...I'd become a food blogger. It used to be a craft expert, but I think I'd get bored with the few crafting skills I do have pretty quickly (probably limited to writing in interesting letters and Mod Podging). But after my friend Whitney started a blog with a Sunday night recipe feature, I wanted to start the same thing. Call me a copycat. For the moment, that's what I'm doing. But I love food and I love cooking and if I want my mom to continue paying my cellphone bill, I need to start producing more than one blog every four months. That or go back to teaching so I can talk about the hilarious things that children do.
Am I starting right now? No, but be on the look out for some insight into my culinary skillfulness in the near future.
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Saturday, March 3, 2012
The Hiatus
Blogging isn't quite as soothing when you spend every waking minute reading and writing and trying to avoid even the most stylistic use of the passive voice. It also doesn't serve much of a purpose when the only funny stories you have either revolve around nerdy law school jokes or the fact that one of your professors wears a fanny pack and uses Lindsay Lohan in all of his hypotheticals on land grants and the law of estates. I'd like to go back to giving it a try anyway.
It feels like the first time seeing an ex after a break-up, months later with an awkward amount of space to fill with small talk and half-interested nods. I have't seen this "compose" page of my blog in so long that I almost wasn't sure I was in the right space. But I'm back, and I guess that's all that matters.
So what small talk do I start with? I guess I could tell you what I've been doing for the past four months.
 |
| Read, study, writing assignments, repeat. |
That actually sums up everything you need to know, at least about the law school part.
What about my social life?
|
| I spent last Saturday watching puppy shows on Animal Planet in between frequent panic attacks about my moot court brief |
I guess that picture works for that too.
Be on the lookout for more...
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
On the Other Side of the Mason-Dixon
Orientation starts tomorrow, and aside from my North Carolina driver's licence, I'm pretty close to being a Yankee again. In the midst of all the anxiety about all these new chapters in my life (excuse the cliche, I've been in the car too long today), I'm finding myself nostalgic for certain parts of good ol' Dixie. Shall I list what I miss?
- Chick-fil-A. Especially on Sunday, when no one in the country can have it.
- Fried pickles. A Southern delicacy.
- 80+ degrees. The weather up here is equivalent to Carolina December, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.
- Ya'll. Nothing but the cheesy "you guys" or vague and cold plural "you."
- Four (or more) different country radio stations. Or any radio stations, given that I've been in upstate New York for the past week.
- People of the South. I mean the people I knew, not the strangers. I miss my friends.
- Leisurely driving. Maybe use a turn signal, maybe don't. Slow down in the passing lane so people can read your vanity plate (every other car has one). People drive too fast in Massachusetts to make vanity plates worth it.
I'm sure there's more than that, but it's all my tired brain can handle right now. Back to being a student tomorrow.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Two Weeks Notice
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing to inform you of my intent to resign from my position of summer laziness at the close of business on Monday, September 6, 2011 (which ironically falls on Labor Day, a national holiday on which no business aside from relaxing with friends and choice beverages will take place). In spite of the many positive aspects of my current situation, I have been offered the opportunity to go into unspeakable amounts of debt so that I can do nothing but read and highlight what I read without break for the next three years of my life. I have thoroughly enjoyed the time I have spent skimming shallow beach novels, watching trashy TV On Demand, taking health risks by absorbing UVA/UVB rays, and sleeping without setting an alarm and/or allowing natural light to wake me.
I will continue to faithfully execute the duties of this post for the remainder of my contract, including the previously planned trip to Painted Post, NY where I will close out my partnership with the late summer sun and tanning season and shadow the carefree retirement lifestyle of my parents. I appreciate the lack of structure and blissfully empty days with which you have provided me, and leave with nothing but the utmost respect and gratitude of my time here.
Sincerely,
The Lazy Bum
P.S.- Do I have to go?
I am writing to inform you of my intent to resign from my position of summer laziness at the close of business on Monday, September 6, 2011 (which ironically falls on Labor Day, a national holiday on which no business aside from relaxing with friends and choice beverages will take place). In spite of the many positive aspects of my current situation, I have been offered the opportunity to go into unspeakable amounts of debt so that I can do nothing but read and highlight what I read without break for the next three years of my life. I have thoroughly enjoyed the time I have spent skimming shallow beach novels, watching trashy TV On Demand, taking health risks by absorbing UVA/UVB rays, and sleeping without setting an alarm and/or allowing natural light to wake me.
I will continue to faithfully execute the duties of this post for the remainder of my contract, including the previously planned trip to Painted Post, NY where I will close out my partnership with the late summer sun and tanning season and shadow the carefree retirement lifestyle of my parents. I appreciate the lack of structure and blissfully empty days with which you have provided me, and leave with nothing but the utmost respect and gratitude of my time here.
Sincerely,
The Lazy Bum
P.S.- Do I have to go?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Back To School, Remixed
Teacher becomes the student.
Sorry for the cliche, and sorry for the wait. Blogging has been the least of my concerns this summer (clearly) for some very simple reasons, the biggest reason being that I don't really have anything to blog about. There have been a couple things here and there that have grabbed my attention, but blogging about them would have gotten in the way of my main goal of not taking anything too seriously. Some of those things I'll touch on later. Most of them I won't.
But today, reality struck and my brain needs to get back in the swing of things. As my mother so lovingly reminded me in a text the other day:
"One 24 word blog in over a month, that is REALLY pathetic. I hope you remember how to read and write when you go to law school."
I hope so too. I got my schedule and section for classes and finally realized that I'm moving to Boston and starting school in just two weeks. The weird thing is that I'm having a hard time registering the fact that this year, back to school doesn't mean shamelessly buying Crayola 24-packs for thirteen cents in Target. It doesn't mean having teaching nightmares about leave hundreds of pounds of raw meat in my classroom all summer (which happened last year). The bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student this year is ME, not the little six-year olds scuffing their shoes down the hallway.
It's a weird shift to make. The difference is that instead of freaking out about being ready, I'm surprisingly chilled out. I opened my first Word document in over a month yesterday. The extent of my prep work has been working on my tan, getting over 10 hours of sleep a night, and reading one nonfiction book. Even now, with a lot to do, I have no checklist, no charts, no spreadsheets. I haven't had any law school nightmares, although I did have a teaching one (weird, right?). Maybe it's becoming impossible to faze me after teaching first grade (which seems unlikely, but I'll take it).
Sorry for the cliche, and sorry for the wait. Blogging has been the least of my concerns this summer (clearly) for some very simple reasons, the biggest reason being that I don't really have anything to blog about. There have been a couple things here and there that have grabbed my attention, but blogging about them would have gotten in the way of my main goal of not taking anything too seriously. Some of those things I'll touch on later. Most of them I won't.
But today, reality struck and my brain needs to get back in the swing of things. As my mother so lovingly reminded me in a text the other day:
"One 24 word blog in over a month, that is REALLY pathetic. I hope you remember how to read and write when you go to law school."
I hope so too. I got my schedule and section for classes and finally realized that I'm moving to Boston and starting school in just two weeks. The weird thing is that I'm having a hard time registering the fact that this year, back to school doesn't mean shamelessly buying Crayola 24-packs for thirteen cents in Target. It doesn't mean having teaching nightmares about leave hundreds of pounds of raw meat in my classroom all summer (which happened last year). The bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student this year is ME, not the little six-year olds scuffing their shoes down the hallway.
It's a weird shift to make. The difference is that instead of freaking out about being ready, I'm surprisingly chilled out. I opened my first Word document in over a month yesterday. The extent of my prep work has been working on my tan, getting over 10 hours of sleep a night, and reading one nonfiction book. Even now, with a lot to do, I have no checklist, no charts, no spreadsheets. I haven't had any law school nightmares, although I did have a teaching one (weird, right?). Maybe it's becoming impossible to faze me after teaching first grade (which seems unlikely, but I'll take it).
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Real Adventure
Is Skyping my mom. I did it earlier today in a bout of boredom after Jack left for work and was reminded of all the things she does that always keep the person she's Skyping guessing. Like...
...the fact that her webcam works about 14% of the time. I'd like to attribute it to technical difficulties, but I think the real reason is her inability to find the "Add Video" button. This means that instead of truly videochatting, I'm stuck staring at a tiny screen image of myself in the bottom right hand corner of my screen knowing that my mom is watching me, kind of like a stalker.
...her understanding that just because I can't see her means I can't hear her. Whenever she picks up the call, she's always yelling. Usually, I can hear the telltale intro music to Law and Order blasting in the background. The loudness is compounded by her tendency to add a vowel to the end of most words and hold them out for extended periods of time ("Sariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!").
...the random things that happen during the interaction.
In the middle of a story, it suddenly sounded as if her computer had been picked up by a tornado.
"What are you doing?" I shouted over the noise. It stopped.
"Oh, I was just cleaning out my keyboard. You know, with one of those air sprayers."
Not exactly the right time, Mom.
At least it's always entertaining.
...the fact that her webcam works about 14% of the time. I'd like to attribute it to technical difficulties, but I think the real reason is her inability to find the "Add Video" button. This means that instead of truly videochatting, I'm stuck staring at a tiny screen image of myself in the bottom right hand corner of my screen knowing that my mom is watching me, kind of like a stalker.
...her understanding that just because I can't see her means I can't hear her. Whenever she picks up the call, she's always yelling. Usually, I can hear the telltale intro music to Law and Order blasting in the background. The loudness is compounded by her tendency to add a vowel to the end of most words and hold them out for extended periods of time ("Sariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!").
...the random things that happen during the interaction.
In the middle of a story, it suddenly sounded as if her computer had been picked up by a tornado.
"What are you doing?" I shouted over the noise. It stopped.
"Oh, I was just cleaning out my keyboard. You know, with one of those air sprayers."
Not exactly the right time, Mom.
At least it's always entertaining.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Restless
Sometimes when I have too much free time bad ideas begin to sound like better ides, then they almost start to sound like good ideas. I'm wondering how good the following ideas are...
- Getting a puppy
- Piercing my nose
- Tricking myself into training for a triathlon
- Paying to go to the zoo by myself
- Volunteering to work with children
- Driving around the Deep South trying to find where my friends from Charlotte live
Thoughts?
Filling Time
The number of my blog posts is inversely related to the amount of time I have. Or at least I think it is... it's been awhile since I've done math beyond the single-digit addition required of first graders.
To be clear, I have a lot of free time. Time I've spent visiting friends/family, training and starting my new waitressing job, reading for fun (unheard of!), cooking, and acting reeeeeeal chill about starting law school in the fall. Well, for the most part.
Who has time for blogging when you're catching up on every single TV show available On Demand? Not this girl.
The truth is, my life has been pretty uneventful now that I'm done teaching. I could tell you about working in a restaurant where I leave every day feeling like I'm coated with a thin layer of ranch dressing, but I doubt anyone would be all that interested in that. Likely, too, that people are uninterested in the other mundane details of my life, but I'll share a few of the (slightly) more interesting ones.
To be clear, I have a lot of free time. Time I've spent visiting friends/family, training and starting my new waitressing job, reading for fun (unheard of!), cooking, and acting reeeeeeal chill about starting law school in the fall. Well, for the most part.
Who has time for blogging when you're catching up on every single TV show available On Demand? Not this girl.
The truth is, my life has been pretty uneventful now that I'm done teaching. I could tell you about working in a restaurant where I leave every day feeling like I'm coated with a thin layer of ranch dressing, but I doubt anyone would be all that interested in that. Likely, too, that people are uninterested in the other mundane details of my life, but I'll share a few of the (slightly) more interesting ones.
- I got carded going into a rated-R movie (Horrible Bosses). Great movie, and definitely not appropriate for those under seventeen. But it is appropriate for 24-year-olds (like myself).
- I made authentic southern fried chicken for the first time. I need some practice.
- I've already corrected my two-year long sleep deficit and am currently functioning on a sleep surplus. Take note, America. Maybe I could fix this whole debt issue we've got.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The Welcome Boat
I know it's normally called the welcome wagon, but I'm so special that I got welcomed into Greenville by a boat. Jack (and the rest of the people at the Greenville Drive) had the past three days off because of the All-Star Break and we got invited to spend it at a lake house in Georgia. I was a little anxious because I was going somewhere where I didn't know anyone and had no escape route besides running away. And given how my workouts have been going, I'd probably only make it about 100 yards before keeling over and crawling back to get some water.
The Fiorillos have two basic rules for making someone new feel welcome: (1) Give them a lot of alcohol and (2) Make numerous inappropriate sexual comments. Whether it's my dad subtly putting a second beer in front of you or my mom trying to make the "Shocker" symbol with her hand, people tend to loosen up pretty quickly (or they leave). This weekend (week beginning? What do you call Monday-Wednesday?) I realized that I do it to make myself more comfortable... which meant Jack's friends had better be comfortable with a little bit of drinking and several under-my-breath boner jokes. I made guacamole as a safety net in case they weren't.
It turned out being awesome- perfect weather, an entire day out on the boat, jumping off a giant rock (eek!), and more Catchphrase than I've played in the first 24 years of my life. It was a great start to the move down here, as long as all my new friends don't tire of my sense of humor.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Nod
I went for a run yesterday in the neighborhood next to my apartment complex. I love going over there, especially in the spring, because the houses are all beautiful brick ones with rolling lawns and huge old trees. There are usually a lot of people walking around too, meaning my run is frequently interrupted by friendly waves and smiles. Which I like.
For awhile, I hated running outside. I hated passing other runners who would give you what I like to call the runner's nod, a cursory head jerk acknowledging that you are both fitness machines. More often than not, I felt like the nod was filled to the brim with judgment- What does she think she's doing out here? the nod would say. She's not a runner! Poser!
I blame my dad.
Why? When we were little, we did a lot of driving around town. I'm not really sure why. I remember piling leaves on top of my dad's creepy child-molester looking van (a red and white Dodge caravan with a three-seat bench in the middle and a huge trunk... who buys that for real? Even if you do have to carry hurdles and shotputs around?) and driving down the street, watching them fly off the roof as my sister, brother, and I crouched looking out the back window. Not safe on a NUMBER of levels. We did the same thing with snow.
Anyway, we drove around a lot. And whether we were on road trips or just driving in an unsafe manner around Painted Post, my dad did this thing when he would see people running on the side of the road. He categorized them into one of three categories.
Category 1- runner. These were the people whose calves would ripple with each lightning-quick step, the people running almost as fast as your car. They were always tan. They were always focused.
Category 2- jogger. Less fashionable running clothes, not quite as tan, and not quite as fast, but all of the joggers looked as if they had a pretty high level of general fitness. Nothing too impressive, but then everyone can't be. This brings us to category 3, the reason why I feel self-conscious running on busy roads or outside in general.
Plodder. Picture a multi-colored windsuit stretching and pulling at the hips and buttocks as if something underneath is trying to squeeze its way out. Picture scrunchies. Picture a person who stops excessively, usually falling over when they try to stretch out their quad. Picture a person putzing along so slowly, so pathetically, that it can't even be considered running. They'd be better off walking. Or crawling. At least then they wouldn't be calling it running. That's a plodder.
Obviously I'm not a plodder, especially since I'm in the Sports Hall of Fame (don't know if everyone knew this). I probably used to be though, and the idea of someone driving by and grouping me in with the windsuited, scrunchy type was too much for me to bear. So I avoided it.
Yesterday was probably the first day that I got a nod that did not scream "Plodder!", even if those nods were completely dreamed up in my head. I finally got a nod that hinted I might actually be a runner now, a veteran of the streets.
Or maybe it's just southern manners. I'll never know.
For awhile, I hated running outside. I hated passing other runners who would give you what I like to call the runner's nod, a cursory head jerk acknowledging that you are both fitness machines. More often than not, I felt like the nod was filled to the brim with judgment- What does she think she's doing out here? the nod would say. She's not a runner! Poser!
I blame my dad.
Why? When we were little, we did a lot of driving around town. I'm not really sure why. I remember piling leaves on top of my dad's creepy child-molester looking van (a red and white Dodge caravan with a three-seat bench in the middle and a huge trunk... who buys that for real? Even if you do have to carry hurdles and shotputs around?) and driving down the street, watching them fly off the roof as my sister, brother, and I crouched looking out the back window. Not safe on a NUMBER of levels. We did the same thing with snow.
Anyway, we drove around a lot. And whether we were on road trips or just driving in an unsafe manner around Painted Post, my dad did this thing when he would see people running on the side of the road. He categorized them into one of three categories.
Category 1- runner. These were the people whose calves would ripple with each lightning-quick step, the people running almost as fast as your car. They were always tan. They were always focused.
Category 2- jogger. Less fashionable running clothes, not quite as tan, and not quite as fast, but all of the joggers looked as if they had a pretty high level of general fitness. Nothing too impressive, but then everyone can't be. This brings us to category 3, the reason why I feel self-conscious running on busy roads or outside in general.
Plodder. Picture a multi-colored windsuit stretching and pulling at the hips and buttocks as if something underneath is trying to squeeze its way out. Picture scrunchies. Picture a person who stops excessively, usually falling over when they try to stretch out their quad. Picture a person putzing along so slowly, so pathetically, that it can't even be considered running. They'd be better off walking. Or crawling. At least then they wouldn't be calling it running. That's a plodder.
Obviously I'm not a plodder, especially since I'm in the Sports Hall of Fame (don't know if everyone knew this). I probably used to be though, and the idea of someone driving by and grouping me in with the windsuited, scrunchy type was too much for me to bear. So I avoided it.
Yesterday was probably the first day that I got a nod that did not scream "Plodder!", even if those nods were completely dreamed up in my head. I finally got a nod that hinted I might actually be a runner now, a veteran of the streets.
Or maybe it's just southern manners. I'll never know.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
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."
Saturday, March 26, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
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!
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!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
My Big Secret
I finally came clean about it. Everyone knows.
Sometimes, after the really bad days, I need a pick-me-up. There's only one thing that can pull me out of that bad-day coma. Sometimes I even need two hits, one right after school and one on my way home.
I'm talking about Poptarts. The nutritional equivalent to spreading jam on cardboard and sprinkling it with confectionary sugar. My addiction can't be helped, and I finally shared it with my team last Wednesday when we had a potluck to send off my principal to her new school.
It's too easy to give in to the temptation, especially given the vending machine situation at my school. To save electricity, the machines and the lights in the teacher's lounge operate on a motion sensor, so when you walk in the room they all boot up and light up as if to say "Ah, hello Sara. We knew you'd be back." It makes me feel like I'm in some kind of messed up abusive relationship with the thing, always crawling back to it when things go bad.
75 cents and an E6 later, and I'm walking down the hall chewing the crusts off one of the tarts like a desperate raccoon. On especially bad days, I do so cradling a Diet Dr. Pepper with my free arm, but only if I can scrape enough change together to get both. Junkie habits.
The funniest parts of the whole situation happened in the past week, which was hands down the worst week I've had this year. Circumstances that make me especially vulnerable to my vending machine Poptart relationship. The first happened on Monday, when I beelined for the machine right from the bus lot, clutching quarters in my hand to make sure I didn't drop any. Clunk clunk clunk and I have a strawberry Poptart in my hand. Sweet relief. I ate them in approximately one minute and forty-seven seconds.
After working for two more hours, I realized that one was not going to be enough for the day. I would need another on my way out. Another 75 cents squeezed into my hand. I checked the hallway before going in to make sure no one would catch me getting another one. Brown sugar cinnamon was the next flavor... perfect. I deposited my money and waited anxiously for it to drop. It didn't. It was stuck.
At that moment, I had a decision to make. Clearly, some higher power was trying to tell me, "Don't do it Sara! Leave the Poptart! Just go!"
Did I listen? Of course not. I checked the hallway again and then body slammed the machine three times before the Poptart fell out into its proper place. Was I ashamed? Yes. But once that cold toaster pastry got into my mouth, I didn't care.
The second situation happened the next day, which was somehow worse than Monday. I didn't have time to get my money before taking my kids out to the bus lot, so I grabbed my wallet and walked back after doing some stuff in my room.
Let me preface this by saying that the vending machine can get kind of testy. That day was one of those days. I walked away 15 minutes later $2.75 poorer because my quarters got eaten. To be clear, you can buy two entire boxes of Poptarts for that price at Walmart. I couldn't stop feeding them into the slot, holding on to the vain hope that maybe, MAYBE this quarter would be credited on the machine. They never were. At that moment, I hit rock bottom.
That's why I told my team about the ongoing problem. The itch that constantly needed to be scratched. On Monday, I'll greet them at our weekly data meeting with, "Hello, my name is Sara. And I'm a Poptart-aholic."
Pray for me.
Sometimes, after the really bad days, I need a pick-me-up. There's only one thing that can pull me out of that bad-day coma. Sometimes I even need two hits, one right after school and one on my way home.
I'm talking about Poptarts. The nutritional equivalent to spreading jam on cardboard and sprinkling it with confectionary sugar. My addiction can't be helped, and I finally shared it with my team last Wednesday when we had a potluck to send off my principal to her new school.
It's too easy to give in to the temptation, especially given the vending machine situation at my school. To save electricity, the machines and the lights in the teacher's lounge operate on a motion sensor, so when you walk in the room they all boot up and light up as if to say "Ah, hello Sara. We knew you'd be back." It makes me feel like I'm in some kind of messed up abusive relationship with the thing, always crawling back to it when things go bad.
75 cents and an E6 later, and I'm walking down the hall chewing the crusts off one of the tarts like a desperate raccoon. On especially bad days, I do so cradling a Diet Dr. Pepper with my free arm, but only if I can scrape enough change together to get both. Junkie habits.
The funniest parts of the whole situation happened in the past week, which was hands down the worst week I've had this year. Circumstances that make me especially vulnerable to my vending machine Poptart relationship. The first happened on Monday, when I beelined for the machine right from the bus lot, clutching quarters in my hand to make sure I didn't drop any. Clunk clunk clunk and I have a strawberry Poptart in my hand. Sweet relief. I ate them in approximately one minute and forty-seven seconds.
After working for two more hours, I realized that one was not going to be enough for the day. I would need another on my way out. Another 75 cents squeezed into my hand. I checked the hallway before going in to make sure no one would catch me getting another one. Brown sugar cinnamon was the next flavor... perfect. I deposited my money and waited anxiously for it to drop. It didn't. It was stuck.
At that moment, I had a decision to make. Clearly, some higher power was trying to tell me, "Don't do it Sara! Leave the Poptart! Just go!"
Did I listen? Of course not. I checked the hallway again and then body slammed the machine three times before the Poptart fell out into its proper place. Was I ashamed? Yes. But once that cold toaster pastry got into my mouth, I didn't care.
The second situation happened the next day, which was somehow worse than Monday. I didn't have time to get my money before taking my kids out to the bus lot, so I grabbed my wallet and walked back after doing some stuff in my room.
Let me preface this by saying that the vending machine can get kind of testy. That day was one of those days. I walked away 15 minutes later $2.75 poorer because my quarters got eaten. To be clear, you can buy two entire boxes of Poptarts for that price at Walmart. I couldn't stop feeding them into the slot, holding on to the vain hope that maybe, MAYBE this quarter would be credited on the machine. They never were. At that moment, I hit rock bottom.
That's why I told my team about the ongoing problem. The itch that constantly needed to be scratched. On Monday, I'll greet them at our weekly data meeting with, "Hello, my name is Sara. And I'm a Poptart-aholic."
Pray for me.
People Like Me.
This weekend, my roommate banned me from doing anything work or future related. Anything. Apparently I worry a lot about having everything figured out and perfect (I know, I was surprised too). It turned out to be a pretty awesome weekend in spite of my constant urges to search for jobs, update my resume, and write lesson plans.
The best part was our Saturday night date night at one of our favorite places to go from last year that closed and just recently reopened. They took off the best thing on the menu (reopening with that item would've been too good to be true) but other than night it was like we were back in last year.
Except not. We were laughing, and not the kind of laughter that covers up how much you hate your job and think that maybe laughing will make it disappear. I mean REAL laughing. After dinner and two bottles of wine opened by a waiter who had apparently never handled a corkscrew before in his life, we took the party to a bar and proceeded to order two beer towers and continue our real-life laughter (I-like-my-life laughter).
Nights and weekends like this make me want to stay in Charlotte and prance around with restaurants where waiters and waitresses know me, bars where the bartenders can have "my" drink ready for me when they see me walking in. Is this going to be a lasting tradition? Going out with friends and being able to be pretty content? We'll see. After all, we have another date tomorrow night. Yes, a SCHOOL NIGHT. I am so popular.
The best part was our Saturday night date night at one of our favorite places to go from last year that closed and just recently reopened. They took off the best thing on the menu (reopening with that item would've been too good to be true) but other than night it was like we were back in last year.
Except not. We were laughing, and not the kind of laughter that covers up how much you hate your job and think that maybe laughing will make it disappear. I mean REAL laughing. After dinner and two bottles of wine opened by a waiter who had apparently never handled a corkscrew before in his life, we took the party to a bar and proceeded to order two beer towers and continue our real-life laughter (I-like-my-life laughter).
Nights and weekends like this make me want to stay in Charlotte and prance around with restaurants where waiters and waitresses know me, bars where the bartenders can have "my" drink ready for me when they see me walking in. Is this going to be a lasting tradition? Going out with friends and being able to be pretty content? We'll see. After all, we have another date tomorrow night. Yes, a SCHOOL NIGHT. I am so popular.
Monday, January 17, 2011
In Case You Didn't Notice...
I just recently found out that the two spaces after a period rule is antiquated. And frowned upon. How will I ever change?! Eek. I just started in that last post, and it took every ounce of my energy to not tap the space bar twice.
...and no one really cares. At least I've shared my struggle with the world.
...and no one really cares. At least I've shared my struggle with the world.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Is This What Cabin Fever is Like?
We're on snow day number three, and I'm pretty sure cabin fever is setting in. Think the same may be happening to you? Use this checklist to decide.
So it's official. Cabin fever.
We all handle it in different ways. Cabin fever makes me want to purse my lips in a tight line, retreat to my room, and wallow in my own wandering thoughts. In contrast, it makes Erin want to rub her face on people's shoulders and arms and possibly thighs (depending on where you're sitting) despite said person's wishes to wallow in his or her own wandering thoughts. Mainly it's because of her need for physical touch and her uncontrollable optimism in the face of not having to go to work. She does the same to our cat, who may like snuggling even less than I do. At least I don't bite your toes when you try to do it to me.
Kristen doesn't get cabin fever because she's trying to plan her wedding. My mom also doesn't get cabin fever because she is now retired and has thus been sentenced to cabin fever for the rest of her days.
Anyway, like I said- cabin fever. It might have something to do with the idea of losing ALL of our days off in February (boo!), or the fact that there's only so much you can do with two days off. Whatever it is, tomorrow will be the last day of it, so I might as well enjoy it. Then it's back to work, back to student achievement, and back to 5:00 am wake-ups. And when I put it that way... I take back all the bad things I said about cabin fever.
- Your voice volume has escalated above what is normal.
- You've spent more than 14 hours on your couch.
- Your carbon monoxide alarm has gone off at least once.
- You've run out of alcohol.
So it's official. Cabin fever.
We all handle it in different ways. Cabin fever makes me want to purse my lips in a tight line, retreat to my room, and wallow in my own wandering thoughts. In contrast, it makes Erin want to rub her face on people's shoulders and arms and possibly thighs (depending on where you're sitting) despite said person's wishes to wallow in his or her own wandering thoughts. Mainly it's because of her need for physical touch and her uncontrollable optimism in the face of not having to go to work. She does the same to our cat, who may like snuggling even less than I do. At least I don't bite your toes when you try to do it to me.
Kristen doesn't get cabin fever because she's trying to plan her wedding. My mom also doesn't get cabin fever because she is now retired and has thus been sentenced to cabin fever for the rest of her days.
Anyway, like I said- cabin fever. It might have something to do with the idea of losing ALL of our days off in February (boo!), or the fact that there's only so much you can do with two days off. Whatever it is, tomorrow will be the last day of it, so I might as well enjoy it. Then it's back to work, back to student achievement, and back to 5:00 am wake-ups. And when I put it that way... I take back all the bad things I said about cabin fever.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
A New Toy
I needed a pick-me-up today. Badly. I've been feeling a little deflated (a little may be an understatement) because of some things going on in my whole teaching life. Then, just when I thought it couldn't get any more down in the dumps, I found out there is a case of scabies somewhere in our school. I don't know what scabies is exactly, but it makes me feel like I have worms crawling under my skin. I picture the symptoms to be foaming scabs... although that is probably completely inaccurate. I'd google it but I'm pretty sure that would make me feel worse, not better. I am instituting a strict no hugging or high five policy until further notice (one teacher suggested just giving kids a Jersey Shore fist pump instead).
Anyway, on top of the scabies, it was Wednesday. And we had a staff meeting. And a training. And then another meeting. It was 3:30 before I got something to eat- a long time to wait when my lunchtime is 9:45 (yes, in the morning).
Like I said, I needed a pick-me-up. So at 4:20, I left for UNCC on a mission. I bought a brand spankin' new MacBook Pro at 4:50 and made it to class at 5:00.
Now I'm home and get to play. The only problem is that I don't know how to do anything. I never realized how much I use backwards delete until a time like now (how DO you use backwards delete on a Mac? If it's not possible I might have to take it back). I'm just hoping I don't spend the whole night exploring the trackpad shortcuts and finally being as cool as all those people with the photo booth pictures (see below).
Anyway, on top of the scabies, it was Wednesday. And we had a staff meeting. And a training. And then another meeting. It was 3:30 before I got something to eat- a long time to wait when my lunchtime is 9:45 (yes, in the morning).
Like I said, I needed a pick-me-up. So at 4:20, I left for UNCC on a mission. I bought a brand spankin' new MacBook Pro at 4:50 and made it to class at 5:00.
Now I'm home and get to play. The only problem is that I don't know how to do anything. I never realized how much I use backwards delete until a time like now (how DO you use backwards delete on a Mac? If it's not possible I might have to take it back). I'm just hoping I don't spend the whole night exploring the trackpad shortcuts and finally being as cool as all those people with the photo booth pictures (see below).
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| Note: I am already in bed at 9:30. |
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Playing Catch-up
I've been terrible at life lately. Or maybe it's just blogging. At any rate, I've been super busy going between, work, grad school, and LSAT stuff. It's EXHAUSTING. Then this weekend (which would have been my blogging catch-up time to reveal all the hilarious little details from my babies) I took an impromptu getaway to the Rappahannack (sp?) River to my roommate's house there.
We did nothing. We woke up late, had her dad make us delicious breakfasts, lunch, and dinner, and then alternated between napping on the beach and closing our eyes while laying out on the beach. There's not much of a distinction between the two, FYI. See picture below to get jealous of me and my very impressive tan.
School? It's great. I'm actually LIKING it. Feeling like a teacher, minus the fact that we have been testing so much these first weeks that I've barely gotten to teach at all. But soon that will be over and I will be in the zone. More to come later- I promise.
We did nothing. We woke up late, had her dad make us delicious breakfasts, lunch, and dinner, and then alternated between napping on the beach and closing our eyes while laying out on the beach. There's not much of a distinction between the two, FYI. See picture below to get jealous of me and my very impressive tan.
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| Looking out towards the Chesapeake Bay |
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