Lessons Learned The Hard Way...

I seem to learn all of my lessons the hard way. My mom has always said that I am my own worst enemy. Any negative events that have happened in my life, are usually a result of me, myself and I. Translation: Other people rarely harm me, and I do some stupid shit. As a result, I always learn my lessons the hard way.

When I was 22, and a senior in college, after 17 speeding ticket violations, the state of Rhode Island FINALLY took my license from me. When the sentence was handed to me, I cried for four hours. I though that life as I knew it (bye bye wheels, hello hot pink bike) was over. If I had just stopped speeding after the first time that I was pulled over, (or the second, or the eighth time,) I would not have had to spend the better part of 2006 riding a hot pink bike with a bell and a basket. But alas, I learned my lesson (don't speed) the hard way.

When I was a freshman in college, I was loving my new found freedom, fake id, classes of 500 people+, and professors who had know idea who I was. Six months later, I nearly got myself kicked out of school. Had I listened to warnings from my parents and from professors, I would have saved myself lots of aggravation, stress, visits to the dean, and tears. Ultimately,I was not kicked out of school, but it was a very rough patch between me and my parents, that took a lot of mending. And for that, I learned my lesson the hard way.

In college I was given a credit card for the first time. At the time, I saw this card as free money. Oohh, I like that shirt! (I'll take it in four different colors). What do you mean I have to pay for that eventually? And with interest? I simply thought, hm, no big deal. When I get a job, I'll pay my debt off immediately. This was before I knew that I would be paid in peanuts (on a teacher's salary). This was also a much simpler time, a time when I thought that you were paid your annual salary in full, at the start of your job. (Yes, I can be a little slow at times). Well, here we are 6 years later, thousands of dollars in debt, living life as the richest homeless person you know. Had I gone a little easier on the spending, after numerous warnings from Little Mimi and Dad, things would be a lot different for me now. I learned my lesson the hard way. There were some other lessons that I learned the hard way too, but they involve boys, relationships and STD's, so I will save those for the book that I am currently writing this summer.


This past week, I learned a very, very important lesson, and that is to always read the fine print. My roommate and I were excited and ready to move forward in our lives. It was time to graduate from Murray Hill to a further downtown section of Manhattan. (For those of you reading this that do not live in NYC, Murray Hill is reserved for 22-25 year old Jews, who all attended the same 7 universities, and went to the same 5 sleepaway camps). Bonk, (that's my roommate) and I were ready to sign a new lease, for an amazing new apartment. After days of apartment hunting, we had found the one--and at unbeatable price! We were so excited, I had my certified check in my hand, ready to sign our new lease... when the unthinkable happened. A call from our current property holder confirmed for us that we had not signed a one year lease ending in August 2009, but we had actually signed a TWO year lease, ending in August 2010. THAT'S RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTELMAN. My roomate and I signed a two year lease, and had absolutely no idea, until TODAY, when we were about to sign another lease. Go ahead, call us stupid, call us idiots, call us fools. You can't say anything that we haven't already said about ourselves. So, now as we desperately try to rent our aparemtent privately (If you know anyone who needs a place in Murray Hill--we are here for you!) We are left, feeling distraught, and dissapointed about the apartment that will ultimately slip through our fingertips. It was graduation day, and we are being left behind. We are left with the new found knowledge of a very important lesson, one that we truly learned the hard way: always read the fine print, or else you learn, as my good friend Jared pointed out, "you're a re-re."

All The Single Ladies: Part Deux

Being a single 20-something in NYC can be really fun. All the women who are independent, throw your hands up at me! I feel young, invincible and free! I excitedly get ready to go out, ( mid-90's dance music blasting in the background). As I apply my makeup, I wonder where the night might take me. (Placing aside, the obvious value and blessing of having great, fun friends who I love to spend time with), the possibilities of the night that lies ahead seem truly endless. Who will I meet? Every bar I step into holds the promise of my future boyfriends and husband. And if not, no worries--there is always next weekend. No strings, no ties to hold this girl down! Hypothetically speaking, if I wanted to make out with my next door neighbor in our elevator, fine! (Making every sober encounter for the next six months extremely uncomfortable, fine!) I dare you to stop me.

And then there are the other times...the times that being a single 20-something in NYC can be really confusing, irritating and well... frustrating as fuck. Case and point. You DO meet someone. You hit it off. Numbers are exchanged, (you pick out future names for your children)...And, then you wait. And wait. And fucking wait some more. Sure, I could text or call him first, but if I do that, I can pretty much be guaranteed that I will never hear from him again--and be pegged as crazy. (Who me?) So, instead I wait some more. And as luck would have it...I do hear from him! The waiting game is over. I hear from him at 2:47 am, 3:13 am, and 3:36 am. Hmm. That's so interesting! I wonder why he's texting me at these times? (An aside: I think we are all guilty of booty-texting, but at least I know that I feel some remorse after soberly assessing the damage the following morning).

What has dating in NY (and maybe all major cities) come to? Meeting someone drunk in a bar, exchanging some form of bodily fluid, (the type of bodily fluid, I will leave up to you), and then praying that the person speaks to you again!? This can't be normal. And yet, somehow it is. I recently met someone out at night, and was shocked to receive an actual phone call from that guy. Not a text message, face-book message, e-mail, BBM, or smoke signal, but just an old fashioned telephone call. My phone rang, and conversation was exchanged through real words and voices. NOT through my text messaging personality. (Which I think has become quite witty). After hanging up the phone, I realized that I could not remember the last time a boy (that wasn't my dad, brother or platonic friend) CALLED me, on the actual telephone.

Remember when people had phone/address books? Friends phone numbers were written inside. And, in middle school the addition of your own private line was added under your name in the phone book? Remember when there were ONLY land lines, (and they weren't called land lines back then). And if you were REALLY lucky, your family may have also had a car phone too! I can't imagine what dating was like during that time. Did you booty call someone and have it wake up an entire household? I think not. Will the invention of cell phones, and other technological means mark the beginning of the end for chivalry? Only time will tell...

The Last Day of 4th Grade

I've been dreaming about this blog post for weeks now. The blog that I would write on the last day of fourth grade. And suddenly, here it is! The day has snuck up on me sooner than anticipated. It is mind boggling. One minute it's September, and the next--it's June! (When you work in a school, you still think of "years" as September-June, rather than the actual calender). And as I sit here in my chair, at my desk, typing on my computer--I feel compelled to tell you, my loyal readers, that I am filled with a range of emotions. (Beware). But, most of all right now--I just feel blue.

Each year I think that I am going to feel a huge sigh of relief on the day that school is done. After all, what better season is there than summer? And, each year I am surprised (I have a selective memory) that I don't feel relief (that usually comes about 4-5 days from now). Instead, right now in this moment--I feel pangs of sadness. Now, I'm no mathematician (and I'm sure my i-banking/accountant friends could help me do the math on this one). But, no matter how you slice it, I spend a large percentage of my week with my students. Some could say these kids have become like family. (Family that I occasionally want to punch in the face), but none the less family. A love/hate relationship if you will.

I think about all the joy that my students have brought me this year. And, believe you me--there was lots of joy. There was the Variety Show, where William sang "Staying Alive" with such emotion, I thought I would pass out from trying to hold in my laughter. Or when Jake bounced a basketball for six minutes, while the audience exchanged tortured glances as to why we were watching someone dribble, and calling it a "talent." I will miss Sam asking me each, and every day who my favorite Looney Toons charcter is. And, each day without fail, Sam would bring in his entire Looney Toons dvd collection. (He had 11 dvds that he carted around to and from school every single day). I think about Cam who appointed other girls to be his girlfriend for the day, when his real girlfriend was absent. Or how Rose would try to hold my hand every chance she got. At first, I would grow annoyed, and try to shake her hand off. (I'm soooo loving and affectionate). Until it occurred to me: All Rose wants to do is hold my hand. How could I ever be annoyed by that? I think about how sarcastic Jillian is, and that I love joking with her the way I can with my friends. Jillian literally not only takes my shit, but she gets it too. I will miss William rocket-farting ( Yup, that's just what it sounds like) at his friends, and I will miss Pete challenging me to a race every single morning. Yeah, you could say--I'm gonna miss these kids. Though at times, things were rough, (Pedro's tantrums in museums, mistakenly drawing tits on the board during math, and field trips from hell), But what's most important is that these kids have warmed my heart, and made me feel like an important, special grown-up, who really has had a hand in their growth, development, happiness and overall well-being. It feels really, really good.

I have officially completed my third year of teaching, and when I return in the fall, I will be at year # four. That makes me sound somewhat reputable, like I should kind of know what I'm doing by now. How terrifying. This also marks another end for me. Next year, I will no longer be in the fourth grade, but I will be working in the third grade. I'm sure that my new position will bring laughter and challenges along the way. But, I won't think about that just yet--instead, I will quote something that Zack(who has been known to threaten my life with a non-existent gun, and once asked me what I would be doing over my nine day vacation) said. "Have a super special, awesome, wonderful Zachary summer." And ya know what? I think that's just what I'm going to do.

Wanted:

With summer rapidly approaching, (Schoooool's out for summer as of June 10th!). A couple of thing come to mind. For the first time in fifteen summers, (that's the summer of '94 for all you math buffs), I am not going anywhere! This is the first time since fifth grade that school is ending, and I am NOT packing my bags for sleep away camp! (or a Hawaiian/Alaskan teen tour). Yes, that's right--at 25 years old, it is finally time to stay put, right here in New York City--and I am very excited! In the mean time, I have been rapidly searching on Craig's List for a summer job of sorts. Camp Schodack was job security! This is the first time that I need to look for a summer job in eight years. This has been a bit of a difficult process, seeing as I do not wish to have a job having anything to do with children. You might say, I need this three month break from nine year olds.

I have not have found my summer dream job just yet...However, while searching on Craig's List, I did run into a very interesting posting. Under the Wanted section, the posting was listed as: Man Looking for Supple Breast. I must admit--I was intrigued. A man describing himself as "normal" posted an ad in search of a supple breast, for which he could gather some breast milk. Also, included in the ad was a disclaimer: You need not worry if you are not currently lactating, as this "normal man"will work with you to help produce milk. (I am terrified thinking about what he does to help aid this process). And, oh. He is looking for the breast milk for himself,(he's thirsty). He is NOT helping a lactaid deficient woman. What the fuck, people!? There are actually ads, on a reputable website, for a lactating breast!?!?! And, with that being said...I may need to expand my search for the summer job of my dreams.

Here Comes The Bride

I have said it before, and I'll say it again: Being in your 20's is this sort of strange phenomenon. We may all be in the same age demographic--but everyone seems to be moving at a very different pace. Case and point: Not only do I still doodle Mrs. Lauren Perry on spare pieces of paper (That's Luke's last name in case you weren't sure). I still fret daily over boys that I meet in alcohol induced stupors. Does he like me? Will he text me? What did he mean when he said nice to meet you? And, if I do receive a text message from a bar crush, I must consult at least four friends before any response can be sent. Similarly, other girls my age are making seating arrangements, picking out china patterns, and deciding on floral arrangements for their weddings. Yup, we're totally on the same page.

Today was a semi-milestone in my life. I attended my first bridal shower for one of my childhood friends. It was a lovely party, but none the less--extremely surreal. Heather walked into the room, looking adorable, and tearful from the surprise. Her whole entrance into the room gave me the chills. (I know, everything gives me the chills.) But really, my entire leg hair(s) grew back simultaneously with her arrival. As I looked at Heather, her tiny frame, her young looking face, I could not help but think--this is a friend that I have had since I was seven years old. And, she is actually old enough to have a husband. Technically, that makes me old enough to have a husband. I have been married on facebook now for the past four years. (I know, that's almost like a real marriage). I don't remember why or how Jay (my facebook husband) and I decided to announce our faux nuptials via facebook--but here we are four years later...still married. This was all in good fun. Until now... In the past year, I have received six e-mails from old college friends, who I had fallen out of touch with--congratulating me on my wedding. My wedding!? Excuse me? Is it time to get a facebook divorce?

While Heather unwrapped her gifts, all the women (ages 50 +) ooohed and ahhed over flatware and glass bowls. I don't think that I'm ready for that. Although to be fair, I'm not sure that I will ever be ready to oooh and aahh over glassware. Note to my future bridesmaids/fellow shower goers: At my wedding shower, please buy me the following items: the complete 90210 DVD set, a lifetime supply of ketchup, and an all expense paid shopping spree to Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, H&M, and Forever21. If I have learned anything from this small milestone of today, it is that it's okay to be in different life places at different times. After all, to each their own--right?

May Twenty-Sixth

I think it can become pretty easy to take for granted how well we know our friends. When you know someone really well, you come to accept, and even love all of the idiosyncrasies that make us individuals. Close friends know each other's habits, (like coming home and watching 90210 every day while eating an ice cream sundae). Their likes, (grilled chicken, string cheese salads, rainbows and watermelon), their dislikes (math), what makes that person happy, (sunshine, sleepaway camp and ketchup),what makes that person sad, (highschool's end seven years ago) and even what makes that person angry (freakshow students). We just get those things about each other. The quirks that you love your friends for, and those that they love you right back--just might be the very same things that are confusing, odd and just plain frightening to a stranger.

An example of this: If you were to walk into my bedroom right now--you might think that a twelve year old girl,(possibly a lesbian) circa de 1991 lives inside. There is a large rainbow colored flag on the wall, a polka-dotted rainbow blanket on my bed, and a life size poster of Luke Perry on the wall next to my bed. But alas, looks can be deceiving--there is no 12 year old living inside those walls, just a 25 year old living in 2009. For those that know me well, seeing these things in my bedroom would not surprise you at all, but for someone who does not know me as well--these are the very things that could send a person running!

I may sometimes take for granted my friends genuine acceptance, and understanding of me, and my many quirks. However, as for the likes of a pseudo stranger--that may not be the case. It is hard for me to go into further detail without becoming too tactless, or compromising my integrity. So, I will leave you with a short, but important moral of the story. If you meet someone in a bar, perhaps a gentleman suitor-- and bring them home with you--your life size poster of a 90's pop icon may scare them, just a little.

Fair View Lake Thirty Three and a Third

The moment I have been waiting for is finally here. I am well rested. (Took a four hour nap). I am finally clean. (Took my first shower in three days). But most importantly, I am back--from the woods--with thirty-six fourth graders. The trip to Fair View Lake truly was the best of times, and the worst of times. And, I would like to recap this two night-three day adventure with all of you.

The trip began back in Brooklyn. I stood by the door, "checking in" each student and their luggage.Throughout this process, I was asked by nine different kids why I was I...A). dressed funny B). wearing my pajamas and C). looked weird. Dontcha just love kids? ( Sidenote:I was wearing a sweatshirt, leggings and a headband.) What did they expect-- for me to arrive dressed in an evening gown to go camping?
After forty-five minutes of chaotic play on the playground, we were off, and on our way on the two hour bus ride to Fair View Lake, located in Newton, New Jersey. My impending doom was upon us.

Upon arrival at Fair View Lake's spacious camp grounds, we dispersed into our designated cabins. My roommates for the next three days would be five girls: Jane, Kristi, Laura, Lindsay and Britt. The girls, all best friends, decided that they wanted to give our bunk a name. Perfect, I thought--we're really bonding now. They decided to call themselves "The Tomboys." From that point on, whenever I needed to gather my girls in a jiffy, I would call out..."Tomboys, over hereee." Something about that was mildly hilarious to me. Even better than having a cabin refer to themselves as the tomboys...is actually being given an explanation on the vast differences between being a tomboy and being a girly-girl. The girls told me that I was definitely a girly-girl. Here's why: 1. I have bangs. 2. I sometimes wear dresses 3. I like pink, and 4. I have my ears pierced. (seven times). Glad we got that straightened out. Even though, I'm a "girly-girl," the tomboys still accepted me with open arms, and treated me like one of their own. The tomboys # 1 mission on our trip was to make sure that no boys could see through our windows. They took the liberty of covering every single window in the cabin with pieces of notebook paper.There. Now, we were safe from those mischievous wandering eyes.

One of the best parts of the trip was meal time. Meals were the one semi-form of a break that we ("the grown-ups") had (in between giving the students their ADHD medicine). We used our meal time to recharge, eat smiley faced french fries and tell funny stories that had happened in our individual cabins. And believe me, there were plenty of funny stories to tell. One student, William (the avid conversationalist from the Ellis Island trip) talked in his sleep, loudly, having a conversation with himself for FIVE hours. That's not an exxageration, that was the painful truth for my teacher friend-Fran who lived in William's cabin. The next day, a group of boys, were eating ice cream at our ice-cream social..Ilana and I saw them "cheers-ing" with their bowls of ice cream..."to bunk beds!" they said as they clinked their icecream sundaes together. Now, there's something you don't see too often in a bar--cheers-ing to bunk beds. Think I'll try that one this weekend.

Something that surprised me in my own cabin was the openness that the girls chose to take around me. While getting ready for the shower, Kristi was walking around completely naked. While, I can appreciate that--as that is one of my favorite pastimes...I usually don't do it with my 4th grade math teacher present. Kristi looked at me and said, "I mean, we're all girls right?" I had to agree with her--tomboys or girly-girls--we were all girls none the less. However, I couldn't help but thinking that teaching long division to her will never the same again.

Among others, topic of conversation in the cabin revolved around deodorant. Who wore it, what kinds there were, what they smelled like, and how often it is used. All of this deodorant talk made me reminiscent about my first armpit hair. It was the summer going into 7th grade, I had no boobs and no period--but I had my armpit hair. I refused to shave it. I was proud of the small black bush that was beginning to develop beneath my underarms. Needless to say, when I got home from camp, and my mom saw what was going on under there, I quickly lost that hair and I've been armpit hair free since 1996.

Another really amazing thing about the trip was getting to hang out with the kids in a non-pressure, non-academic, fun, easy going setting. I raced against all of the 4th grade boys. (Rumors of my speed had surfaced). It was literally me, and eighteen 9 and 10 year olds on the start line. Guess who won? Yeah, I'm pretty fast--but I've also got a twelve inch lead in the length of my legs. I played soccer and basketball too! I competed in a sandcastle competition, and I got to do it all in my sofees and a white hanes tee. (My favorite Camp Schodack attire).

We went boating on Fair View Lake. Four boys approached me asking to be in their group, (thinking that I would be an asset as a rower). Instead I got my group stuck on rocks in between two trees, the boys screamed bloody murder, while I tried to release us from the rocks...only to be rescued by the on-duty lifeguard in her canoe.

The worst of times on this trip, were actually surprisingly far and few between, but none the less there were some. 1). Being woken at six am by the tomboys to tell me that there was a wild turkey outside. I don't give a shit. 2).Being woken every half hour on the first night by Laura, asking me what I would do to comfort her if she couldn't fall asleep. Nothing, Laura. 3). The swamp hike. I don't think I need to go into any further detail. 4). Sleeping a total of five hours in two nights, and literally feeling like a dead woman walking...luckily my second wind kicked in, just in time for s'mores and camp fire songs. Overall, Camp Fair View Lake was a success, but I am glad to be back! I can't wait to have me time, not be a mother to five tomboys, and sleep in a bed not made of metal. Until May, '10--see ya later Fair View Lake!