Oh, just your ordinary class trip

Unless you are a teacher or have been a camp counselor, it is hard to understand what it's like to travel with large groups of children. Today me, a handful of other teachers and thirty six nine year olds braved the mean streets of Brooklyn and ventured by subway and a freaking ferry to Ellis Island. Nothing about class trips are fun when you are the adult in charge. I don't care if you are going to Disney World, it is impossible to enjoy the sights and relax.

I take for granted what it feels like to walk down the street at my own pace, engaged with my own thoughts, calmly listening to my ipod. When I walk down the street with my students, I am busy with many different things. I am constantly counting kids, (terrified that I may have lost one) telling children that it is not okay to walk in one straight line across a crowded Manhattan avenue. I am telling Fred that no--we cannot stop to get a hot dog. I am busy explaining to Christian why he cannot play hopscotch and walk in a straight line at the same time. I am asking Mike to stop asking homeless men questions, and I ask Jane to keep her eyes open when she crosses the street at least three different times. Nope, going on a field trip with thirty-six 4th graders--not so fun.

Each student attending the Ellis Island trip were broken up into "families." We were taking the ultimate simulation as immigrants traveling to Ellis Island. My "family" consisted of myself (the mother), and my three children, Lily, Liam and William. As soon as I heard my group, I felt like I was actually in the 4th grade-- my heart sank. I knew that any shot of peace and quiet I may have had throughout the day was gone.

People have always told me that I talk a lot, I've been called a chatterbox all my life. But, William, (my son for the day) makes me look like a mute. Here in no particular order are the questions that Will asked me on our ten block walk from school to the subway at rapid fire speed.

"What is your favorite marsupial?" Do you know how odorless gas lost it's smell? Do you know which countries have never hosted the Olympics? Who was the president in 1832? Do you know how the woodchuck got it's name, Have you ever won the lottery? (Well, Will...if I won the lottery, I wouldn't still be here talking to you, now would I?) What do you want to be when you grow up? (Um?) Do you know that my twin sisters threw up last night? Listen William, I actually need you to shut the hell up so that I can concentrate on making sure that we don't die walking to the subway. Thanks.

Once we arrived at the subway things didn't get much better from there. The kids were like caged monkeys, swinging from the bars, and screaming to each other from across the subway car. (As if we were the only people on the train.) Don't worry, we were traveling at nine am, so it wasn't rush hour or anything. After an hour ferry ride, at which the kids complained that they were cold, hungry, tired, scared, and seasick-- we had arrived. (Feeling similar to the way that the immigrants did, I would imagine.) I was already emotionally and physically drained, and it was hardly eleven am. Our immigrant family just barely survived the day. We had a couple of setbacks, ya know--like William deciding it would be a good idea to play hide and seek at Ellis Island and not tell anyone that he was playing. Or like the minor back pain I was beginning to develop from carrying the groups lunches for three hours. I've been told that people immigrating to the United States kissed the ground when they arrived at Ellis Island. Yup, me too. I kissed the floor of my classroom, at 3:15 pm, when all of my students were gone.

All The Single Ladies

It always amazes me when there are lines to get into NYC bars. With so many bars to choose from in the city, lines should be virtually impossible! And yet to my great disappointment, when I stepped out of the cab in front of Fiddlesticks last night ( a glorified pub in the West Village), I was shocked to see that such a long line had formed. I had arrived by myself, I was running late, and was meeting up with friends (Shout out to ma Becca-Girlay and T. Sama). A large bouncer man approached me and very loudly said, "ARE YOU A SINGLE LADY?" Um, well I mean--I am, but did he really need to announce this to a line with thousands of people?(Ok, so there were probably like 25 people out there tops, but what-ever). I said, yes--to which he replied in the same booming tone, "Are you here alone? Before I could respond and explain to this man that I was having one of those nights where the dinner I was at ran late, and that I had to race home, only to try on every outfit that I owned, making me even later and...the large bouncer man shouted..."WE HAVE A SINGLE LADY, AND SHE'S HERE ALONE."

FANTASTIC.

Oh hey, group of twenty-five people I don't know, Not only do I not have a boyfriend, but apparently I don't have any friends either. The one perk of being a "single lady" arriving alone, was that I was pushed ahead in line onto the "Single Ladies Express Line." Kind of like the express, of lines.

I was quickly moving ahead in line, when the bouncer changed his mind. The Single Ladies Express line quickly turned into a couples only line. Just great. But, as luck would have it, a boy next to me on the regular local line volunteered to be my boyfriend for the next twelve minutes. Crisis averted.

My boyfriend and I waited in line together, grateful that we'd both be able to get inside a little bit quicker. I thought maybe, we'd share some jokes, some laughs, and exchange life stories. However, what I did not anticipate was having my ass grazed by my pseudo boyfriend's fingertips. Great. Now, I have a creepy stranger touching my butt, with nowhere to go. He looked at me with a semi-devious look on his face, and said.."hey, you gotta play the part right?" I meekly smiled back at him. Finally, in what felt like a lifetime, our time in line was done, and we were granted our rights to step into the bar. With one foot forward, I walked away from my couples only line boyfriend...and never looked back.

It's been one week...

...It's been one week since...I've posted a blog. Did you think for a minute that I was going to burst into One Week, by the Bare Naked Ladies? You know how sometimes when you hear a certain song, you can be easily transported in time to whatever you were doing when you first heard that song? I am going to take you back to my transported time moment. The fall of 1998, the first day of highschool--sitting in Mr. Weis's homeroom (E221 to be exact), waiting for AM Wired, LHS's morning tv show to begin. Each morning, as I would soon learn, the show would begin with a popular song. One week must have been big. It was being played on the first day of school. This song had the potential to set the tone for the whole year! And besides, who isn't crazy about a song with lyrics like chick-a-da-china-the-chinese-chicken? The opening credits rolled...One Week would play in the background, and the morning hosts (aka, senior gods) would give us our daily news, and we would never be the same.

Loraine

Over the years I have been called a lot of different names by a lot of different people. You might say that I have accumulated a nickname...or eight. I have loved them all. From Lorna,Loretta,Fishballz, Lorny, Lu-Lu-Wagon, whore,F ishsticks, Fishcakes and Lootie-bell...I really have heard them all. But tonight, I was mistakenly called a new name. LORAINE. I apologize in advance if your mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, best friend, wife, girlfriend or therapist is called Loraine, but it really is a terrible name.

I'm not sure how many of you remember the commercial that aired on TBS a couple of years ago. It was about a man named Raphael, who works in a cubicle. He decorated his cube with RAPHAEL branded items, and his boss still calls him by the wrong name. Tonight that was sort of my life.

In my grad class earlier this evening, we had to complete an assignment in groups. (Who doesn't love awkwardly conversing with people you don't know during a three hour class?) Fred, the man sitting next to me asked me what my name was, I replied Lauren. (I was also wearing my Lauren name necklace). I agree that's not completely fair--it is in cursive, in small letters, and he may not have been looking at it--but c'mon--it was there.

Fred did not hear me correctly, as I would soon find out. We were "thinking, pairing, sharing" and Fred had to introduce me to the class. He introduced me as Loraine. I could have corrected Fred, but I didn't want to embarrass him, and just hoped that nobody heard him. Wishful thinking. Fred said my name every time he addressed me. "What do you think, Loraine?" "Loraine, that's a really good point." Sorry, Loraine, I didn't hear you, could you repeat that Loraine?" Loraine, can you pass me a worksheet, Loraine?" I wanted to die, but only a little. Eventually, I had to leave the room, because I could no longer keep a straight face. I felt like I was in a scene of some kind of really bizarre comedy. Finally, class ended and I could escape the wrath of the wrong name. I walked out the door, but not without a goodbye from my new pal Fred, "Have a great night Loraine!"

What is my Life?

I am here...in my classroom while my students are participating in "choice time." Choice time is when the kids choose an activity to partake in for an allotted amount of time. We have just returned from lunch and recess. As a result my classroom smells like a mixture of peanut butter and prepubescent BO. Each student is busy, involved in various activities around the room. One group of students are creating "gloppy's." A gloppy is a small creature made from model magic (Aka..clay made by Crayola). Each gloppy has a name that ends in y. There is Ruby, Judy, and Smiley. There is Club Gloppy, and you have to undergo an oath of loyalty that specifically states that you will not harm the gloppies in any way. I'm actually not kidding.

Additionally, another student Sam, is busy creating the ultimate cruise vacation. I am watching him as he is pouring over the globe, trying to plan the perfect cruise. Simultaneously, one of his "cruise line workers," Paul, is taking a poll of where each student in my class would like to visit on their cruise. Chuck is busy tracing Frankenstein heads, and has an entire page of of just heads. Meanwhile, I am overhearing a conversation about "sexy ladies" that I know I should be stopping, but I just really don't have the energy right now. And, what seems to be in stereo is a new hit song that my students have created..."o.m.g. I like pie. o.m.g. I like pie." ON REPEAT, for the past twelve minutes. Every few minutes Bill farts loudly, Pedro screams when he drops a lego, Chris Brown beating up Rhianna is being debated, and Jane is in the corner laughing like a hyena. What. is. my. life?

The Bachelor

WHAT. THE. FOCK.

I just spent the past three hours watching Bachelor history being made. Although I read the spoilers weeks ago to this final dramatic conclusion, nothing could have prepared me for how angry, upset, and appalled I feel. (Yes, I am aware that you are not supposed to become this emotionally invested in reality tv). None the less, what Jason did tonight actually made me lose faith in the human race, and makes me hate men...just a little.

Jason Mesnick was the only reason that I watched the Bachelor this season. And why not? He is charming, handsome, a loving father, and most importantly has gotten his heart broken in the past, (on national television). In this final conclusion of what seemed to be a gut wrenching decision, Jason chooses Melissa over Molly. He seemed to have a strong connection to both girls, both girls-- bonafide babes. Personally, I am a big Melissa fan, but I've got bigger fish to fry.

After Jason proposes to Melissa, (after only knowing each other for eight weeks--who smells disaster? The happy couple jumps into the pool in their formal evening wear. (Did anyone else find this scene to be ridiculous?) We are led to believe that Melissa and Jason will have their happy ending. (Did I really think this? No, but on camera this was all tied up very nicely).

Immediately following the show, an "after special" aired, where Jason realizes that he has made the wrong choice. He decides to tell Melissa, his fiance, that he no longer wants to be with her, and that he wants to be with Molly instead. Alright. But give the girl some freaking warning that this is coming. Ya know--like NOT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. (I personally loved when Melissa called him a bastard under her breath.) Minutes after Melissa's exit from the set, it is Molly's turn to come sit in the hot seat. Jason tells Molly that he still loves her, and asks her if they can go out for coffee one night!?!?! Then they proceed to make out on the couch for the next fifteen minutes, while Chris (the show's host) simply sat and watched. It was so sick. Congratulations Jason, you just made every woman in America hate your guts.

Snow Days and Bruises.

I take it all back. A few weeks ago I complained in a blog posting that NYC will never get a snow day...Well. After five long years of waiting...THE IMPOSSIBLE HAS HAPPENED!!!! SNOW DAY FOR NEW YORK CITY, BABYYYY!!! On a Monday morning, what a treat! What I ask you, could be better?

I would also like to add that on Saturday night, I soberly tripped on my own heel, causing me to fall down an entire flight of stairs in a crowded bar. The staircase was positioned in front of a large glass window where a bar full of people saw me tumble down thirteen stairs. (Naturally, assuming I was THAT drunk girl who had just fallen down the stairs). A crowd of worried people, including a kind bouncer who said, "mama, mama--you okay?" approached me. The incident was moderately humiliating, and now my left leg has turned a lovely shade of grayishbrown bruise color.