It's a Man's World

I moved into Jack's apartment for the summer this week. I'll save my tearful Charlotte goodbyes for a later blog since my days have been mainly consumed with unpacking all my junk into the place HE'S been living for a month and a half.

Lucky for me, he cleaned up AND made space for my stuff (as he enthusiastically told me several times) so that I could get settled in, stress-free, while he was video-taping minor league baseball players "swings" (butts) until 11:00 my first day here in Greenville.

Jack and I have been dating long enough for me to know a lot about his living habits, especially since we've been long distance and generally spend several days and nights together at once. For example- he always lays his toothbrush on his toothpaste, rather than getting a cup to put them in. He cleans his ears frequently (who doesn't? Ear canals be damned!). His laundry basket always has at least one article of clothing draped over the side.

But there are little things about a person's living space that you don't pick up on until you are very conscious that you are moving in with them (even if only for the summer). And I picked up on some things that any girl needs to bring with her when moving in with ANY boy.

To be clear, I'm not picking on Jack. He has no flaws aside from the flaws that each member of his gender share (point for Sara!)

1. A box of trash bags: boys don't throw things away. Well, they SORT OF do. Jack didn't lie when he said he cleaned up for me, because he did. But I kept finding all these empty bottles and boxes on the ground. Or in the place where they would belong if they were still full. There was the half-dented Irish Spring soap box next to the shower, an empty mouthwash bottle on the sink, and an empty Advil bottle on his dresser. I think boys think that just because it won't make a mess when it isn't in the trash means they don't have to throw it away. I called my mom to investigate further.

"When I was cleaning out dad's shower yesterday, I threw away three empty bottles of shampoo."

2. Conditioner: that's because men, ever efficient, use grooming products that combine as many functions as possible. This is what is in Jack's shower:

Hair and body wash. I bet it can also be used as toothpaste and toilet cleaner. To upgrade, he bought a bottle of Head n' Shoulders 2 in 1 (specifically for me), but unless you want your hair to look like its been zapped by a taser, I suggest bringing your own beauty products.

3. A toilet brush: I don't think many boys know what this is used for. A plunger, yes, but a toilet brush, no. They'd be as lost identifying its use as they would for eyelash curlers. Most male apartments I've been in seem to have toilets that have never seen a toilet brush. I genuinely think this is because they think that the toilet is naturally stained like that (Jack's case), but bring one and show them the light. Just be sure that it's used to clean the toilet, not as some kinky sex toy (you never know when they might be confused).

4. An air freshener: not because boys smell bad (though some might). I did this because I wanted Jack to think that I (and my stuff) naturally smell like lavender and vanilla. It's even better when you can hide the air freshener so they really think it is just you. I put mine behind the bed. When Jack got home from work the day I moved in, he walked in to his room and goes, "Wow! It smells good in here."

Yeah, that's just me and my stuff. That's what I smell like all the time.

4. An open mind: women are naturally snoopers. Now necessarily because they're looking for ill intentions, but I think because they're curious and like to be in control. This needs to be reigned in when you move in with someone, because you are going to find some weird things partly because of bullet number one (their tendency to NOT throw things away). As I was bringing my stuff in, I found two very strange things.

In case you're wondering, that is a creepy plastic headband usually worn by middle-aged women in windsuits and a bottle of German baby shampoo. Now, either Jack is cheating on me with a German immigrant who is also a single mother, or these things were just left in his apartment (which is fully furnished, making it easier to leave things behind when moving out) by the former tenant (presumably a German immigrant who is also a single mother).

I'll be throwing both away with the other empty bottles.

Competition

Oh, it's on. My boyfriend has created a sports blog, sparking a bitter fight for the readers and fans from our small network of friends and acquaintances.

Maybe it's not quite that serious, or serious at all, but he puts me to shame with his ability to post pretty much any time of day (ah, the joys of college winter break). Plus he can add all sorts of cool pictures and videos. I don't think it's as feasible for me- after all, how would I get a picture of me having a self reflective epiphany doing a headstand in yoga? And who's missing out by NOT seeing that?

One thing I wanted to do more of this year was blogging, but I don't want it to become the boring rambling of a tired teacher. So I'm waiting until I have something both hilarious and insightful to share with the world. In the meantime, while you're waiting on pins and needles for my incredible musings, you can pass the time with http://jackdoessports.blogspot.com. Just remember- not everyone can be as good as me.

Surprise!!!

Where I REALLY went for Thanksgiving was not home, like my boyfriend thought I was, but to Tampa, where his family was visiting his mom's parents. It was pretty cool to successfully orchestrate a surprise, especially since I've known since the beginning of September and somehow managed to keep the secret to myself.

It's funny to spend time with other people's families. It makes you think about what's normal, if there is such a thing in families. My family is nuts, as you may be able to see from previous posts (and if you are lucky enough to know them). Needless to say, I think I felt pretty at home down there- about as comfortable as I could be if I wasn't with my own family. One thing I've noticed, getting to know different people and their mothers and fathers and siblings and cousins, is that very few people actually talk to them. I mean REALLY talk to them. That was definitely not it down there. It made it much easier to be away from my family because I could laugh at inappropriate jokes about penises and farting without pretending I'm coughing.

Not to mention the food was WONDERFUL.

Now I'm back in Charlotte, first of my roommates in the apartment, trying to get some planning and stuff done for the final three weeks before Christmas. I'm feeling so blah about getting back to teaching, especially after such an awesome break. It's always such a roller coaster, getting so excited about seeing someone you love and then having to go back and do something that you still haven't settled into. Hopefully I won't get too bummed out (especially on top of the typical Sunday night anxiety).

Weekend Getaway

After spending the weekend in lovely Hartford, CT, I come back feeling... a little frazzled. I had a student transferred into my class 5 minutes before students came in Monday morning, so I got to have fun scrambling around (in addition to all of the scrambling around I normally do Monday mornings.

Even so, the weekend was glorious. It was so good to see all of my friends and hang out with my boyfriend. I got a little out of control on Saturday, but who doesn't? It's homecoming. Plus I rebounded for Saturday night, so no harm done.

I'm still a little torn about whether seeing people that mean a lot to me makes me feel better or not. Coming back was probably the worst it's ever been, sitting in the airport with that ache that comes after a really great Trinity weekend and trying to breathe life into my dying phone and computer. It was just long enough to snap into a feeling of carelessness, of no responsibility and happiness in stretch pants watching bad daytime TV. I don't get to feel that way often in Charlotte, not in the way I did when I was in college. Of course, I was reminded of things I hated at Trinity, at least by the end of my time there. Things like pretentious party "bouncers" rejecting unfavorable guy to girl ratios, drunk bitches (I'm sorry, there are no other nonvulgar word that can accurately describe those things) pushing past you to get a beer half filled with foam, and tiny college refrigerators that don't really keep any beverages cold enough. I still found myself wishing (at least a little bit) that I was back to being able to just lay in bed all day, lazy and soaking up the life where anything that was a real concern could be put off during the weekend.

On a lighter, more teaching-related note, I've been trying to re-test the reading level of some of my kids so that I can put them in new groups after Thanksgiving break. One of my girls started out this year right about on grade level, reading well but still pretty average. Today... she was reading at SECOND grade level (already!! It's November!!) and going strong. I still have more books for her to read to see exactly how high she can go. I'm so excited though. A little skeptical that it was me ("So, uh, what exactly do your parents do with you at home?") but excited nonetheless.

For now, it's back to more lesson planning and what not. I could go on in much more detail about the weekend... but I'll spare you.

Communication

When I was in college, one of my creative essays was about how things has changed with the advent of instant electronic communication. I'm thinking about it again now, especially because my communication skills with others has been lacking so much, and why? What is my excuse when I can shoot someone a text, an email, a phone call, a web-call, all with the click of a button (or a few buttons)?

I'm relying heavily on conversations I've had with older people about what it was like before all this fancy-shmancy technology, back when people used things like the US Postal Service and landlines. My parents wrote each other letters when my dad was working down the Cape and my mom was stuck in Buffalo. That's right- LETTERS. When's the last time anyone has written a letter? And I mean a real letter, sent in the mail with a stamp. People still write letters today, but most of the time it's because they're just too chicken to say what they need to say out loud. Example: people who are trying to win back an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend (usually at night, when it's raining) and don't want to be rejected right to their face, or people who are lazy and would rather tell their coach in the written form that they deserve more playing time (that ones for my sister, a college volleyball coach). It seems that today, letters are reserved for the cowardly, the people who consciously choose not to say things out loud. The more I think about it, the more I've come to the conclusion that ALL textual communication can be used by those who are scared- scared of rejection, or of having to respond without proofreading their thoughts, or simply having to interact face-to-face, voice-to-voice. People use emails to complain to a boss, text messages to break off a relationship (talk about COWARDLY... and lame), webchats to search for new crushes. But given the platform for true expression- just using your voice- we tend to freeze up.

Just now, a cashier flirted with my roommate (I'm blogging in Breugger's Bagels) by taking $7 off her total rather than just telling her he wanted a date with her. Granted, he was about 40 and a creepshow, but still, he went far out of his way to avoid just talking to her.

We don't write letters anymore, but we've become reliant on these new forms of text to fuel our relationships. We've grown into a generation of subtlety, a generation that obsesses over whether to use one period or three, whether using the word "fine" instead of "okay" is the right decision. Our friends proofread our love lives and our parents do the same for our professional lives.

Back in the olden times (15 years ago), letters were a necessity, not a cop-out. They were something that had to be done because long distance calls cost more than just minutes out of a monthly allowance.

I'm all about bringing letters back, the real kind of letters that are romantic and sentimental and worth keeping around in a special letter box along with an engraved sterling silver letter opener. I can't tell you how many times I've had to put back letter stationary kits with wax, a monogrammed stamper, and paper made from the bark of 100 year old trees. Usually, what makes me put those things back on the clearance rack (always on clearance because, again, who sends letter, especially ones sealed with wax?) is the fact that I don't really know how to write letters. What happens when you send a letter to someone and they call you before it arrives? ("I'm sorry, please call me back after you've read the funny anecdotes and related questions I've sent via snail mail") What do you even talk about? Half the things I usually talk about look so uninteresting when put on paper. I've only gotten as far as greeting cards, which are allowed to be silly and pointless (ask my friends who have received a card from me).

I'm wondering if it's because vocal communication is so much easier now. I could write a letter about it, but why? Why do that when I can call up that person and give them the benefit of voice inflections, of pauses, of that indescribable tone added when a person talking is smiling? I think I'll stick to that, rather than writing it all done, stuffing it in an envelope, and sealing it with an S-imprinted wax circle.

When It's Right

I was thinking today, on my miserable 5 am drive to work, how people know when things are right. A lot of people have been asking me if I will stay in teaching after my two years with Teach for America, and I answer them every time with "I have no idea." Anyway, part of it is that right now, I don't look past 2:15 pm until I get there.

In my zombie state this morning (one made much worse than usual because of a pretty sucky day yesterday) I wondered if I would ever feel "right" in teaching, wondered if that "this is for me" moment happens right at the beginning, in those first few minutes or hours of the first day of school.

If that's true, then I made a very poor decision.

But then I got to thinking about other things, other places where people always claim to feel "rightness" and I think that those kind of realizations don't happen because your pre-conceived expectations have been met. I think it's more than you are exposed to all these new things, things you don't have expectations for because you've never even considered them before. I thought about all my friends, the ones that have been there for me through everything, and how I came to know it was right. It wasn't because they ranked well on some generic checklist accepted by the general population. It's because some part of them came completely out of the blue and surprised me, whether it was some incredibly strange personality trait, an ability to make fun of me in a way that was absolutely hilarious, or simply the fact that they owned a red cape and liked vampires (oh, how we make friends in elementary school...).

I guess it comes down to that in any part of life. In jobs, in friends, in relationships-- we find that "right" person or place or thing (whatever it may be) when we find something intangible, something that blows our expectations out of the water, something we could have never counted on until we have it, and then suddenly we don't know where we would be without it.

Shared Misery

The bond of going through hell. I've thought about this theory for a long time, and I can't think of many situations in which it doesn't hold true.

Go through any awful experience with someone and chances are you'll come out of it best friends. When I think about the friendships I've formed over the years, I've realized that they usually stem from some really traumatic event, from the physically trying (3-a-day preseason practices) to the mentally stressful (this whole teaching without experience thing) to the really stupid (surviving champagne hangovers on Wednesday mornings). I think it's because if you can still stand someone after being in excessive amounts of physical/mental pain, you hedge your bets and figure you might as well keep them around. Think about it. It's easy to go to some perfectly lovely event and have a perfectly lovely time with even the most bland or boring person. BUT to be able to survive a hellish experience and be able to laugh about it with someone... now that's true friendship.

Just some thoughts. Maybe this means my kids and I will be best friends by the time May comes around...

In all seriousness, it's only hellish because I am a crazy control freak/perfectionist who hates being bad at anything. The kids are just kids.

Love for Old Friends

This is just a quick update before the week gets crazy (and I get crazy).

I took a little weekend trip to visit one of my best friends from... ever. We met on the bus in first grade, so I know pretty much everything there is to know about this girl. She's in med school at Wake Forest now (I know, impressive!) and we spent most of Saturday working. But it was so good to have that feeling of comfort back. It was like we were in high school again- watching bad TV, eating bad food, laughing about nothing. It's funny how different our lives are now, both really difficult but in totally opposite ways. She made me feel very, very uneducated, especially when her and her roommate discussed some kind of eye muscle pulley (I was seeing whether my kids could write their numbers correctly, haha).

Overall, a very relaxing and good weekend. It was my boyfriend's birthday today and it stinks not being able to celebrate with him. I love birthdays, particularly my own. But it's always such a happy time and I had to miss it. Ugh. Oh well.

Lame post, I know, but I'm tired. Keep checking for updates, the next one will be good... I promise!

Another Blog from an Airport

This time it’s Bradley International in Hartford, a much less enjoyable airport to be in for a few reasons. First of all, there aren’t many people in it to people watch, and the people that are here are grouchy because they live in Connecticut. Then there’s the fact that the airport itself is a pretty bleak place, with bland gray walls and torn up generic carpet. There are still Fourth of July decorations up, cheap translucent American flags strung out on frayed plastic ribbon, their ends curling upward from too much time in storage. The employees aren’t much more cheerful than the airport’s sad décor. It’s times like these when I see the real difference between social interaction in the South and in New England. It just feels a lot colder and less welcoming than the places I go in Charlotte.

The main reason it’s less enjoyable is because I know that I’m leaving. I know, I know, Connecticut makes people grouchy (especially my father, who vowed never to return after I graduated), but being away this weekend was something that was much needed even if it was in CT. I’m realizing now that most of the good friends I got to see while in Hartford were former teammates of mine. When I was a freshman my coach told us to look around the gym at the people we were with, that they would forever occupy a special place in our lives, above friends and roommates in a special kind of family. She was right (although I don’t think she said it that eloquently). My best friends in the world are girls I played with, sharing the pain of early morning workouts, sharing cramped bus seats on buses as we traveled, sharing sweat, tears, and laughter. It’s the kind of bond that forms because you make sacrifices for and with each other. Now, those sacrifices seem petty—trading the Welcome Back dance for a team movie night, Halloween for an early bedtime before a game, sleep for sprinting drills—but in the end those things form a connection that I don’t think I could find in other places.

But being with my boyfriend was what I really needed. There’s the whole element of lacking physical closeness that makes distance so hard, because a lot of times what people need most isn’t the comforting words or laughter from a badly made joke (although I love those moments). It’s a hand on the back of my head, or a pat on the arm, or just the proximity of his leg to mine that seems to have the most calming effect on me. And now that I’ve had that for two days, I feel like I’m right back where I started, going into withdrawal because of my isolation from those very small forms of physical contact. It makes the week of work ahead feel daunting in a way it didn’t before, because now I’m stuck readjusting once again to this huge loss of support that I had this weekend, if only for a short while.

It brings up the question of whether seeing each other makes it better or, in a weird way, harder, because it just reminds us of how much we’ll be missing once we go back to our respective homes. Of course it’s worth it to me, otherwise I wouldn’t have bought a plane ticket and shipped myself back up North, but it’s a tough place to be in once it’s over. It’s more that I leave with a feeling that it’s all very unfair, that I’m being robbed of something that I should have, a feeling of happiness and contentment that belongs to me but is being kept away in a box on a shelf that I can’t reach for an undisclosed amount of time.

It doesn’t help that in twenty minutes I’ll be getting on a flight taking me farther away, most likely while sitting next to an overweight man who’ll unbutton his shirt from the bottom to make himself more comfortable and everyone around him significantly less so.