Telepathy

Sending out several telepathic messages tonight:

• To law schools not responding- "Accept me. Accept me. I'm racially ambiguous looking and in TFA. Win win. Accept me."
• To my kids- "Please stay in your seat. Please do your work. Please do not pretend to be blindfolded karate ninjas during indoor recess."
• To my kids' eyes- "God, I hope that's allergies and not pinkeye."
• To my hair- "Hang in there. I'll buy a new straightener when I have more than $14 in my checking account."
• To the weather- "Stop raining."
• To my coffeemaker- "My coffee better be STRONG tomorrow."

Random assortment of thoughts leading me out of hump day. Feel free to send some messages my way, including, "Please stop blogging about stupid things."

All Growed Up?

Things that Make Me Feel Like an Adult:

• CC'ing someone on an e-mail
• Filing my taxes
• Having one beer at the bar and then going home
• Cleaning out a vacuum cleaner (I didn't even know you could do that before last year)

Things that Don't Make Me Feel Like an Adult:

• Eating PopTarts
• Getting carded to buy spray paint
• Telling a kid to write about a bunny that farts jelly beans for a shape poem because he wasn't interested in anything else about bunnies

What I'll do in the name of student achievement.

Disclaimer: this post somewhat inspired by my hilarious friend's similar post. Not quite as funny as hers, but oh well.

Damage Control

After a SIX hour delay, I finally made it to Boston on Thursday night.... er, Friday morning, at 3 am. I was not pleased with Jet Blue. Not at all. Not even a little. It did let me cross "Get drunk in an airport bar" off of my bucket list, but my last drink was a tall Bud heavy, which did NOT make my flight enjoyable. Or my life in general the next morning.

The good news? I got to BU, I got my $200 reimbursement check for my flight, even though it was a miserable experience. And Jet blue apparently felt pretty bad about the whole thing, because they gave me an additional round-trip flight voucher. So I basically got two flights for free. Pretty sweet. They must have heard about all my accomplishments.

Being at BU got me excited about law school, at least until they gave us the cheat sheet that told us how much it will cost. Eek. But I think I can sleep a little easier knowing that I've at least got one option I can feel good about, even if it requires living in denial about being in massive amounts of debt.

Boring post. Oh well.

Delayed.

Don't they know I'm a Hall of Famer? Fix this problem immediately!

I'm stuck in the CLT airport right now, waiting to get on a direct flight to Boston for a jam-packed weekend- BU law school preview, boyfriend rendez-vous, relived debauchery with my college roommate, and general whining about the weather. I'm blaming the delay on the fact that the pilots don't want to leave abundant sunshine and 70 degree forecasts. Whatever the reason, I'm hoping my newly elevated status as a Corning Painted Post Sports Hall of Fame Inductee (Class of 2011) gets this flight off the ground soon. Literally. I want to get off the ground.

I was home this weekend because of that whole debacle, sitting through a four and a half hour dinner for a plaque and certificate combo. I purposely did not tell Jack about what kind of ceremony it was because I didn't think he would come if he knew. When my sister got inducted, it was over five hours long, only bearable because we were sat at the back closest to the bar. My whole family proceeded to get inappropriately intoxicated as the evening dragged on, getting out at 11 pm and promptly going to bed. This ceremony marked my third important speech of the year, and I'm glad I got practice at my mom's retirement party and my sister's wedding so I could be really calm and collected for this one. Oh wait. I wasn't calm and collected. I was visibly shaking and almost cried. Not exactly my best performance.

When I first got the letter about being inducted, I was pretty confused. I haven't even made the Fiorillo Family Sports Hall of Fame, being banned from the wall of accomplishments because apparently all-conference academic awards don't count. And I didn't feel like I really deserved it. My high school volleyball team did well, even though we were basically the Buffalo Bills of New York volleyball, losing in the state finals two years in a row. But still... my sister got inducted and was way more athletic than me. In fact, I'm less surprised by some of the law schools I've gotten accepted to (or not rejected from) than I am that I got inducted. That's how much I don't feel like a Hall of Famer. Even by Painted Post standards. As the ceremony got closer, I just kind of went with it. I guess I can send an updated resume to some of those undecided schools with my newest accomplishment on it... they can't say no now, right?

For now I'm stuck in with my delayed flight, editing supplemental essays and my e-mail signature to include my most recent accolade. Wish me luck on receiving all these final application decisions, but now that I'm a Hall of Famer, I'm beating all the odds and probably won't need it.

"Is This What Ya'll Want?!"

For some reason, I'm about 90% more inclined to use "ya'll" when I'm angry at my class. Which is usually about... four hours out of the day. It's becoming more and more prevalent as March unveils their true personalities, showing me that my kids are actually the spawn of every ADHD individual that has ever lived. Not necessarily the devil, because alone each one of them is bearable, likable even (most of the time). But together, I need a misting hose of Adderall to contain their activity, a blowhorn to get their attention, and a three gallon tub of Starburst jelly beans to even begin to motivate them to sit still.

The computer teacher asked me how I survived without keeping a switch in my classroom. The music teacher offered me 5% of his salary. The pregnant art teacher just rubbed the bridge of her nose and said, "You have a very active class this year, Ms. Fiorillo." Even the secretary (who frequently pages our BMT for me) told me she was praying for me. What's the deal, kids?!

It was another day of them coming out of specials being scolded for their group behavior, only to be skipping down the hall spastically knocking down student work because they prefer looking like they're in a Dance Dance Revolution commercial rather than regular elementary students walking down the hallway.

Flash forward five minutes and there I am, talking at a pretty loud volume.

"Is this what you want?" I say. "To drive your teacher crazy? To send her running out that back door flailing her arms and screaming like she's being chased by bees?! IS THIS WHAT YA'LL WANT?!"

Silence. Then the crack.

"Did she just say ya'll?" Two kids fall out of their chairs and a strand Jha'Nya's plastic hair beads come loose and bounce dramatically on the floor. Three kids lay out to try to pick them up first. At the same time, Sean makes a farting noise with his mouth by accident and Immanuel proclaims loudly that he will use it on himself if he isn't allowed to go to the bathroom immediately.

Another typical day.

Daylight Keeping Time

I've never understood why they call it Daylight Savings Time. It's not like you're saving anything. Changing the time forward or backward has no effect on how long the day actually is; it just changes what the clock says. It's all a matter of perspective... it's a matter of whether you want light at 6 in the morning or 8 at night.

For me, it means it's dark when I get to work again. Bummer.

But in a more philosophical way, I think maybe I need my own shift in perspective away from this attitude where I do not like my job (at least a lot of parts of my jobs) and count down the days until it's over. I need to try to find some light in what I do. Because there are great moments in my day somewhere, even if it takes some serious emotional excavation to find it. Case in point? My reading class is amazing, and we have fun together EVEN on the days when the kids (or me) are not 100% on the ball. And the fact that most of my homeroom is genuinely sweet, whether they bring in extra pieces of their birthday cake or tracings of Disney characters with Spanish captions. However I look at it, it's time to start looking forward (get it?).

Skinny Wednesday

Lent began today. I've never been especially good at giving things up, but over-indulging on Fat Tuesday has always been easy. And with my two moms in town, it was even easier than usual.

When I was in Italy, my overly patriotic father who will never leave the country would not come to visit me with my real mom. So Bonnie came along instead. People in my program were a little confused when the two moms showed up, as were the maitre'ds (is that correct?) when they insisted on getting a cot in their room in Florence for "their" daughter. We drank wine straight out of the bottle in St. Mark's Square, watched my mom lock herself in a tiny coed bathroom, and had a deli worker explain the meaning of love to us.

They've been traveling up the coast from Florida enjoying their retirement and stopping at every plantation and old southern city they can find. Charlotte was a less historic pit stop, but one I was lucky they made because it meant I had an excuse to stuff my face full of Charlotte's best Italian food and desserts. They left this morning, leaving me feeling quite empty (as lame and cliche as that sounds). I love my mom. I love her even more when there's two of her. And a monotonous day of school and South Beach diet food feels even more deprived after a day of indulgence.

The whole time they were here, I demanded that they give me life advice. What I really want, more than advice, is for someone to just tell me what to do. Or someone to at least give me some solid ground to give me at least a little sense of stability. Unfortunately, my mom's pushiness stops at the point of making decisions for me, usually with her exclaiming that she thinks I should "follow my hopes, dreams, and aspirations." Whatever that means. I was able to at least get the pearl of wisdom that making a choice does not necessarily result in a mistake, but just in something different. And that you don't always have to have everything 100% figured out, because there will be things like Nutella Pie and salted caramel brownies to fill the part that remains uncertain.

At an Italian restaurant in Charlotte celebrating Momma's birthday

I suppose the only thing I can do is get a grip, suck it up, and just chill out. Have some fun while life is sorting out the details for me. Try to distract myself by giving up some part of my daily routine (i.e. Facebook... we'll see how long this lasts) to understand sacrifice. Before I know it, something great will just fall in my lap, wrapped up in a nice little bow. That counts as a plan, right?

Stolen by the South

I spent the weekend in a log cabin in Gatlinburg, TN with eight of my friends. Out of everyone there, I was the only Yankee. By a long shot. By this morning, I had developed a penchant for homemade wine, a slight Southern accent, and a longing to buy cowboy boots. Yes, cowboy boots. Did I mention I was in Tennessee?

Ladies and gentlemen, the south is beginning to steal me away.

To all my friends up north, you better come slap me with a Vineyard Vines bag and a Red Sox hat or I'm going to be sucked up by Dixieland forever.

More on this later. Right now I'm too busy dodging the Sunday night panic and avoiding a quarter-life crisis. Pretty typical, I would say.

VIP

I got invited to a really exclusive party this weekend. Too bad I'll be out of town in the middle of nowhere Tennessee on a romantic girl date with my friends.

Where's the bash? Lazy 5 Ranch. Whose party? Jha'Nya's seventh birthday.

I actually kind of wish I could go... Weird? Probably.

Living in a Countdown

Dr. Seuss calls it "The Waiting Place." Everyone is just waiting.

Well, right now I'm JUST WAITING. Waiting for my mother to call me back, for one thing, so I can finish some law school app deadlines and book a flight home to be honored as the greatest high school athlete my town has ever seen... or something like that. I figure that since she refreshes my blog page at least once every fifteen minutes, this method might prove more successful than calling her repeatedly and leaving her the annoying voicemails that just catch the person hanging up. I hate those.

On top of that waiting, I'm waiting to slip into DDD mode (Deep Dark Depression mode) because Jack left this morning after a "long" weekend. The idea of calling four days long when you haven't seen someone in two months is cruel. I've prepped myself by baking a loaf of banana walnut bread with a side of a tub of butter. And buying Self magazine and bright orange nail polish.

You want more countdowns? How about the countdown to finding out about the last three schools I applied to, the ones that could be game-changers as far as law schools go? Or the countdown until spring break? Or the end of the year? How many Mondays left??

It's twelve, by the way. In case you're counting. Because I am.

Last year, I blogged about the doldrums of March, a reference to my favorite children's novel of all time The Phantom Tollbooth. This year, it's the Waiting Place. How do you get out of it? Does anyone know?

Blog, I guess.

MOM CALL ME BACK!