if I'd ever see my bar cutie again...About four days later, my phone rang, and it was my bar crush--Mike. Score! We made plans to see each other. I was excited, but also growing increasingly nervous. I realized that I could not remember what he looked like. I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up. How would I pick him out when we meet at a bar? It's one thing to meet a blind date, looking around, confused and unsure...but what about when you've already met the person? I'm pretty sure that's just considered rude.
Lucky for me, Mike decided that he would wait outside of the bar to meet me. As the only male standing outside at arrival time, I had a pretty good idea it was him. I greeted him like I'd known him my whole life. As the night went on, we were having a pretty good time. Conversation was flowing, and so were the bacaaaadi and diet cokes. And that's when it happened. Mike was telling a story, where a friend of his had to call his name, "Jasoooon." (They said), "Jason, dude."
Jason!?
I thought his name was Mike, and I had thought that for weeks. I was on a date with a guy who I had literally mis-named. Luckily, I masked my surprise, and lightly punched his arm, "Jason," you're too funny." Crisis averted.
You're probably wondering how on earth I thought his name was Mike? Well. I don't know. I only know this: When Mike/Jason called--he did not have to identify himself--isn't that the beauty of caller id? And anytime I had to call him, it never went to voicemail, so I never heard the, "Hi--you've reached Jason's voicemail." I went with my gut--and my gut told me that his name was Mike.
I'll leave you with this simple moral: Listen carefully when people speak to you. And listen even more carefully, if you've been drinking. Luckily for me, Mike/Jason will never know that I had no idea what his name was...unless of course he reads my blog.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Camp Schodack, boiiii
I have no voice. My feet are filthy. There is a tan line in the shape of a watermelon on my right cheek. My wrists are covered in friendship bracelets. And, there is also a Camp Schodack shape sized hole in my heart. I had the greatest weekend of my life. As my bestie, Becca Girlay said to me, I always say that-- I am the girl who cried fun. Well, I'll take that huge compliment--and also say this: I really do mean it this time. This weekend was so incredible on so many different levels. It is going to be difficult for me-- to try and conjure up the words to explain why this weekend was so amazing, and why camp has completely changed me, and my life forever. I'll give it my best shot...
I began writing this blog last night, but was too emotionally exhausted to finish. I cried myself to sleep. I can't remember the last time that I did that, or even the last time that I cried. I guess I needed that release. Entering my "grown-up" apartment alone, it felt like the last day of camp for me. I came home, a huge lump in my throat, and I didn't want to talk to, or see anyone. The rational part of my brain knows that by technical standards, I am grown up. I have grown up. Could anything sound more frightening? My brain also knows that my time at camp is over. I know that it wouldn't feel right being there this summer, as a 25 year old,(without my best friends) while all of my former campers are staff members, (and were born in 1992). I do know this: Being with MY friends, on camp, the place where we all met, fell in love, and made some of the greatest and strongest relationships in our lives is fucking powerful, and I don't want to give that up, ever. We are the luckiest people to have found each other, and to have almost all of us, found our homes in NYC together.We always have a good time. But our amazing times together in NY, do not seem to compare to the way we have fun at Camp. Camp has made us confident, daring, carefree, bold with our actions/songs/dances and words, witty, hilarious and kook-ay.
My non-Schodack friends and family all know that when I'm at camp--I literally fall off the face of the planet for two months. Weeks will go by without any sign of life from me. It's not that I don't care about my non-Schodack friends and family--but there is something in the air there--that is literally paralyzing. Camp makes you forget that you have another life. It makes you lose track of time, makes you forget your problems, your worries and your cares. Have you ever felt completely carefree? There is no greater liberation. At Schodack--I am carefree. What a rare thing to feel after the age of thirteen. The past two days that were spent there, I didn't look at my cell phone once. I didn't check my e-mail. I did not need to. I had everything that I needed right there.
As my first experience, as a visitor to camp, on alumni weekend, I was unfathomably excited. I was driving to camp with my best girlays, BGBabe (Becky), Amelierannebabi-boo (Amelia) and Brookie2000. (Brooke). The journey started early Saturday morning, Brooke picked each one of us up at our respective apartments. An excellent playlist provided by Becca Girl was ready to go. The trip took a total of 2 hours and 45 minutes. For 2 hours and 42 minutes, there was screaming, clapping and cheering. The energy in that car was amazing. We could not wait to step foot onto our favorite place in the entire world. The really awesome thing is that all of the current staff have been my campers at some point or another. From the youngest staff members who I shared my first three staff summers with, to the older counselors, both guys and girls, who I worked with as teenagers. I had every single counselor that grew up at camp, as one of my campers. This makes my connection to camp feel that much richer.
From the minute we stepped foot on camp, we were so warmly welcomed. It was completely heart warming. Every time I turned around, there was another face to see and body to hug. It was amazing and overwhelming all at the same time. From that point on, the weekend brought nothing less than hilarity and perfection. Here are just a few of the mildly to moderately hilarious moments that made my weekend. Disclaimer: Most of these are "you had to be there moments." To those that were there, I hope you enjoy.
1. The Knights Inn (our beautiful motel) had a red, heart shaped bathtub in the room. (The honeymoon suite, if you will). Naturally, Brooke had to get naked and sit in the tub, in front of all former Camp Schodack goers. Don't worry, there are pictures.
2. Meelzy and I got our faces painted at the carnival which was going on in the well on Sunday afternoon. I asked for a watermelon. Amelia asked for a football. (When do you not see Amelia carrying a football around?) Nope. These girls did not get our humor, but whatever. (Side note: Amelia's "football" resembled a brown mole with black hair attached). We were wearing name tags that said our years spent at camp. Mine said, 1995-2008. Amelia's said, 1996-2006. One of the girls painting our faces noted that she never overlapped at camp with Amelia. Getting excited at the chance to share that I had been there when she was, I said--Look! (pointing to my nametag)I was there when you were there! She said, "I know. You were my counselor."
Oh. My. God.
3. The Holt's family dog is called JON QUILL. (pronounced with a French accent). Are you laughing yet? Who has a fucking dog named JON QUILL? Her family recently got a new dog. They named it Spot. No, just kidding--they named it Vanilla. But can you imagine, if Jon Quill and SPOT were their names?
4. Moo-Moo--this Farm Goo! Jang/Limb, (former asian camp beauty) JonQuill (Jamie Holt's dog)--(all sung to the tune of Jai Ho!)
5. Sitting on a field of grass with Andy, Justy, Nate, Ryan, Meelz, Noaayer, Emilay, and Becca, singing, permutations (to the tune of na-na-na, hey, hey hey, goodbye), and then making impromptu pryamids with our bodies.
6. So, Sioux us if we're little douchebags.
7. My former counselor, Finkle--telling me that in her gut of guts, she is pretty sure that I am a slut.
8. Having the chance to shimmy the shit out of my tits. There aren't many opportunities to shimmy at strangers walking down 3rd avenue.
9. Brooke showing her tits, upon hearing "show us your tits." at any given moment.
10. 1, 2, 3...It's Opposite Day.
There are so many more noteworthy things that happened throughout the course of the weekend. I just know this: my abs got a great workout. And, I haven't had such stomach hurting laughter like that in a good long while. I can't wait to go back and visit in August...Below, you will find an excerpt from an e-mail that I recieved from Ryan late last night...
Why are there so many cool people at camp? well, have a great night, week, life, and always remember: blood is thicker than water and use that blood to get your friends drunk so we can all never remember the time with our friends that we will never always mostly forget.
Love, Ryan
I began writing this blog last night, but was too emotionally exhausted to finish. I cried myself to sleep. I can't remember the last time that I did that, or even the last time that I cried. I guess I needed that release. Entering my "grown-up" apartment alone, it felt like the last day of camp for me. I came home, a huge lump in my throat, and I didn't want to talk to, or see anyone. The rational part of my brain knows that by technical standards, I am grown up. I have grown up. Could anything sound more frightening? My brain also knows that my time at camp is over. I know that it wouldn't feel right being there this summer, as a 25 year old,(without my best friends) while all of my former campers are staff members, (and were born in 1992). I do know this: Being with MY friends, on camp, the place where we all met, fell in love, and made some of the greatest and strongest relationships in our lives is fucking powerful, and I don't want to give that up, ever. We are the luckiest people to have found each other, and to have almost all of us, found our homes in NYC together.We always have a good time. But our amazing times together in NY, do not seem to compare to the way we have fun at Camp. Camp has made us confident, daring, carefree, bold with our actions/songs/dances and words, witty, hilarious and kook-ay.
My non-Schodack friends and family all know that when I'm at camp--I literally fall off the face of the planet for two months. Weeks will go by without any sign of life from me. It's not that I don't care about my non-Schodack friends and family--but there is something in the air there--that is literally paralyzing. Camp makes you forget that you have another life. It makes you lose track of time, makes you forget your problems, your worries and your cares. Have you ever felt completely carefree? There is no greater liberation. At Schodack--I am carefree. What a rare thing to feel after the age of thirteen. The past two days that were spent there, I didn't look at my cell phone once. I didn't check my e-mail. I did not need to. I had everything that I needed right there.
As my first experience, as a visitor to camp, on alumni weekend, I was unfathomably excited. I was driving to camp with my best girlays, BGBabe (Becky), Amelierannebabi-boo (Amelia) and Brookie2000. (Brooke). The journey started early Saturday morning, Brooke picked each one of us up at our respective apartments. An excellent playlist provided by Becca Girl was ready to go. The trip took a total of 2 hours and 45 minutes. For 2 hours and 42 minutes, there was screaming, clapping and cheering. The energy in that car was amazing. We could not wait to step foot onto our favorite place in the entire world. The really awesome thing is that all of the current staff have been my campers at some point or another. From the youngest staff members who I shared my first three staff summers with, to the older counselors, both guys and girls, who I worked with as teenagers. I had every single counselor that grew up at camp, as one of my campers. This makes my connection to camp feel that much richer.
From the minute we stepped foot on camp, we were so warmly welcomed. It was completely heart warming. Every time I turned around, there was another face to see and body to hug. It was amazing and overwhelming all at the same time. From that point on, the weekend brought nothing less than hilarity and perfection. Here are just a few of the mildly to moderately hilarious moments that made my weekend. Disclaimer: Most of these are "you had to be there moments." To those that were there, I hope you enjoy.
1. The Knights Inn (our beautiful motel) had a red, heart shaped bathtub in the room. (The honeymoon suite, if you will). Naturally, Brooke had to get naked and sit in the tub, in front of all former Camp Schodack goers. Don't worry, there are pictures.
2. Meelzy and I got our faces painted at the carnival which was going on in the well on Sunday afternoon. I asked for a watermelon. Amelia asked for a football. (When do you not see Amelia carrying a football around?) Nope. These girls did not get our humor, but whatever. (Side note: Amelia's "football" resembled a brown mole with black hair attached). We were wearing name tags that said our years spent at camp. Mine said, 1995-2008. Amelia's said, 1996-2006. One of the girls painting our faces noted that she never overlapped at camp with Amelia. Getting excited at the chance to share that I had been there when she was, I said--Look! (pointing to my nametag)I was there when you were there! She said, "I know. You were my counselor."
Oh. My. God.
3. The Holt's family dog is called JON QUILL. (pronounced with a French accent). Are you laughing yet? Who has a fucking dog named JON QUILL? Her family recently got a new dog. They named it Spot. No, just kidding--they named it Vanilla. But can you imagine, if Jon Quill and SPOT were their names?
4. Moo-Moo--this Farm Goo! Jang/Limb, (former asian camp beauty) JonQuill (Jamie Holt's dog)--(all sung to the tune of Jai Ho!)
5. Sitting on a field of grass with Andy, Justy, Nate, Ryan, Meelz, Noaayer, Emilay, and Becca, singing, permutations (to the tune of na-na-na, hey, hey hey, goodbye), and then making impromptu pryamids with our bodies.
6. So, Sioux us if we're little douchebags.
7. My former counselor, Finkle--telling me that in her gut of guts, she is pretty sure that I am a slut.
8. Having the chance to shimmy the shit out of my tits. There aren't many opportunities to shimmy at strangers walking down 3rd avenue.
9. Brooke showing her tits, upon hearing "show us your tits." at any given moment.
10. 1, 2, 3...It's Opposite Day.
There are so many more noteworthy things that happened throughout the course of the weekend. I just know this: my abs got a great workout. And, I haven't had such stomach hurting laughter like that in a good long while. I can't wait to go back and visit in August...Below, you will find an excerpt from an e-mail that I recieved from Ryan late last night...
Why are there so many cool people at camp? well, have a great night, week, life, and always remember: blood is thicker than water and use that blood to get your friends drunk so we can all never remember the time with our friends that we will never always mostly forget.
Love, Ryan
Monday, July 6, 2009
A hodge-podge collection of sorts
I sincerely apologize for my lack of blog posts this summer. It's just that without my students present, I just don't have the same caliber of material that I can produce throughout the school year. So, instead, I will share with you brief ramblings of events/happenings in my life over the past couple of weeks.
I went to the beach this weekend. As a fair skinned gal, I was not well equipped with enough suntan lotion. In the words of my great pal, Bruno Brusnikoff--I am pink and raw. The worst is that my knee pit (the crack between my thigh and calf) is burned, badly. Every time I walk, skip, hop, jump (or breathe)--I am in excruciating pain. I know, I know--I've learned my lesson, (yet again) the very painful way. Next time, I will coat my body with SPF 75.
Craig's List Missed Connections is really fun to read. For those that don't know--if you see a hot man, woman or child on the subway/Starbucks/bench or tree stump, (but were too shy to say anything) Fear not! You can write that person a posting on Craig's List describing yourself, and the person who you so wish to meet! (This all in the slim chance that should they see your post, you meet one another, go on a date, and fall madly in love). Hey, it happened on Ellen! Today, as I rode the subway I made it a point to make deep, intimate eye contact with every handsome stranger that I saw, all in hopes that they would watch me get off my stop, fall in love with me, and race to their computer to compose a poetic Craig's List ad. A girl can dream, right?
Finding a summer job has been harder than I ever imagined it would be! I responded to a job listing (on the ever reputable Craig's List). When I arrived at my "interview,"at the time that the interviewer had set for me. A man in his late 20's (the interviewer) answered the door wearing only his boxers. "Oh, hang on, (he said)--let me throw on my pants." Really?
Trying to rent out our own apartment has been tough, but in this interesting process I've met some lovely people. One of them I kind of wanted to go on a date with. Is it weird to start screening people who are interested in our apartment by asking who is single? You have a girlfriend? Oh, sorry! We just found someone else-- Best of luck to you in your apartment search!
I couldn't sleep last night. Camp Alumni Weekend is less than two weeks away!(And this is technically my first summer as alumnus).I was up all night dreaming up the outfits that I would wear during the weekend. Yes, fantasizing about outfits, or feeling like a burn victim restless in my bed, either one of those could work.
My body has a new fun reaction to excitement, and or nervousness. I went to Rhode Island to visit Brent, Jimmy and Andy, three of my great college friends a couple of weeks ago. Upon arrival at their place, red blotchy hives covered my body. Not only was it attractive, but it also went unnoticed. (Nope). I sure hope me and my body figure something out--who doesn't love a girl broken out in hives?
Lastly, it was 85 and sunny today. What could be better? Nothing. I freaking love summer.
I went to the beach this weekend. As a fair skinned gal, I was not well equipped with enough suntan lotion. In the words of my great pal, Bruno Brusnikoff--I am pink and raw. The worst is that my knee pit (the crack between my thigh and calf) is burned, badly. Every time I walk, skip, hop, jump (or breathe)--I am in excruciating pain. I know, I know--I've learned my lesson, (yet again) the very painful way. Next time, I will coat my body with SPF 75.
Craig's List Missed Connections is really fun to read. For those that don't know--if you see a hot man, woman or child on the subway/Starbucks/bench or tree stump, (but were too shy to say anything) Fear not! You can write that person a posting on Craig's List describing yourself, and the person who you so wish to meet! (This all in the slim chance that should they see your post, you meet one another, go on a date, and fall madly in love). Hey, it happened on Ellen! Today, as I rode the subway I made it a point to make deep, intimate eye contact with every handsome stranger that I saw, all in hopes that they would watch me get off my stop, fall in love with me, and race to their computer to compose a poetic Craig's List ad. A girl can dream, right?
Finding a summer job has been harder than I ever imagined it would be! I responded to a job listing (on the ever reputable Craig's List). When I arrived at my "interview,"at the time that the interviewer had set for me. A man in his late 20's (the interviewer) answered the door wearing only his boxers. "Oh, hang on, (he said)--let me throw on my pants." Really?
Trying to rent out our own apartment has been tough, but in this interesting process I've met some lovely people. One of them I kind of wanted to go on a date with. Is it weird to start screening people who are interested in our apartment by asking who is single? You have a girlfriend? Oh, sorry! We just found someone else-- Best of luck to you in your apartment search!
I couldn't sleep last night. Camp Alumni Weekend is less than two weeks away!(And this is technically my first summer as alumnus).I was up all night dreaming up the outfits that I would wear during the weekend. Yes, fantasizing about outfits, or feeling like a burn victim restless in my bed, either one of those could work.
My body has a new fun reaction to excitement, and or nervousness. I went to Rhode Island to visit Brent, Jimmy and Andy, three of my great college friends a couple of weeks ago. Upon arrival at their place, red blotchy hives covered my body. Not only was it attractive, but it also went unnoticed. (Nope). I sure hope me and my body figure something out--who doesn't love a girl broken out in hives?
Lastly, it was 85 and sunny today. What could be better? Nothing. I freaking love summer.
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