Apparently a bunch of my friends and I love discussing IT…you know…s-e-x. So it should come as no surprise that this was a topic that was discussed at length. Any female within an arm’s length was subject to being polled. The question of the week basically was, if you were currently dating, what would you do first: b.j. or sex? The overwhelming response: sex. Are we sluts? No. But, we are tired. We work hard all week and frankly, sex is less of an effort. Those of us who voted for sex believed one or all of the following in no particular order:
1. A b.j. is WORK. That go to trick you do, might not work on him tonight, tomorrow or ever.
2. Oral sex is more intimate than sex. Why? You are face to crotch with someone’s business…Sex is made to appear as routine as brushing your teeth between tv, movies, and books. Oral sex just brings a different level of intimacy to the table.
3. When one of us wants our husband/boyfriend to do something or allow us to do something, what is the sure-fire go to that will seal the deal? The offer of a blow job. Find me a man that doesn’t fall for this and I will publically declare that I saw a pig fly.
My friends who believed that sex should come second believed that was the more intimate act. But, no matter what we felt today as 24-40 year olds, we were unanimous that our high school selves would have gone the oral sex route first. Today, tweens and teens tend to shy away from that and opt for a different kind of sex altogether; the kind that most women are not asking for; the kind that these girls don’t consider sex because you cannot get pregnant doing it. Scary, right? And this is even with health classes that discuss it and provocative magazines that address it too. EWWWWWWWWWW!!
Let’s get back to oral sex though. Without mentioning names, one of my friends was a staunch supporter of saving that for a relationship not only because of the intimacy of the act but because of the END of the act. If you are just hooking up for the night, why would you want to have to make the decision of whether or not to spit or swallow? (Sorry, Aunt Sherry…I am blushing a bit right now). Bring one too many alcoholic beverages into the equation and an unstable gag reflex and you can wind up in a rather uncomfortable situation. Some people have their own strategies for dealing with the final scene of the blow job; gulp it down, imitate a squirrel prepping for winter and race to the bathroom, or a sort of catch and release only without the catch. The release is on him, on her, or caught in a tissue, towel, t-shirt or a baby wipe. Yes. A baby wipe. Aren't baby wipes cold? I seriously cannot make this stuff up….
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Seriously, Some Sights and Sounds of This Week
I seriously always catch a glimpse of things or hear things that others might miss. But of course, I share them with you and others who dig my sense of humor and understand my sarcasm. Here are some observations and interactions of my week....and it is only Wednesday!
1. Driving home from the gym, I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I do in fact see a female with her thumb out. SERIOUSLY? Who the hell hitches a ride these days? For those of you not familiar with my part of town, she was standing on Long Beach Road, a main artery that runs through north/south through a bunch of towns. This woman was stranded in Oceanside, a town which is safe, especially at 7:20 at night when it is barely dusk. Who the hell doesn't have a cell phone? Couldn't she call someone, anyone? Was this a dare to see if someone on Long Island in 2010 would give her a lift? So many questions!!!!!
2. Before I tutor, I like to grab a cup of Dunkin Donuts to help get me through. So today was just like any other day, except for the woman who did the following:
a. When it was her turn to order, she prefaced it by saying that she knew what she wanted until the blueberry muffin supply was reloaded. She had her eye on a particular muffin, so she requested to examine the batch more closely so that she could find the one she wanted. The girl who had the fortunate experience of assisting this woman grabbed the tray, no questions asked. Then, the two girls behind the counter and I shared a moment of unspoken words that if spoken would have sounded like this; "WHAT THE F IS THIS WOMAN DOING?????"
b. With the muffin selection concluded, it was now time to pay. As if the Dunkin Donuts worker wasn't patient enough, she waited until the woman counted out the 76 cents that was needed to wrap up the $1.76 total. One coin at a time, very slowly....Muffin Chick was literally moving at a negative speed. Again, the two girls behind the counter and I shared yet another moment, all conveyed through eye contact. If our eyes could speak they would have said; "HURRY THE HELL UP!!!!!!!!"
SIDENOTE: Because the girl who was assisting me was a bit distracted by the goings on of Muffin Chick, understandably so, I had time to see how much change was counted out. She was a penny short, but the cashier just grabbed the money and threw it into the register.
c. So, the muffin was selected and paid for. DONE! Not so fast. Muffin Chick then amazed me once again. She opened her paper Dunkin Donuts bag and removed the muffin. She sniffed it. She inspected it. She sniffed it again. She then removed napkins from her purse, white napkins, not D&D napkins, and wrapped the muffin in them. FINALLY, her ritual was complete. I shared one last moment with the D&D girls. This moment was all eyes and puzzled smiles. If our eyes and smiles could have spoken, they would have said; "SHE SNIFFED HER MUFFIN!!!!!"
3. The topic of the week in health class is the male reproductive system. There is talk about scrotum, wet dreams, boners and semen. No holds barred. Which is cool. I mean, it takes a certain kind of person to be able to project a diagram of the male reproductive system, in color, on the SMARTBOARD and speak about the vas deferens with a straight face. While I can banter about such things and make statements such as; "Hmmm. I wonder who drew these male genitalia on the desk...” I simply could not teach the reality of it all. I laugh when they call students with the last name of "Weiner" over the P.A. system. One thing I don't do is pass out while listening to the scientific reason why a wiener is able to stand at attention. I definitely don't have to leave the room because it is making me sick. My friend Rich was blessed with the one student who passes out when he hears the word blood. I might have thought this was an exaggeration until the other day. I was having a very important conversation in the hallway with Rita and Roland when Rich's classroom door opens and two boys emerge, one of which was a shade of pea soup green. Having escorted one of my students to Rich's class about ten minutes prior, I knew that he was discussing the contents of semen that particular day. I asked the green boy what was wrong and he responded; "We are learning about the male reproductive system and it is making me sick." Rich, the caring soul he is, asked another boy to walk the student to the nurse in the event he passed out. What to Rita, Roland and I do? We tell the boy to feel better, of course. We have souls! And yes, we ran to Rich's room, ducked so that the kids could not see us by the door through the window and beckoned Rich into the hall. We then began to laugh that silent and contagious laugh that gives you sore abs and makes you cry.
This situation makes me wonder about whether there is a real diagnosis for people, really men, who are afraid of their penis. I am going to look into this. This poor kid will forever be known as the boy who had to be escorted to the nurse during male reproductive lesson day in health class. I can just picture his senior yearbook: "Dear_________________, Remember when you almost puked in 7th grade when Mr. W said that sperm swim in semen? Have a great summer! Love, ______________"
4. And finally, I believe it is important to be able to laugh at yourself, so if you would have seen me today, you would have definitely loved my earrings and might have thought I looked cute. I was wearing a tan shirt dress with leggings and boots. I rarely where a light color, let alone leggings. So of course, when a colleague pointed out there was something brown near my butt, I nearly crapped my pants for real. I ran to the library bathroom. I examined the brown stain and then I SMELLED IT. It did not look like crap, so I assessed the risk factor and determined it was low. I am like a Bloodhound when it comes to smells and in no time, I knew the offender on my dress was chocolate. I believe that I picked this up while sitting on the window sill during my first period class. Needless to say, Joe, who I ran out on during our class to check out my butt, looked at me quizzically upon my return. I whispered to him that something terrible had happened. I told Joe and he wanted to see the spot which was now a lighter shade of brown and wet from my scrubbing in the bathroom. A couple of the kids saw me slowly turn for Joe, who was, as it appeared, checking out my ass. So NOT the case, but of course, I needed to extinguish ANY possibility that the 7th grade rumor mill would get going and I told the kids what had happened. I assured them that I did not poop my pants and if that were truly the case, I certainly would not be flaunting it. We all had a seriously, good laugh.
1. Driving home from the gym, I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I do in fact see a female with her thumb out. SERIOUSLY? Who the hell hitches a ride these days? For those of you not familiar with my part of town, she was standing on Long Beach Road, a main artery that runs through north/south through a bunch of towns. This woman was stranded in Oceanside, a town which is safe, especially at 7:20 at night when it is barely dusk. Who the hell doesn't have a cell phone? Couldn't she call someone, anyone? Was this a dare to see if someone on Long Island in 2010 would give her a lift? So many questions!!!!!
2. Before I tutor, I like to grab a cup of Dunkin Donuts to help get me through. So today was just like any other day, except for the woman who did the following:
a. When it was her turn to order, she prefaced it by saying that she knew what she wanted until the blueberry muffin supply was reloaded. She had her eye on a particular muffin, so she requested to examine the batch more closely so that she could find the one she wanted. The girl who had the fortunate experience of assisting this woman grabbed the tray, no questions asked. Then, the two girls behind the counter and I shared a moment of unspoken words that if spoken would have sounded like this; "WHAT THE F IS THIS WOMAN DOING?????"
b. With the muffin selection concluded, it was now time to pay. As if the Dunkin Donuts worker wasn't patient enough, she waited until the woman counted out the 76 cents that was needed to wrap up the $1.76 total. One coin at a time, very slowly....Muffin Chick was literally moving at a negative speed. Again, the two girls behind the counter and I shared yet another moment, all conveyed through eye contact. If our eyes could speak they would have said; "HURRY THE HELL UP!!!!!!!!"
SIDENOTE: Because the girl who was assisting me was a bit distracted by the goings on of Muffin Chick, understandably so, I had time to see how much change was counted out. She was a penny short, but the cashier just grabbed the money and threw it into the register.
c. So, the muffin was selected and paid for. DONE! Not so fast. Muffin Chick then amazed me once again. She opened her paper Dunkin Donuts bag and removed the muffin. She sniffed it. She inspected it. She sniffed it again. She then removed napkins from her purse, white napkins, not D&D napkins, and wrapped the muffin in them. FINALLY, her ritual was complete. I shared one last moment with the D&D girls. This moment was all eyes and puzzled smiles. If our eyes and smiles could have spoken, they would have said; "SHE SNIFFED HER MUFFIN!!!!!"
3. The topic of the week in health class is the male reproductive system. There is talk about scrotum, wet dreams, boners and semen. No holds barred. Which is cool. I mean, it takes a certain kind of person to be able to project a diagram of the male reproductive system, in color, on the SMARTBOARD and speak about the vas deferens with a straight face. While I can banter about such things and make statements such as; "Hmmm. I wonder who drew these male genitalia on the desk...” I simply could not teach the reality of it all. I laugh when they call students with the last name of "Weiner" over the P.A. system. One thing I don't do is pass out while listening to the scientific reason why a wiener is able to stand at attention. I definitely don't have to leave the room because it is making me sick. My friend Rich was blessed with the one student who passes out when he hears the word blood. I might have thought this was an exaggeration until the other day. I was having a very important conversation in the hallway with Rita and Roland when Rich's classroom door opens and two boys emerge, one of which was a shade of pea soup green. Having escorted one of my students to Rich's class about ten minutes prior, I knew that he was discussing the contents of semen that particular day. I asked the green boy what was wrong and he responded; "We are learning about the male reproductive system and it is making me sick." Rich, the caring soul he is, asked another boy to walk the student to the nurse in the event he passed out. What to Rita, Roland and I do? We tell the boy to feel better, of course. We have souls! And yes, we ran to Rich's room, ducked so that the kids could not see us by the door through the window and beckoned Rich into the hall. We then began to laugh that silent and contagious laugh that gives you sore abs and makes you cry.
This situation makes me wonder about whether there is a real diagnosis for people, really men, who are afraid of their penis. I am going to look into this. This poor kid will forever be known as the boy who had to be escorted to the nurse during male reproductive lesson day in health class. I can just picture his senior yearbook: "Dear_________________, Remember when you almost puked in 7th grade when Mr. W said that sperm swim in semen? Have a great summer! Love, ______________"
4. And finally, I believe it is important to be able to laugh at yourself, so if you would have seen me today, you would have definitely loved my earrings and might have thought I looked cute. I was wearing a tan shirt dress with leggings and boots. I rarely where a light color, let alone leggings. So of course, when a colleague pointed out there was something brown near my butt, I nearly crapped my pants for real. I ran to the library bathroom. I examined the brown stain and then I SMELLED IT. It did not look like crap, so I assessed the risk factor and determined it was low. I am like a Bloodhound when it comes to smells and in no time, I knew the offender on my dress was chocolate. I believe that I picked this up while sitting on the window sill during my first period class. Needless to say, Joe, who I ran out on during our class to check out my butt, looked at me quizzically upon my return. I whispered to him that something terrible had happened. I told Joe and he wanted to see the spot which was now a lighter shade of brown and wet from my scrubbing in the bathroom. A couple of the kids saw me slowly turn for Joe, who was, as it appeared, checking out my ass. So NOT the case, but of course, I needed to extinguish ANY possibility that the 7th grade rumor mill would get going and I told the kids what had happened. I assured them that I did not poop my pants and if that were truly the case, I certainly would not be flaunting it. We all had a seriously, good laugh.
Seriously, Is Throw Up a Deal Breaker?
This was the question of the day, yesterday, April 26th, 2010. The question was posed during lunch. I mean, who doesn’t discuss throw up, laden with cheese, crackers and red wine during lunch? But what path was taken that led to this question?
To make a long story short, my friend Ryan went to the vineyards this past Saturday with a girl he had been hanging out with for about a month and some miscellaneous others. They are not important, but apparently, to the males out there, it is necessary to note that “about a month” is less than 30 days but more than 5 days. Anyway, the ride out East on the party bus caused my friend Ryan to feel a bit car sick, but he held it together and then it was, in his words, “Game On.” The crew was having so much fun that they cut their tri-fecta visit down to two. Ryan, the gentleman that he is, purchased a boatload of cheese and crackers for the ladies to eat, as they neglected to eat prior to their trip to the wineries. (I need to chime in: a bagel, prior to day drinking, was definitely in order). So, they day goes on, as does the “game” and as all good things must come to an end, so did the visit to the vineyards. Everyone gets back on the bus, a little more festive than when they boarded earlier in the day. Ryan is wasted, his lady friend buzzed, but her appetite has been sated by red wine, cheese and crackers. Remember I mentioned earlier that Ryan felt a bit car sick on the way to the vineyards? Well, he was feeling nothing but good vibes now. Closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder, Ryan believed that his date was feeling affectionate, but she was most likely trying to stop the spinning in her head. One moment, the two were canoodling, the next minute; Ryan was covered in red wine, cheese and crackers. Yes, this girl puked up her visit to the vineyards all over Ryan. What is a boy to do? Naturally, drop his shorts, peel off his shirt and dance down the length of the party bus in his boxers to some old school Michael Jackson.
After all was said and done, Ryan stayed over the girl’s place, but nothing happened and by nothing, I mean nothing. She was not very apologetic for her throwing up all over him, neither in words nor favors. As Ryan re-told this story to us Monday morning, the majority of us felt that this girl owed him something. I mean, vomit happens, but these two were in the early stages of a what could have been a blossoming relationship. The fact that she was not very embarrassed or offered to clean his clothes for him was indicative of the fact that she is most likely not a very giving person in the bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, etc.). The fact that our friends at work believed that this girl should have at least offered Ryan some sort of “pleasure” is indicative that none of the women I hang with are feminists, but we do understand that sometimes there are just certain things we must do for our men. If you are wondering what those things are, I will mention one: the B.J. As Sex and the City’s Samantha once said in reference to this task; “They don’t call it a job for nothing.” If I were the girl who puked on my guy, I would probably be wary of my gag reflex for the remainder of the evening, but still. YOU PUKED ON THE GUY YOU ARE DATING!!!! Not for nothing, I would bet that it would be rare to find a man who would turn down such an offer, and if he does, he is simply just not that into you.
This topic leads to another BLOG topic, so I will end this portion here, however, is throw up a deal breaker? In this case, yes. Ryan has yet to call this girl, last seen on Sunday morning. Now, this guy is my friend and while he is a guy, he does not send out that douche vibe. We have deduced that the vomit was not the issue; it was the lack of genuine apology and that fact that this showed she was just not THE girl. But as the be all, end all, throw up most likely is not a death sentence for a blossoming relationship.
To make a long story short, my friend Ryan went to the vineyards this past Saturday with a girl he had been hanging out with for about a month and some miscellaneous others. They are not important, but apparently, to the males out there, it is necessary to note that “about a month” is less than 30 days but more than 5 days. Anyway, the ride out East on the party bus caused my friend Ryan to feel a bit car sick, but he held it together and then it was, in his words, “Game On.” The crew was having so much fun that they cut their tri-fecta visit down to two. Ryan, the gentleman that he is, purchased a boatload of cheese and crackers for the ladies to eat, as they neglected to eat prior to their trip to the wineries. (I need to chime in: a bagel, prior to day drinking, was definitely in order). So, they day goes on, as does the “game” and as all good things must come to an end, so did the visit to the vineyards. Everyone gets back on the bus, a little more festive than when they boarded earlier in the day. Ryan is wasted, his lady friend buzzed, but her appetite has been sated by red wine, cheese and crackers. Remember I mentioned earlier that Ryan felt a bit car sick on the way to the vineyards? Well, he was feeling nothing but good vibes now. Closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder, Ryan believed that his date was feeling affectionate, but she was most likely trying to stop the spinning in her head. One moment, the two were canoodling, the next minute; Ryan was covered in red wine, cheese and crackers. Yes, this girl puked up her visit to the vineyards all over Ryan. What is a boy to do? Naturally, drop his shorts, peel off his shirt and dance down the length of the party bus in his boxers to some old school Michael Jackson.
After all was said and done, Ryan stayed over the girl’s place, but nothing happened and by nothing, I mean nothing. She was not very apologetic for her throwing up all over him, neither in words nor favors. As Ryan re-told this story to us Monday morning, the majority of us felt that this girl owed him something. I mean, vomit happens, but these two were in the early stages of a what could have been a blossoming relationship. The fact that she was not very embarrassed or offered to clean his clothes for him was indicative of the fact that she is most likely not a very giving person in the bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, etc.). The fact that our friends at work believed that this girl should have at least offered Ryan some sort of “pleasure” is indicative that none of the women I hang with are feminists, but we do understand that sometimes there are just certain things we must do for our men. If you are wondering what those things are, I will mention one: the B.J. As Sex and the City’s Samantha once said in reference to this task; “They don’t call it a job for nothing.” If I were the girl who puked on my guy, I would probably be wary of my gag reflex for the remainder of the evening, but still. YOU PUKED ON THE GUY YOU ARE DATING!!!! Not for nothing, I would bet that it would be rare to find a man who would turn down such an offer, and if he does, he is simply just not that into you.
This topic leads to another BLOG topic, so I will end this portion here, however, is throw up a deal breaker? In this case, yes. Ryan has yet to call this girl, last seen on Sunday morning. Now, this guy is my friend and while he is a guy, he does not send out that douche vibe. We have deduced that the vomit was not the issue; it was the lack of genuine apology and that fact that this showed she was just not THE girl. But as the be all, end all, throw up most likely is not a death sentence for a blossoming relationship.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
LICE, the UNTOLD STORY
Nary can a girl with long hair or curly hair or curly, long hair deny that during their stay in elementary school that they did not undergo the inspection with chop sticks in the nurse’s office only to be told that you had a case of lice. A parent was called. A trip to the pharmacy was made for the requisite metal comb to brush as well as its companion, RID. 47 loads of laundry later, 13 thorough washes of the hair and VERY painful comb-thrus resulted in yet another case of lice just a few weeks later because the one person in your class’s mother neglected to wash every pillowcase, sheet or blanket her body came in contact with. (That is my memory, possibly yours too).
UGH! The epidemic of LICE is worse than chicken pox or even a stomach virus, if you ask me. I mean, the “cure” is so time- consuming and the thought of bugs crawling around in your scalp is enough to suggest an itch. I have always worked with kids, whether at a day camp or a day care center. I managed to avoid lice as an adult until I worked at nursery school. Here is my untold story.
Picture it: A Friday, during the summer of 1999. I am excited for the day to end so that I can head down to the village to some restaurant or another with my then boyfriend. A birthday party is planned for one of the four year olds, complete with balloons and cupcakes. A festive feeling is in the air.
END OF FESTIVE FEELINGS
The four year old teacher noticed one of the boys furiously scratching his head much of the day. I cannot recall his name, but he wore glasses and had shaggy, blonde hair. His single mother owned and worked a dirty water dog push cart. She was a hot mess but not because she sold hot dogs on the city streets. She was just a hot mess. Our school did not have a nurse, so Drusilla, the infant “teacher”, was in charge of lice checks. Out came the wooden chop sticks, rubber gloves, and magnifying glass. Out came the shrieks. “OH MY GOD! HIS HAIR IS MOVING!!!”; said Manny, Drusilla’s son, who happened to be assisting that day. Sure enough, this boy was having an open house for lice only on his scalp. There were nits (eggs) and live ones dancing around his head. According to Google health, treatment for lice is needed even if only one egg is found, which clearly makes sense as eggs hatch. Seeing as this kid was sporting an epidemic proportion case of lice, the entire school was beckoned to Drusilla for further inspection. At this point, I decided I might as well get checked out too. Good call, because who else had lice??? Yup. Upon hearing my prognosis, I start bawling. I am so disgusted and I have plans to go out. How does one tell their boyfriend they have bugs living on their head??? Since NYC has a Starbucks and a Duane Reade on every corner, I marched myself over and purchased the scary comb and RID. The level of embarrassment and discomfort I experienced during the purchase is best equated to buying any number of other “embarrassing” products for the first time; tampons, condoms, pregnancy tests…. I felt as though everyone in Duane Reade was staring at me as though I were the carrier of the next Bubonic Plague. Fortunately for me, there as a small shower in my classroom. Why, I do not know, but thank the lord! So, I showered and washed and combed my hair 37 times and dried off with paper towels (It was a school, not the Four Seasons). I was Lice free!!! I called my mother to tell her to wash my sheets, etc, as I was still living at home.
This story was one that was repeated throughout my tenure at this nursery school. My favorite version was told by Jordan, who said; “Remember that time you was crying when you had bugs in your hair?”
But this story was retold years later, only on a rooftop bar on a warm summer night in Manhattan. This time, I was with a new boyfriend (now husband) and meeting some of his friends for the first time. Everyone was gathered for his buddy Felber’s birthday. Felber is awesome; like a good shot of tequila, he immediately put my nerves at ease. I felt like I had known him forever and he treated me as such. Perhaps my comfort level was a bit too high, or perhaps I had consumed too many Sapphire’ and Seven, but I proceed to recount this tale of nursery school woe to him. Felber is so entertained by this story, that he screams out “LICE!” Remember, we are on a NYC rooftop. Felber is 6’5 with a booming baritone voice so it sounds more like “LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEE! LLLLLLLLIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEE! LLLLLLLIIIIIICCCCCCEEE!LLLLLLIIIIICCCCCCCEEEEEEE!...... You get the point. And guess what Felber calls me now? LICE-A.
Why this story, NOW? The other day, as I am chatting up my friend Al at work, he picked something out of my hair. When I asked what it was, he said “some lice.” Seriously, Al, you will understand why I did not think you were very funny.
UGH! The epidemic of LICE is worse than chicken pox or even a stomach virus, if you ask me. I mean, the “cure” is so time- consuming and the thought of bugs crawling around in your scalp is enough to suggest an itch. I have always worked with kids, whether at a day camp or a day care center. I managed to avoid lice as an adult until I worked at nursery school. Here is my untold story.
Picture it: A Friday, during the summer of 1999. I am excited for the day to end so that I can head down to the village to some restaurant or another with my then boyfriend. A birthday party is planned for one of the four year olds, complete with balloons and cupcakes. A festive feeling is in the air.
END OF FESTIVE FEELINGS
The four year old teacher noticed one of the boys furiously scratching his head much of the day. I cannot recall his name, but he wore glasses and had shaggy, blonde hair. His single mother owned and worked a dirty water dog push cart. She was a hot mess but not because she sold hot dogs on the city streets. She was just a hot mess. Our school did not have a nurse, so Drusilla, the infant “teacher”, was in charge of lice checks. Out came the wooden chop sticks, rubber gloves, and magnifying glass. Out came the shrieks. “OH MY GOD! HIS HAIR IS MOVING!!!”; said Manny, Drusilla’s son, who happened to be assisting that day. Sure enough, this boy was having an open house for lice only on his scalp. There were nits (eggs) and live ones dancing around his head. According to Google health, treatment for lice is needed even if only one egg is found, which clearly makes sense as eggs hatch. Seeing as this kid was sporting an epidemic proportion case of lice, the entire school was beckoned to Drusilla for further inspection. At this point, I decided I might as well get checked out too. Good call, because who else had lice??? Yup. Upon hearing my prognosis, I start bawling. I am so disgusted and I have plans to go out. How does one tell their boyfriend they have bugs living on their head??? Since NYC has a Starbucks and a Duane Reade on every corner, I marched myself over and purchased the scary comb and RID. The level of embarrassment and discomfort I experienced during the purchase is best equated to buying any number of other “embarrassing” products for the first time; tampons, condoms, pregnancy tests…. I felt as though everyone in Duane Reade was staring at me as though I were the carrier of the next Bubonic Plague. Fortunately for me, there as a small shower in my classroom. Why, I do not know, but thank the lord! So, I showered and washed and combed my hair 37 times and dried off with paper towels (It was a school, not the Four Seasons). I was Lice free!!! I called my mother to tell her to wash my sheets, etc, as I was still living at home.
This story was one that was repeated throughout my tenure at this nursery school. My favorite version was told by Jordan, who said; “Remember that time you was crying when you had bugs in your hair?”
But this story was retold years later, only on a rooftop bar on a warm summer night in Manhattan. This time, I was with a new boyfriend (now husband) and meeting some of his friends for the first time. Everyone was gathered for his buddy Felber’s birthday. Felber is awesome; like a good shot of tequila, he immediately put my nerves at ease. I felt like I had known him forever and he treated me as such. Perhaps my comfort level was a bit too high, or perhaps I had consumed too many Sapphire’ and Seven, but I proceed to recount this tale of nursery school woe to him. Felber is so entertained by this story, that he screams out “LICE!” Remember, we are on a NYC rooftop. Felber is 6’5 with a booming baritone voice so it sounds more like “LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEE! LLLLLLLLIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEE! LLLLLLLIIIIIICCCCCCEEE!LLLLLLIIIIICCCCCCCEEEEEEE!...... You get the point. And guess what Felber calls me now? LICE-A.
Why this story, NOW? The other day, as I am chatting up my friend Al at work, he picked something out of my hair. When I asked what it was, he said “some lice.” Seriously, Al, you will understand why I did not think you were very funny.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Some Seriously Funny Parts of My Yesterday
Here are some things that I got a seriously delayed laugh out of. Why delayed? Because so much goes on during the day that my real reflection time often takes place between the hours of 2-3.30 A.M.
1. A concerned colleague came to me yesterday. One of my boys was uncharacteristically anxious and figity in her class. As part of my Q and A with her I asked; "Does he have a boner?" Her very serious response; "No."
(For those of you who don't know, or have not learned from a previous entry here, some of the boys get a little trippy when there is movement in their pants.)
2. While looking at the latest issue of Women's Health featuring Jillian Michaels on the cover, it was mentioned that she is supposedly a sister (as in likes girls). It seemed that most of us were on the same page with this discussion, until it was revealed that one member of the group was curious as to who in JM's bloodline was black, specifically 1/4 black. Our friend Steph, who is African American explained it. A little awkward, but more funny. So I wonder how many people thought my friend Lauren was looking for an African American sister as opposed to a lady sister this past Friday night while wearing her "Got a sister?" t-shirt.
3. While tutoring, one of my students was amazed by my shear ability to discuss and take copius notes for him about WW II. This is funny to me because earlier in the day he discovered I had a serious mental gap in my ability to help with contour maps. He totally called me out on it, yet I redeemed myself later on with my tales of my family's past during the war and my ability to really get him to understand the contour map. Who says kids are not easy to impress?
1. A concerned colleague came to me yesterday. One of my boys was uncharacteristically anxious and figity in her class. As part of my Q and A with her I asked; "Does he have a boner?" Her very serious response; "No."
(For those of you who don't know, or have not learned from a previous entry here, some of the boys get a little trippy when there is movement in their pants.)
2. While looking at the latest issue of Women's Health featuring Jillian Michaels on the cover, it was mentioned that she is supposedly a sister (as in likes girls). It seemed that most of us were on the same page with this discussion, until it was revealed that one member of the group was curious as to who in JM's bloodline was black, specifically 1/4 black. Our friend Steph, who is African American explained it. A little awkward, but more funny. So I wonder how many people thought my friend Lauren was looking for an African American sister as opposed to a lady sister this past Friday night while wearing her "Got a sister?" t-shirt.
3. While tutoring, one of my students was amazed by my shear ability to discuss and take copius notes for him about WW II. This is funny to me because earlier in the day he discovered I had a serious mental gap in my ability to help with contour maps. He totally called me out on it, yet I redeemed myself later on with my tales of my family's past during the war and my ability to really get him to understand the contour map. Who says kids are not easy to impress?
Monday, April 19, 2010
Seriously, Why do I Drink Like a College Freshman When I am Out WIth my Work Friends? (i seriously love it!)
I have a question. Why is it that when I go out and party with my work friends, I can’t remember things until 2-3 days later and I have ‘flu-like’ symptoms that last at least 16 hours? Earlier this morning, around 7:20 AM, I had this conversation with my roommate at work. Apparently, whenever she speaks to her home/high school friends, when she tells them she can’t remember the last time she was ever that ‘flu-like’, they remind her she was the LAST time she went out with us.
Let’s take this past Friday night. I responsibly arranged for Robyn to pick me up so that I would not have to leave my car unattended overnight. Following another amazing session of Computer Club, I met her at the nail place down the street. The two of us took quick naps and then got ready to go out.
DILEMMA #1: Dinner or no dinner
Since I had eaten a slice of pizza and ¾ of a chicken roll for lunch, I was barely fitting in to my jeans. I declared I was too fat for dinner. I was not even hungry. The last time the RAMS stampeded about town, I had not eaten dinner. I believe I had 8 jelly beans and 1 chicken wing that night, which nary counts for a main course unless of course you are an anorexic with a sweet tooth and a thing for eating with your hands. Needless to say, the end result was a MEGA headache that I somehow was able to rally through to get a spin class done.
This time, neither Robyn nor I ate anything. Again. But, old school style, Robyn whipped out a bottle of Ketel One from the freezer (new school: it is hers, not a watered down bottle belonging to her parents), some Crystal Light Mix, and seltzer. We concocted something that had an immense amount of Crystal Light floaties in it, but despite the rank taste, drank it anyway. Our ride had no idea that we were fast tracking it to the land of wasted.
DILEMMA #2: Now what do we drink?
We arrive at our destination and it is monsooning. We arrive screaming, “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, in honor of the ‘WOO Girls’ episode of ‘How I Met Your Mother.” Our friends (the girls) WOOOOOOOOOOOOOo back and hold up their Margaritas. TO Margarita or not? I believe Robyn went for it, and from there, she could have been downing cyanide because things begin to get a bit fuzzy from here on. I went for the Blue Moon ( many) and a mystery shot which was the color of Jager but simply delicious. By delicious I mean that I did not run to the bathroom and puke up the shot. I am notorious for just bringing ONLY the shot back up and am the clichéd Jewish drinker. Yet, somehow, when I am with the RAMS, I am brought back to my best days of college drinking. An example of such; Preakness 1997. I need to be reminded to post a pic from that day. Perhaps some of my other friends should have gone with the Blue Moon; their morning afters, followed by the afternoon and evening after, were painful, compliments of the Margarita.
DILEMMA #3: Where is my husband?
So, I am waiting for Josh to show up; my loving husband and my ride. If he is a no show, I am stranded in Massapequa, a mere 45 minutes from my house. I am in no mood for a complicated train situation or a cab. Cabs smell like old ashtrays and I hate making small talk with the driver. While engaged in a very serious game that requires one to press some buttons that maintain an animated , female “entertainer” on a catwalk, my phone rings. I am on a roll. That is a lie. Kind of on a roll, but Roland is also working the buttons. The animated, female “entertainer” is beginning to take off her clothing and accessories, the reward for keeping her on the catwalk and I cannot hear Josh. 3 seconds after I hang up on him, I feel a tap-tap-tap on my shoulder. It’s Josh and he definitely saw me hang up on him. MY DEFENSE: A. I was really getting the hang of the game. B. I honestly could not hear him.
“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, we all scream, at this point, men , women, spouses, friends, foes and friends of foes are 3 sheets to the wind. Josh….stone cold sober and holding, as he is the driver for the night.
DILEMMA #4: Where did all of this food come from?
I don’t know about you, but when I am consuming beverages, I am the thinnest person alive. The thinnest person alive can eat pizza and ¾ of a chicken roll for lunch, drink beer and throw down potato skins, mozzarella sticks and garlic bread with melted cheese. The thinnest person alive wakes up the next day as the fattest woman in America with stomach pains. But, where did all of this food come from? Why is my friend stealing sliders and crab cakes from someone else’s plate despite all of this food?
Turns out, Ryan had a tab which Roland ordered food on. Guess who paid the tab? I need to give Ryan some money….
DILEMMA #5: Who would drink the night before 9 year old triplet nieces come out to play?
Apparently me. Oy. How do people function with the ‘flu’ who have kids. Let’s just say I rallied, but fell asleep at the movie theatre. By 7 PM, I was in pj’s floating in and our sleep until 9.40 the next day. Thank the lord it was too cloudy and cold to golf on Saturday, otherwise I would have been flying solo. Thank the lord Lee told me to dose up on Vitamin B, Advil, and water upon my return to home; this prescription defiantly decreased the symptoms of my ailment.
But I have yet to answer my initial question which was, Why is it that when I go out and party with my work friends, I can’t remember things until 2-3 days later and I have ‘flu-like’ symptoms that last at least 16 hours? Perhaps it is because it is our stress relief. Not one of us sashays through the front door of our home at 3:00 each day. We are coaches, tutors, parents. Perhaps we are closet alcoholics. Doubt it, but for the most part, we are not pounding beers and downing shots on your average Monday night. Maybe it is the build up to the “big night out”. The day begins with a whispered “WOO” and ends with a “WOO” loud enough to have other patrons staring. Perhaps it is because we have found that we are all able to function amongst various groups of friends, and we particularly enjoy getting a little crazy every now and then with each other. Our spouses and bf’s/gf’s incredibly get along really well, so you never have to worry about babysitting someone else. We know how to party and no apologies for that.
The more the merrier. If you are incapable of laughing so hard you might wet your pants, are afraid of getting headlocked, hate smelling like a brewery, never eat fried food and fear what will be posted on Facebook the next day, stay home. If not, get your ass out to the next RAMS stampede.
Let’s take this past Friday night. I responsibly arranged for Robyn to pick me up so that I would not have to leave my car unattended overnight. Following another amazing session of Computer Club, I met her at the nail place down the street. The two of us took quick naps and then got ready to go out.
DILEMMA #1: Dinner or no dinner
Since I had eaten a slice of pizza and ¾ of a chicken roll for lunch, I was barely fitting in to my jeans. I declared I was too fat for dinner. I was not even hungry. The last time the RAMS stampeded about town, I had not eaten dinner. I believe I had 8 jelly beans and 1 chicken wing that night, which nary counts for a main course unless of course you are an anorexic with a sweet tooth and a thing for eating with your hands. Needless to say, the end result was a MEGA headache that I somehow was able to rally through to get a spin class done.
This time, neither Robyn nor I ate anything. Again. But, old school style, Robyn whipped out a bottle of Ketel One from the freezer (new school: it is hers, not a watered down bottle belonging to her parents), some Crystal Light Mix, and seltzer. We concocted something that had an immense amount of Crystal Light floaties in it, but despite the rank taste, drank it anyway. Our ride had no idea that we were fast tracking it to the land of wasted.
DILEMMA #2: Now what do we drink?
We arrive at our destination and it is monsooning. We arrive screaming, “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, in honor of the ‘WOO Girls’ episode of ‘How I Met Your Mother.” Our friends (the girls) WOOOOOOOOOOOOOo back and hold up their Margaritas. TO Margarita or not? I believe Robyn went for it, and from there, she could have been downing cyanide because things begin to get a bit fuzzy from here on. I went for the Blue Moon ( many) and a mystery shot which was the color of Jager but simply delicious. By delicious I mean that I did not run to the bathroom and puke up the shot. I am notorious for just bringing ONLY the shot back up and am the clichéd Jewish drinker. Yet, somehow, when I am with the RAMS, I am brought back to my best days of college drinking. An example of such; Preakness 1997. I need to be reminded to post a pic from that day. Perhaps some of my other friends should have gone with the Blue Moon; their morning afters, followed by the afternoon and evening after, were painful, compliments of the Margarita.
DILEMMA #3: Where is my husband?
So, I am waiting for Josh to show up; my loving husband and my ride. If he is a no show, I am stranded in Massapequa, a mere 45 minutes from my house. I am in no mood for a complicated train situation or a cab. Cabs smell like old ashtrays and I hate making small talk with the driver. While engaged in a very serious game that requires one to press some buttons that maintain an animated , female “entertainer” on a catwalk, my phone rings. I am on a roll. That is a lie. Kind of on a roll, but Roland is also working the buttons. The animated, female “entertainer” is beginning to take off her clothing and accessories, the reward for keeping her on the catwalk and I cannot hear Josh. 3 seconds after I hang up on him, I feel a tap-tap-tap on my shoulder. It’s Josh and he definitely saw me hang up on him. MY DEFENSE: A. I was really getting the hang of the game. B. I honestly could not hear him.
“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, we all scream, at this point, men , women, spouses, friends, foes and friends of foes are 3 sheets to the wind. Josh….stone cold sober and holding, as he is the driver for the night.
DILEMMA #4: Where did all of this food come from?
I don’t know about you, but when I am consuming beverages, I am the thinnest person alive. The thinnest person alive can eat pizza and ¾ of a chicken roll for lunch, drink beer and throw down potato skins, mozzarella sticks and garlic bread with melted cheese. The thinnest person alive wakes up the next day as the fattest woman in America with stomach pains. But, where did all of this food come from? Why is my friend stealing sliders and crab cakes from someone else’s plate despite all of this food?
Turns out, Ryan had a tab which Roland ordered food on. Guess who paid the tab? I need to give Ryan some money….
DILEMMA #5: Who would drink the night before 9 year old triplet nieces come out to play?
Apparently me. Oy. How do people function with the ‘flu’ who have kids. Let’s just say I rallied, but fell asleep at the movie theatre. By 7 PM, I was in pj’s floating in and our sleep until 9.40 the next day. Thank the lord it was too cloudy and cold to golf on Saturday, otherwise I would have been flying solo. Thank the lord Lee told me to dose up on Vitamin B, Advil, and water upon my return to home; this prescription defiantly decreased the symptoms of my ailment.
But I have yet to answer my initial question which was, Why is it that when I go out and party with my work friends, I can’t remember things until 2-3 days later and I have ‘flu-like’ symptoms that last at least 16 hours? Perhaps it is because it is our stress relief. Not one of us sashays through the front door of our home at 3:00 each day. We are coaches, tutors, parents. Perhaps we are closet alcoholics. Doubt it, but for the most part, we are not pounding beers and downing shots on your average Monday night. Maybe it is the build up to the “big night out”. The day begins with a whispered “WOO” and ends with a “WOO” loud enough to have other patrons staring. Perhaps it is because we have found that we are all able to function amongst various groups of friends, and we particularly enjoy getting a little crazy every now and then with each other. Our spouses and bf’s/gf’s incredibly get along really well, so you never have to worry about babysitting someone else. We know how to party and no apologies for that.
The more the merrier. If you are incapable of laughing so hard you might wet your pants, are afraid of getting headlocked, hate smelling like a brewery, never eat fried food and fear what will be posted on Facebook the next day, stay home. If not, get your ass out to the next RAMS stampede.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Seriously, Masturbation Increases Test Scores and Helps Concentration
If I had known this to be true, I would have definitely kicked butt on my SAT's despite the fact that I took them while on the latter end of the incubation period of chicken pox. I would tell parents on back to school night that masturbation is the hot, new study skill. I would probably even be able to be contracted as a consultant and travel from school to school peddling my wares, featured on FOX News....
WAIT!!! Let's back track a bit before I get so swept up in my new, fancy life style, posing as the Dr. Ruth of test prep. Middle schoolers are essentially screwed. Their bodies are completely unpredictable; hair is sprouting in places that were previously bald and their pits smell. Some have full moustaches and no access to wax...poor girls. It is crazy! Nowadays, the onset of puberty is even earlier for girls, so it is no wonder that boys tend to be so, shall we say, 'alert'. Some of my girls are rather open about their changing bodies. For example, one of my girls informed me today that she was in a terrible mood due to "the girl thing" and that it was best for me to know in case she went nuts. This spurred on a convo regarding mood swings and throwing things. My girls will also ask me if they can go change their pad...T. M. I!!! When I was in middle school, the topic of "Aunt Flo" was taboo. There was no discussion. No one could know. Mrs. Linkner, a phys ed teacher, once asked a gym filled with girls to raise their hand if they had their period. SERIOUSLY??????? It was bad enough that I was overweight with braces and bushy bangs (girls with thick, curly hair should NEVER have bangs, but the inception of the bangs is another story for another day). There was not a chance in hell that I was claiming my womanhood just because this chick asked. How dare she? This Q&A took place in 1987. Times have evidently changed since my girls are so open, but maybe they just feel comfortable with me. Maybe they are psyched that they can officially conceive; it's not like MTV's "16 and Pregnant" makes it look that difficult to juggle Friday night keggers and a 2 week old....I know some of you are thinking, "but she teaches special ed." True, but these girls are pretty savvy. Learning Disabilities are not cause for social suicide. I think these girls are just cool with who they are, but I digress.
Today I noticed one of my girls stroking her nether-region...over the pants of course. I have noticed this before and thought maybe she had a front wedgie or an itch. But, after what I witnessed on Tuesday, I think she is getting off, or at least comforting herself. Despite her disability, she does incredibly well in class and always participates. Concentration and focus are never an issue; I wonder if when hand is down there it improves. It certainly does not interfere!
Which brings me to my next tidbit. So, there we are, my crew and I, taking a quiz about Washington, Adams and Jefferson. Very stimulating stuff. As I am reading the questions aloud, I am circulating the room, walking up and down the rows. Do you hear the click-clack of my shoes? I am scanning the answer sheets as I walk and read and then, I see it: A VERY serious, rubber game level of the World Series serious, game of pocket pool. Hand in the pants. Up and down. Up and down. A fist pump, but in the pants, no fist being pumped. Yet, the boy is still filling in his answer sheet and is fully focused on his quiz. This all takes place within 3-5 seconds. So what did I do? I gently grabbed his arm, pulled it out from his pants, and rested his hand on his leg. I acted on impulse, yet we were both very cool about it. No eye contact, no discussion. Completely professional. Granted, this boy probably had a mega case of blue balls, but he got a 48 out of 50 on the quiz which for all intense purposes was an amazing grade. So I wonder. Do I pursue a doctorate with a dissertation that ponders the effect of masturbation in the classroom on overall achievement, or I do just let this be?
Bottom line, boys tend to be the ones more often than not caught with their hand in the cookie jar. They just haven't learned impulse control yet. Sweatpants definitely make it easier to access their junk, which is why parents should be informed at the first PTA meeting of middle school that sweats are a violation of the dress code for males. Can we laugh about this? Sure. Are all boys (and girls) getting it on with themselves in class? Definitely not, primarily because they know they just need to go with the flow for a bit and pray their teacher does not ask them to go to the board to solve an equation. But there are those who can't help themselves. There are even those who will ask to use the bathroom with a tent fully pitched. (Yes, this has happened and I have said no...impulse control).
Ahhhh.....middle school. For me, it was the worst of times, the hardest of times. Clearly the same for some of the kids I know today too!
WAIT!!! Let's back track a bit before I get so swept up in my new, fancy life style, posing as the Dr. Ruth of test prep. Middle schoolers are essentially screwed. Their bodies are completely unpredictable; hair is sprouting in places that were previously bald and their pits smell. Some have full moustaches and no access to wax...poor girls. It is crazy! Nowadays, the onset of puberty is even earlier for girls, so it is no wonder that boys tend to be so, shall we say, 'alert'. Some of my girls are rather open about their changing bodies. For example, one of my girls informed me today that she was in a terrible mood due to "the girl thing" and that it was best for me to know in case she went nuts. This spurred on a convo regarding mood swings and throwing things. My girls will also ask me if they can go change their pad...T. M. I!!! When I was in middle school, the topic of "Aunt Flo" was taboo. There was no discussion. No one could know. Mrs. Linkner, a phys ed teacher, once asked a gym filled with girls to raise their hand if they had their period. SERIOUSLY??????? It was bad enough that I was overweight with braces and bushy bangs (girls with thick, curly hair should NEVER have bangs, but the inception of the bangs is another story for another day). There was not a chance in hell that I was claiming my womanhood just because this chick asked. How dare she? This Q&A took place in 1987. Times have evidently changed since my girls are so open, but maybe they just feel comfortable with me. Maybe they are psyched that they can officially conceive; it's not like MTV's "16 and Pregnant" makes it look that difficult to juggle Friday night keggers and a 2 week old....I know some of you are thinking, "but she teaches special ed." True, but these girls are pretty savvy. Learning Disabilities are not cause for social suicide. I think these girls are just cool with who they are, but I digress.
Today I noticed one of my girls stroking her nether-region...over the pants of course. I have noticed this before and thought maybe she had a front wedgie or an itch. But, after what I witnessed on Tuesday, I think she is getting off, or at least comforting herself. Despite her disability, she does incredibly well in class and always participates. Concentration and focus are never an issue; I wonder if when hand is down there it improves. It certainly does not interfere!
Which brings me to my next tidbit. So, there we are, my crew and I, taking a quiz about Washington, Adams and Jefferson. Very stimulating stuff. As I am reading the questions aloud, I am circulating the room, walking up and down the rows. Do you hear the click-clack of my shoes? I am scanning the answer sheets as I walk and read and then, I see it: A VERY serious, rubber game level of the World Series serious, game of pocket pool. Hand in the pants. Up and down. Up and down. A fist pump, but in the pants, no fist being pumped. Yet, the boy is still filling in his answer sheet and is fully focused on his quiz. This all takes place within 3-5 seconds. So what did I do? I gently grabbed his arm, pulled it out from his pants, and rested his hand on his leg. I acted on impulse, yet we were both very cool about it. No eye contact, no discussion. Completely professional. Granted, this boy probably had a mega case of blue balls, but he got a 48 out of 50 on the quiz which for all intense purposes was an amazing grade. So I wonder. Do I pursue a doctorate with a dissertation that ponders the effect of masturbation in the classroom on overall achievement, or I do just let this be?
Bottom line, boys tend to be the ones more often than not caught with their hand in the cookie jar. They just haven't learned impulse control yet. Sweatpants definitely make it easier to access their junk, which is why parents should be informed at the first PTA meeting of middle school that sweats are a violation of the dress code for males. Can we laugh about this? Sure. Are all boys (and girls) getting it on with themselves in class? Definitely not, primarily because they know they just need to go with the flow for a bit and pray their teacher does not ask them to go to the board to solve an equation. But there are those who can't help themselves. There are even those who will ask to use the bathroom with a tent fully pitched. (Yes, this has happened and I have said no...impulse control).
Ahhhh.....middle school. For me, it was the worst of times, the hardest of times. Clearly the same for some of the kids I know today too!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Seriously....As if Leggings Were Not Bad Enough, This Better NOT Be on the Mean Streets of Long Beach!!!!!!!!!!!!
The Luxury Spot » FEATURES » Trouser Snakes: Full of Venom
By: Bryce
The Luxury Spot » FEATURES » Trouser Snakes: Full of Venom
By: Bryce
The Luxury Spot » FEATURES » Trouser Snakes: Full of Venom
Monday, April 12, 2010
Seriously, Leggings are Driving Me Nuts
I am having a major issue. LEGGINGS. I own them; 3 prices exactly. 2 black, 1 charcoal grey. For those of who don't know me, I am the total package....in someone's mind....Seriously, I am 5'4. I am short. When I wear leggings, I wear a boot that comes up nearly to my knee and a shirt or sweater that hits mid-thigh. Why? Because:
A. I am a teacher and there is no reason for me to parade my junk in such a public forum.
B. Do people really want to see me parade my junk in such a public forum, especially when leggings tend to be somewhat on the sheer side?
A few weeks ago, a woman was holding on to her man's gut while he took her for a ride around town on his hog. I had the unfortunate pleasure of looking directly at her gluteus maximus. Why? LEGGINGS!!! The angle at which this woman was sitting did not help her case whatsoever, but had she been wearing jeans or a longer shirt/coat/sari, my hand would not have been forced to take a picture and post it on Facebook. And no, I was not driving.
Even if this woman had on sweats, I would not have been essentially mooned by this woman. I practically had to go and purchase a pair of Blublocker sunglasses, for this moon was so bright. Case in point, leggings are not for everybody nor are they for every situation.
Here is another example. I believe some middle aged women have saved their leggings from the 80's, waiting for the day when they would come back into the mainstream. I believe their discovery of the re-emergence of "the legging" took place while flipping through the thick, September, fall fashion issue of Vogue while sitting in the waiting room of the dentist. Forgetting about the cleaning they were about to receive, they raced home, blowing through stop signs. These women climbed the steps to their overheated attics or dug through old boxes until they found the one marked 'LEGGINGS'. They shouted; "Victory is mine!!!" The problem with this is that these women, women who I know, neglected to update their looks. At least 3 days a week, I see way more of their bodies than I, or others I know, would like to see. Truth be told, I believe one of these women was sold a bag goods. The goods being plaid tights. TIGHTS, not LEGGINGS, worn with a shirt too short to be a tunic, but too long to be a shirt. A smullet (semi-mullet) and leopard print shirt are also not a decade into the millennium’s way to update an old look.
Am I perfect in the ways of fashion sense? 98 percent of the time. I come out with a few whoppers every now and then, usually when in the company of Robyn. Let's flashback to last June: I show up to Penn Station in a red tank top, jean shorts and blue sneakers. Clearly showing my patriotism, Robyn did not get the memo to dress like a participant in a Flag Day ceremony and arrives with an LV Speedy bag, a cute green dress, and what I believe was a hangover. A week ago, I met up with Robyn in a black shirt, sneakers and camo-pants; cute ones, not faux army ones. All was good until my "twin" was standing 5 feet from me in Penn donning carpenter syle camo pants and a black t shirt. Oh--and the National Guard, also in camo. Notice what these outfits have in common? They are NOT LEGGINGS!!! Neither my underwear, nor my ass, was visible to Manhattan.
Just when I think the leggings situation cannot get any worse, my eyes, unshielded by Blublockers, spy a tall man at the gym. He had one longish piece of blonde hair pulled across his forehead and a pair of tight running pants. Ok--it is the gym, but the pants were sheer. I saw not just the outer hem of his tidies (Canchenko provided that description...thanks...) but the actual tidies. This guy was sold a bag of goods too...he was Thank God summer is coming soon...
A. I am a teacher and there is no reason for me to parade my junk in such a public forum.
B. Do people really want to see me parade my junk in such a public forum, especially when leggings tend to be somewhat on the sheer side?
A few weeks ago, a woman was holding on to her man's gut while he took her for a ride around town on his hog. I had the unfortunate pleasure of looking directly at her gluteus maximus. Why? LEGGINGS!!! The angle at which this woman was sitting did not help her case whatsoever, but had she been wearing jeans or a longer shirt/coat/sari, my hand would not have been forced to take a picture and post it on Facebook. And no, I was not driving.
Even if this woman had on sweats, I would not have been essentially mooned by this woman. I practically had to go and purchase a pair of Blublocker sunglasses, for this moon was so bright. Case in point, leggings are not for everybody nor are they for every situation.
Here is another example. I believe some middle aged women have saved their leggings from the 80's, waiting for the day when they would come back into the mainstream. I believe their discovery of the re-emergence of "the legging" took place while flipping through the thick, September, fall fashion issue of Vogue while sitting in the waiting room of the dentist. Forgetting about the cleaning they were about to receive, they raced home, blowing through stop signs. These women climbed the steps to their overheated attics or dug through old boxes until they found the one marked 'LEGGINGS'. They shouted; "Victory is mine!!!" The problem with this is that these women, women who I know, neglected to update their looks. At least 3 days a week, I see way more of their bodies than I, or others I know, would like to see. Truth be told, I believe one of these women was sold a bag goods. The goods being plaid tights. TIGHTS, not LEGGINGS, worn with a shirt too short to be a tunic, but too long to be a shirt. A smullet (semi-mullet) and leopard print shirt are also not a decade into the millennium’s way to update an old look.
Am I perfect in the ways of fashion sense? 98 percent of the time. I come out with a few whoppers every now and then, usually when in the company of Robyn. Let's flashback to last June: I show up to Penn Station in a red tank top, jean shorts and blue sneakers. Clearly showing my patriotism, Robyn did not get the memo to dress like a participant in a Flag Day ceremony and arrives with an LV Speedy bag, a cute green dress, and what I believe was a hangover. A week ago, I met up with Robyn in a black shirt, sneakers and camo-pants; cute ones, not faux army ones. All was good until my "twin" was standing 5 feet from me in Penn donning carpenter syle camo pants and a black t shirt. Oh--and the National Guard, also in camo. Notice what these outfits have in common? They are NOT LEGGINGS!!! Neither my underwear, nor my ass, was visible to Manhattan.
Just when I think the leggings situation cannot get any worse, my eyes, unshielded by Blublockers, spy a tall man at the gym. He had one longish piece of blonde hair pulled across his forehead and a pair of tight running pants. Ok--it is the gym, but the pants were sheer. I saw not just the outer hem of his tidies (Canchenko provided that description...thanks...) but the actual tidies. This guy was sold a bag of goods too...he was Thank God summer is coming soon...
Monday, April 5, 2010
New Seriously Funny Sites
Tonight at spin, surprise, surprise, I laughed out loud along with Tom, the guy who saves me my bike every Monday and Wednesday night. Sitting in front of Tom was a smallish man who sweats like no one else I have ever seen before in my entire life. You know those little kiddie pools we all had growing up? Well, if a child was left uanttended in one of those, they would drown. If a child was placed in the pool of sweat next to smallish man's bike, they would drown too.
So smallish guy is a semi-regular fixture at spin. Here are some other things I know about him, aside from his overactive sweat glands:
* He has recently grown a little moustache that suits his Napoleonic stature.
* He frequently invites the spin instructors to ride with his cycling group in the warm weather.
* He wears black spandex.
*He does not gear up the tension on his bike enough, so that when we sprint, he looks like he is literally (lit-chrally for Rachel Zoe fans) fly off the bike.
*He does not wipe up his sweat.
*He wears black sneakers with white socks that are pulled up to the mid shin.
*When we had to stretch our right and left shoulders across our bodies, he did a Ninja style move with his arms.
*When we had to stretch our arms at the end of the class, to the tune of K.C. and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way I Like It", he did the John Travolta move from 'Saturday Night Fever' with his arms instead.
Overall, he was so entertaining tonight. I cannot wait until smallish-sweaty guy is there again!
Yesterday, I saw a bearded woman. It was stubbly. I felt sad for her. She is the reason for electrolysis.
A man in a trench coat with a very serious expression hovered over Robyn today in the aisle of the train. He just stood there, staring. It was creepy. Robyn moved her things and offered up the seat despite the fact that this dude was a creepy guy in a trench coat, but he sat behind us instead. We think he was picked last for teams in elementary school and possibly sits in the back of movie theatres, alone, in the trench coat. Or perhaps he is just shy.
A man in a Natioanl Guard ensemble was SCREAMING in Penn Station about a woman who wanted a dollar to buy crack-cocaine. This woman was following him and told him to "suck an ass." I felt so proud to be an American at that moment....
And finally, Gus the cat clearly enjoys a good cleaning of his lipstick right after I wake up. It does not matter what time it is, he puts on a show just for me. He is like Tina Turner's private dancer, only he doesn't get any money. Sometimes I chuck him a little piece of turkey, but just for the hell of it, not for the "show". Ewww.
So smallish guy is a semi-regular fixture at spin. Here are some other things I know about him, aside from his overactive sweat glands:
* He has recently grown a little moustache that suits his Napoleonic stature.
* He frequently invites the spin instructors to ride with his cycling group in the warm weather.
* He wears black spandex.
*He does not gear up the tension on his bike enough, so that when we sprint, he looks like he is literally (lit-chrally for Rachel Zoe fans) fly off the bike.
*He does not wipe up his sweat.
*He wears black sneakers with white socks that are pulled up to the mid shin.
*When we had to stretch our right and left shoulders across our bodies, he did a Ninja style move with his arms.
*When we had to stretch our arms at the end of the class, to the tune of K.C. and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way I Like It", he did the John Travolta move from 'Saturday Night Fever' with his arms instead.
Overall, he was so entertaining tonight. I cannot wait until smallish-sweaty guy is there again!
Yesterday, I saw a bearded woman. It was stubbly. I felt sad for her. She is the reason for electrolysis.
A man in a trench coat with a very serious expression hovered over Robyn today in the aisle of the train. He just stood there, staring. It was creepy. Robyn moved her things and offered up the seat despite the fact that this dude was a creepy guy in a trench coat, but he sat behind us instead. We think he was picked last for teams in elementary school and possibly sits in the back of movie theatres, alone, in the trench coat. Or perhaps he is just shy.
A man in a Natioanl Guard ensemble was SCREAMING in Penn Station about a woman who wanted a dollar to buy crack-cocaine. This woman was following him and told him to "suck an ass." I felt so proud to be an American at that moment....
And finally, Gus the cat clearly enjoys a good cleaning of his lipstick right after I wake up. It does not matter what time it is, he puts on a show just for me. He is like Tina Turner's private dancer, only he doesn't get any money. Sometimes I chuck him a little piece of turkey, but just for the hell of it, not for the "show". Ewww.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Seriously, It is My Anniversary, Easter, and Yanks Opening Day!!
Today is a big day! Today, I celebrate 3 years of marriage with Josh. Quite an accomplishment. I must say in this day and age and my tendency to be moody, I am impressed we have made it this far. Today is also Easter, the day He rises. I am not quite sure what a bunny and creme filled eggs have to do with what I perceive as the Yom Kippur of Christianity, but hey, if you celebrate, have a blessed one (Robyn taught me that is what you say). If this 70 degree, sunny day could not get any better, it just did! In a few short hours, the Yanks open the season!!!!!!!!!! It is kind of a buzzkill that they are opening at Fenway, but nonetheless, the boys are back and summer is on its way.
April 4th (4-4) three years ago, was on a Wednesday. Josh and I were married in his Uncle Alan's living room in Omaha, Nebraska during Passover. That was probably one of the craziest things I have never done...not the getting married part, but going to Omaha!! In any case, the date is good one because it is made up of even numbers that add up to another even number (8 if you are slow). I LOVE even numbers, but hold a soft spot for 7, 9 and 15. Odd, I know. I recall my bro in law Jason giving a speech about the significance of the numbers 4 and 8, but of course I cannot recall. I do know this. To me, four is whole. There are four seasons, four cardinal directions, four winds, and four elements. There are four chambers of the heart, four walls to home. Isn't home where the heart is? Now, according to Christianity, eight represents regeneration or rebirth. In Hebrew, it is of intelligence. The temple was sanctified in eight days. The octagon is the beginning of the transformation of the square into a circle and vice versa. So, that being said, this day, while like any other day for many of you, is very important to me. It is a day of meaning, just based on the date.
It is also important because as my anniversary, first and foremost, it confirms for me that I am not a failure when it comes to relationships. When I was married to my ex, we did not even make it to the 6 month mark of our marriage (only in the legal sense). He told me that I was a relationship failure, used goods, and that no one would want to be with me. Nice guy, right? For one second, at the lowest point of that time period, I think I believed hi. m Despite divorce proceedings proceeding, we were still married. That anniversary was July 31st. A date is just a date, but not when you are going solo to a friend's wedding on the same date that was supposed to be your first anniversary. But I made it through with the support of loving friends and a lot of alcohol. When I look back on that un-anniversary of mine, I recall more laughing than crying on my part, but I can never forget that date, nor will I ever forget Erika's anniversary for that matter. After her wedding, I went home and took a bite of the top tier of cake that was saved from my wedding the previous year. It tasted like freezer burn and shame. Shame because I got married despite a nagging in my gut that said "dont do it", despite the fact that I knew, deep down, that marriage would not make things easier or better. I cried then, my tears falling on a stale cake paid for by my father's hardworking hands.
Josh and I did not have a top tier of a cake or even a slice to freeze in anticipation of our first wedding anniversary. And you know what? Did it really matter? The frozen cake is a silly thing that someone made up and a good marriage is not built upon the ability to make it 365 days together only to stand with fork in hand eating a bite of it. The point is, marriage is not easy, and no matter what the significance is of the date or number or year your anniversary is on, every day should be cause for some type of celebration. I am ecstatic when Josh pulls the shower curtain all the way across the length of the tub so that you cannot see into the actual shower. I jig a little when he puts his dishes in the dishwasher or admits that he was not listening to a word I said. Is today, 4-4 a day to celebrate even more? Of course, but due to Easter, we had to have our anniversary dinner last night since most restaurants are closed and because we needed to be home to watch the Yanks tonight. That's what I call romance!
April 4th (4-4) three years ago, was on a Wednesday. Josh and I were married in his Uncle Alan's living room in Omaha, Nebraska during Passover. That was probably one of the craziest things I have never done...not the getting married part, but going to Omaha!! In any case, the date is good one because it is made up of even numbers that add up to another even number (8 if you are slow). I LOVE even numbers, but hold a soft spot for 7, 9 and 15. Odd, I know. I recall my bro in law Jason giving a speech about the significance of the numbers 4 and 8, but of course I cannot recall. I do know this. To me, four is whole. There are four seasons, four cardinal directions, four winds, and four elements. There are four chambers of the heart, four walls to home. Isn't home where the heart is? Now, according to Christianity, eight represents regeneration or rebirth. In Hebrew, it is of intelligence. The temple was sanctified in eight days. The octagon is the beginning of the transformation of the square into a circle and vice versa. So, that being said, this day, while like any other day for many of you, is very important to me. It is a day of meaning, just based on the date.
It is also important because as my anniversary, first and foremost, it confirms for me that I am not a failure when it comes to relationships. When I was married to my ex, we did not even make it to the 6 month mark of our marriage (only in the legal sense). He told me that I was a relationship failure, used goods, and that no one would want to be with me. Nice guy, right? For one second, at the lowest point of that time period, I think I believed hi. m Despite divorce proceedings proceeding, we were still married. That anniversary was July 31st. A date is just a date, but not when you are going solo to a friend's wedding on the same date that was supposed to be your first anniversary. But I made it through with the support of loving friends and a lot of alcohol. When I look back on that un-anniversary of mine, I recall more laughing than crying on my part, but I can never forget that date, nor will I ever forget Erika's anniversary for that matter. After her wedding, I went home and took a bite of the top tier of cake that was saved from my wedding the previous year. It tasted like freezer burn and shame. Shame because I got married despite a nagging in my gut that said "dont do it", despite the fact that I knew, deep down, that marriage would not make things easier or better. I cried then, my tears falling on a stale cake paid for by my father's hardworking hands.
Josh and I did not have a top tier of a cake or even a slice to freeze in anticipation of our first wedding anniversary. And you know what? Did it really matter? The frozen cake is a silly thing that someone made up and a good marriage is not built upon the ability to make it 365 days together only to stand with fork in hand eating a bite of it. The point is, marriage is not easy, and no matter what the significance is of the date or number or year your anniversary is on, every day should be cause for some type of celebration. I am ecstatic when Josh pulls the shower curtain all the way across the length of the tub so that you cannot see into the actual shower. I jig a little when he puts his dishes in the dishwasher or admits that he was not listening to a word I said. Is today, 4-4 a day to celebrate even more? Of course, but due to Easter, we had to have our anniversary dinner last night since most restaurants are closed and because we needed to be home to watch the Yanks tonight. That's what I call romance!
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