Did This Really Just Happen?

I'm...not...that...into...you. (To the tune of Oops, I did it Again--I'm not that innocent. C. Britney Spears).

Something quite interesting happened to me tonight. You see...I was ripped a new one, via text message, by a guy who I had never met. Ahh yes. Allow me to explain.

Over the last ten years, I have endured many painful experiences involving the opposite sex. I've had my feelings hurt, and my heart broken. I've been lied to, strung along, and even cheated on, back in high school. However, an unfortunate truth of dating, is that there is the potential to get hurt. I always try to treat others how I would like to be treated. And, in the situation I am about to describe, I agree that I was the one at fault, at first...but, this guy, (who I have never met before) brought it to a whole new level...

In my last blog post, I spoke about a Jdate guy who had scheduled a phone call with me. After we chatted, it was clear on my end, that I was not interested in meeting him. Part of this was due to the fact that he texted me twelve times a day. And, no. That is not an exaggeration. The problem was, he had nothing to actually say, and what he did choose to text were actual electronic annoyances. In addition, he added a smiley face to EVERY text he sent. (That's 12 smileys X 7 days a week--you do the math).

Do not misunderstand me. At times, emoticons can be necessary. For example, the occasional wink face, or a smiley face to clarify that you are kidding; as humor can often get misinterpreted via text or instant messages. I welcome that. But, to place a smiley face in every single text? Well, now I don't ever want to meet you.

Furthermore; every time this guy would ask me to go out there were two problems. The first: He did not give me any notice. This is different once I have been out with a person. Feel free to text me at 6 or 7 and ask me what I'm up to. But, if we have never gone out before, I'm going to need some advance notice. In addition, I am a girl, and if left to my own devices, I could spend three hours getting ready. (I seriously love getting ready). So, giving me a half hour to choose my outfit, take a shower, blow dry my hair, apply make up, and arrive on time at chosen destination? Well, it's simply not going to happen. And, lastly...the only thing he asked me to do (besides sit in a park and enjoy one another's company). Yes, he really said that...was to go to Starbucks for a cup of coffee.
1. I do not drink coffee. But, fair enough--I never told him that.
2. And, more importantly--if it's a blind first date. Alcohol is a must.

I was not interested in this boy and yet, I kept responding to his text messages. I admit that was wrong. I felt too guilty to just ignore him. And yet, I knew that I was not doing him any favors by continuing to respond. I should have been a woman about it, and just told him I was not interested. But, I also did not want to send a premature "It's not going to work text" to someone I've never met. It almost felt too cocky in a way...

What I was hoping for, was this: He would get the hint on his own, and slowly disappear. This is what happened instead: Our text message conversation as stated earlier today.

Him: So how about that coffee tonight : )

Me: I actually have plans tonight, I'm sorry.

Him: Easiest thing for you to do is to say you're not interested in meeting up. (HE IS TOTALLY RIGHT, AND I COULD NOT AGREE MORE!!!) Had he stopped here--well, I would have no blog post for this evening...

Me: You're right, and I'm sorry. I should have been upfront sooner.

Him: No worries, you are not a genuine person. You lack integrity and honor.

Me: Okay, well I understand why you would feel that way, and again, I'm sorry.

Him: It's not that I FEEL that you lack integrity, it's that you actually do lack integrity as you've demonstrated.

Him: And, you can take your sorry and shove it up your ass.

Do I feel bad that I caused this sort of reaction from a person I never even met? Of course I do. But, do I think I'm the first girl who received a string of texts like this? Of course not : -)

Me Again!

It's been a while since I've last written. Below, you will find some things that have occurred recently.

I started a new job, at a new school. This is kind of a big one, and requires a post in it of itself. I will say this: It's been a big transition. And, the change has not been easy. And, while things are getting better, I miss my old school, every day...

On Sunday, I had lunch in the West Village with DBA. I picked DBA up at his apartment, where I met his new roommate and new roommate's friends. Hubba-hubba. Hunk Alerts, that's all I'll say. I asked Dan if he would have a party. Not only was his roommate cute, but he also had five friends with him. That's five new boy faces that I haven't seen before, and I like to maximize any and all potential. Is it okay that every time a male friend has a change in his life, I think of ways that it may benefit me? Does this make me selfish? Well, maybe a little. But, at least I own up to my shortcomings.

Last night was Back to School Night. This means that the parents of my students came in and listened to my teaching partner and I speak about the curriculum for an hour and a half. Needless to say, this is an exhausting day, and I didn't get home from school until nine pm. Yes, some of you reading this keep those kinds of hours, but you are investment bankers, lawyers, and do other things that I do not understand. And, you probably make an extra figure or two in your salary. I am a teacher, and like to be home in time for my four-thirty pm dinner. Just saying.

I expected the parents of my new students to be welcoming and warm. I expected them to be curious about who I am, as the new teacher on the block. I expected them to think that I'm a young, twenty-two year old, brand new teacher. And, in fact--until I introduced myself, and mentioned that this is my sixth year teaching, this is what they thought.

What, I did not anticipate was, having the parents of the girls in my class tell me that their daughters have come home telling them that "Miss Fisher has "feathers" in her hair." Yes, I have a feather, or two, or five currently. One is hot pink. I kind of love them. And yes, I know. I'm such a professional. One of the moms told me that her daughter was at home on the internet, "researching" where she could get a feather for her own hair. I'm a trendsetter for nine year olds. Sioux me.

And, lastly. I'd like to discuss a new phenomenon. And that is this: When meeting someone "online," before actually going out on a date, there has been a repeated pattern of scheduling a phone call. I enjoy talking on the phone with my mom, and a select few. But, if we have never met before (Ie: You have my number through a dating website), then well...there is really no reason for us to talk on the phone. Let's just text, until it's time for us to meet in real life. Okay?

This morning I received a text at 6:30 am, from a J-dater, asking me what time is good for us to talk tonight. Sure, thats considerate of him. And, I do appreciate planning ahead. But, just call me whenever you want. I probably will screen anyway.

I had one of these mandatory phone conversations on Tuesday night with a fellow J-dater. And, although I was annoyed that I was talking to a stranger on the phone, when I would have rather been doing...well... just about anything else. I am glad that we talked. The conversation made me realize--I did not want to go out with this guy. I just saved myself a painful first date. Maybe that's a judgmental thing for me to say after a fifteen minute phone conversation. But, I do think you can get a certain vibe from someone. And, most importantly: I hated his phone voice. I'm sorry, it's true and a good phone voice is key. Things that I have been told about my phone voice are that I sound like a 900-operator, or a twelve year old boy. You can decide for yourself.

Oh, Just a Visit to The Neighborhood Psychic!

Back in 2006, when a psychic opened her doors in Livingston, New Jersey. I was ecstatic. For five dollars a palm, I thought this was a real steal. Shortly after moving to NYC in 2007, the psychic went out of business. I'm fairly certain that I was her only customer, solely responsible for keeping her in business that year. At the time, I was seeking the answers to many unanswered questions involving a certain boy that held a special place in my heart. Mostly, I wanted to know if we would end up together. She told me that we would. In hindsight, she was probably telling me what she knew I wanted to hear, and when things with that boy crashed and burned; I knew that my days of seeing psychics were over.

I spoke to Meelz this morning, and she told me that she had stopped at a psychic on her way to going out last night. (Don't you just love New York City?) She too was lured by the mystique of the five dollar palm read. Amelia was impressed with what the psychic told her, and felt that her psychic was right on with many things.

Amelia's visit to the psychic inspired a visit of my own. I walked to my own neighborhood psychic. I was invited in, where I sat on a stained couch, while a woman looking close to ninety years old chain smoked two feet away from where the psychic (Pam), and I were sitting. An albino cat rubbed up against my shins. So far, this was not a great sign. I think most people would agree with me--unless of course, you are my friend Derek. And, then a cat rubbing up against your legs would be a fantastic sign.

Pam began by stating some things about my personality, and my background. Some of her assessments of me could not have been more wrong. For example, she said that I am "a closed book" and keep everything inside. (Raise your hand if you've ever received a Lauren Fisher feelings e-mail, know the inner most details of my bodily functions, and or have heard a story about my sexual past that should have most likely stayed private). Seeing as I get joy out of blogging about the personal details of my life, and most recently wrote about a thirty year old Indian man unexpectedly sticking his finger up my ass at a routine checkup. Well, a closed book, I am not.

But, Pam redeemed herself. She knew that I was a teacher, and that I have a positive, youthful energy. She said I am a people person, and care deeply about the people in my life. She also mentioned my discomfort and disdain for change. Okay, Pam. What else you got?

After she gave me a reading of my lifeline, I asked her the two questions that brought me there in the first place.

Question Number One: Will I be happy at my new job?
Translation: When will I stop crying every day after school?
Pam's response: With great change, comes great opportunity, you need to ride this one out.
My takeaway: (Well, duh. I'm not planning on quitting and becoming a professional homeless woman). Pam's answer was common sense, and did not entirely satisfy me. But, for now it will do.

Question Number Two: Will I end up with someone, in the long term? Find a partner, a marriage etc?
Translation: When will I stop having to sit at the "singles" tables at friends weddings? When will I stop having to decipher the hidden meaning of Gchats, BBMs, and text messages? When will I no longer have hilariously bad first dates? Or have a guy ask me on date # 2 if "I mind getting this one?" (I'm still not over that one). When will I not meet guys who sleep in twin beds? When will twenty-three year old guys stop approaching me in bars because they think I'm in college? When do I get to stop nodding and smiling, as some arrogant asshole talks for way too long about private equity? When will my grandma stop asking me to please get married before she dies? When can I stop enduring the chaos of dating in NYC, all in the efforts to find the right person?
Pam's Response: November. You'll meet someone. Keep your eyes and ears open, he's coming And, don't worry, I see one marriage, and no divorces in your future. That will be twenty dollars.
My Takeaway: This is why I'm broke.

Poo-Poo Platter

Today a thirty year old Indian man stuck his finger up my butt. You?

This was not quite how I thought my afternoon would be spent...but sometimes, life throws you a little curveball. After work today, I went to visit the doctor. I won't get too into details, (because I'm pretty sure ninety-eight percent of you reading this post want to vomit a little).To keep it brief: I'm having a little poo-poo problem, and decided to seek some medical attention. I thought the doctor and I would talk some medical talk. He'd throw out terms like "bowels, and stools," and I would continue to use the word, poop. He'd ask me my symptoms, I would share them, and he would give me a diagnosis. Good as new, and I would go my merry way! But, not so fast. The doctor (who looked like an Indian Doogie Howser) gave me a rectal exam instead. My very first one. My rectal exam cherry has been popped! Amen.

Lorna loves Luke

In honor of the almost one year anniversary of 9-02-10, I decided to post a larger picture that is near and dear to my heart. Here we are, the happy couple. Don't we look great?

The End of Summa

Nothing like a small natural disaster to put things right into perspective. I woke up on Saturday morning, threw some things into a bag, and headed to New Jersey to take refuge with my parents for the impending storm. And, here I am....thirty-three hours later.

I spent last night in a way that I would probably never like to again. And, that is this: Sleeping in one room with my family. My roommate was away this weekend, and I was nervous about being alone in my apartment during the hurricane. Yes, I have friends that I could have stayed with. But, my mom's fridge is more stocked than yours. Priorities, you see.

As it grew later into the evening, my parents became increasingly more nervous that the large tree in the front yard would fall onto our house. If it did fall, it would fall onto my parent's room, or on to my sister's room. Their solution to the problem was this: We would put all of our mattresses together, in the living room, to avoid a potentially life threatening situation. (Although, a tree crashing through a house, regardless of whether or not you're sleeping in that particular room sounds concerning to me). But, what do I know?

Anyway, there we were. Mimi, Craig David, Heatzbabi, (Judy was at his own apartment), and me. Just in case you wondered, my bed was positioned directly beside the front door. (Just like a pet dog). I love my family, I really do. But, I'm mostly sure that as a twenty-seven year old woman, I am not meant to be spending my Saturday night tucked into a bed four feet from the sound of my parents snoring.

Being home, and marooned indoors gave me lots of time to think. I got to thinking about this summer, and what is next for me. As always, summer ending remains a very hard pill for me to swallow. And, it's not just because I'm not ready to begin working again. (Though, that is certainly part of it).

In short, it all comes down to this: I love summer. I love shorts, sundresses, and flip-flops. Tan lines, Rooftops, outdoor spaces, eating outside at a restaurant, and sitting on an East 9th street stoop, with some Sixteen Handles. I love the beach, the smell of suntan lotion, and going for an early morning run before it gets too hot outside. I truly believe that I am a happier person in the summer time, and am not ready to let go of my favorite time of year. (Surprise, surprise. I don't want something to end).

This past month (of not working) has been kind of magical for me. Without any form of work, I have literally been a free Willy! I have explored different NYC parks with my best friend, I went saddle boating, I visited mediocre East coast vacation spots (c. Derek), I've slept as long as my body let me, I watched one of my college roommates get married, I drank a lot of bacaaaardi, I did not endure the Sunday night blues, I visited Camp Schodack, and perhaps most importantly of all: I made out with a boy in a bunk bed.

In a couple of days, I begin work again. Only, I am not returning to familiar lands, but am beginning a new job, at a new school. I've known this was going to happen since May. It's only hitting me now, as August comes to a close, that this change is taking place whether I'm ready or not. And, let's just say...I'm not. Summer Vacation, I miss you already.

Schodack Weekend

It is a rare, and truly lucky thing to feel so comfortable around a group of people that you can completely be yourself, and share anything. I'm talking, no inhibitions, no filter, just completely uncensored you. Even if this includes sharing your daily pooping schedule, sharting, the many uses of a wifebeater, (ie: as toilet paper or a tampon substitute), playing numerous rounds of whose face would you rather sit on, and letting it be known that you maaaay have accidentally peed on someone. (Whoops).

It is a rare thing to have these types of co-ed friendships. The type in which a male friend, in an attempt to maintain the well-being of the other passengers in a long car ride home, says to you, "You either get five free farts, or one free shit your pants." (Please love me still: Brooke, Jeff, Nate and Marla). I know that I can be a semi disgusting human at times, and for me to be me, and share that openly...it kind of means everything.

Who are these people that I am referring to? This group of friends that I feel one hundred percent myself with. Well, they are my camp friends. And, while I certainly value the other relationships in my life outside of camp, I visited camp this weekend for our alumni reunion, so, that's what I'm gonna write about here. Okay?

For fourteen summers, Camp Schodack was my summer home, and to this day--probably the most influential experience of my life. Camp helped shape me, taught me invaluable social skills, and most importantly, helped foster some of the most important friendships I have. I am very lucky to live in the same city as these friends. For my group of friends, a camp reunion is not necessary for us to be reunited. But, to be able to spend time together, at camp, outside--that's the amazing part. When was the last time that you woke up in a room, sleeping in bunk beds with fifteen of your best girl and guy friends?

Being at camp this weekend felt special, not only to reminisce and laugh with my best friends, but also to spend time with my old campers (many of which have become close friends). This Schodack community ties us together, and keep us together. And, I think that it always will.

My voice is very hoarse. And, sure that may have something to do with the multiple Bacardi and diet cokes I consumed at camp. But, mostly... it has to do with all of the singing, cheering, and laughing I did. Pretty much, all I did this weekend was laugh. Laugh, and wonder why there were ants in the parmesan...and in the cereal. 12123, you never let me down. Amazing weekend.