My What?

After watching tonight's debate, I wish I could eat a bit of chocolate every time McCain says "my friends." By now, I would be plump and happy on the couch.

Boxes

After a challenging teaching year, I took this summer off to fix up my home and pack up lots of belongings in the hopes of beautifying our condo to the point where someone would want to purchase it. I have spent my "vacation" covered in spackle dust, ruining what's left of my fingernails painting and sanding the walls and ceiling of this 100-year-old dwelling that I've called home for the past 10 years. I was describing my endless labor to a friend the other day who shook her head and said, "that must be so hard." I thought about it for a moment...comparing it to the difficult time I had teaching last year. I realized that, when you want to pack a box or fix a crack, you gather the necessary equipment and you get the job done. All you need are the necessary tools and a plan. Unlike teaching, I explained to my friend, the crack does not try to stop being fixed, the box does not unpack itself once you've taped it up. With teaching, you can be totally prepared and have all the drive in the world but the fact is you are working with human beings with their own intentions and plans. One task is physically intense, the other is mentally and emotionally intense. At this point in my life, I'm getting enough emotional intensity from my family life, so there's only room for physical intensity. This summer I have been thoroughly enjoying the satisfaction of packing and repairing... accomplishing exactly what I set out to do. It's all so predictable, neat and tidy-- unlike teaching which is often so messy. I was explaining the packing/teaching analogy to another friend today, when she made a very good point: "Boxes don't call you on your birthday." That was just the kind of reminder I needed before I got back to school in a couple of weeks. At some point soon, I'm going to return to the classroom, embrace the challenges and remind myself of the immense emotional rewards that I can't get from boxes and cracks.

Love Note

Got this letter today from one of my students from last year. It secretly arrived on my desk on a day when I really needed it. For those who may not be able to read first grade spelling, it reads, "Dear Ms. Bond. You're pretty like the stars. You clear my mind out. You put good things in and take bad things out of my mind. From Dainika

Pretty cool, huh? Young children are so poetic.

Important Warning

Last night during the (boring) Superbowl, there was a funny commercial with a guy who gets out of his car and attaches jumper cables to his engine, and then to his nipples. He supposedly is able to power up the car and its speakers with just his energy. But the part that makes the commercial so funny is that in small text at the bottom of the screen, it reads "Do not attempt." :)

Famousness

A brilliant doctor told my Mom yesterday that her case is so extraordinary that it could be publishable. Of course, she immediately went a few steps further, to consider the screenplay, and who would play her in the movie. The resulting conversation ensued:

Mom: I'm thinking Catherina Zeta-Jones will be playing me in the movie. And maybe Steve Martin could play you.

Dad: If Catherine Zeta-Jones is playing you, I will be playing myself.

What did you say?

Somer: My Nana died last week...

Me: Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!

Somer: It's OK, I just need to recharge it...

(Turns out she said Nano)




Here's another one:

Me (to my Bro); Will you and your big surfer friends be the bodyguards at my wedding?
Bro: Elbow, you'll have dozens of men there that would take a bullet for you.
Me: What about your son? Would he take a bullet? (He's four months old)

Bro: No, but he'd take a spitwad for you...

God

Setting: 21 kindergarten kids on a walk up the street to look at all the snow from a recent snowstorm...

Ricky: Did you know that God makes snow?
Me: No, I didn't.
Ricky: Me neither. My Dad told me. He makes other stuff, too.
Me: Really? Like what?
Ricky: Rain, water, rocks dirt, mud, houses... And he puts the paint on cars, too.
Me: Really? Does he make videogames?
Ricky: Yes. But only the good ones.

I love kindergarten.

Procrastinating

Instead of writing report cards, I am finding out which celebrities look like me...

"Here Comes the Bride?"

A four-year-old in my class sketched this picture of a wedding that she went to over the weekend. She entitled it "Here Comes the Bride." From the looks of things, I'm not sure this couple should be getting married. The groom seems pretty skeptical...

Newest reason to love Seatmate:

Elbow steps out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where Seatmate is reading. She is getting ready to go out, and is wearing nothing but makeup and mousse.

Seatmate: "Wooo! Lookin' good, Babe."

Elbow: "But I'm not dressed yet."

Seatmate: (in an almost perverted voice) "Exaaaaaccctly."


I do love him so.

Just when I thought I'd seen it all...

Chai-scented deodorant.

It was the first and only time I have giggled in the deodorant section of a drugstore. There's usually nothing funny there. Imagine my surprise.

The better part is that under the "instructions" portion of the product, we are reminded that we are only to apply this to our UNDERARMS, and nowhere else for goodness sakes!

Goodbye Mr. Wrong

I recently got this card from my lovely discosister back home. It's the best engagement card I've ever seen. (Inside, it reads "Hello to becoming the Mrs.") Funnily enough, I believe I dated at least one of each of those species of men before I found Seatmate.

Start Spreadin' the News...

The drama level has increased in my life lately (Mom's inconvenient cancer has been trying to stage a comeback), and I needed one precious day away from everything. What better place to go than the place where, if I can make it there, I can make it anywhere. Last Thursday, I spent one glorious day in New York, New York. I have never had a bad time in that city, and I'm sure that my Guardian (Marguerite) lives there. First stop, the glorious SoHo, to have a delicious chocolate pear tart with my longtime "teaching twin." We went to a wonderful little cafe called Once Upon a Tart (onceuponatart.com) with a window chock-full of yummy pastries (sugar and fat-free, I'm sure).



We then went to one of my favorite SoHo shops-- Evolution (theevolutionstore.com). This shop is like the Museum of Natural Science but you can touch everything and buy things, too. Imagine running your fingers over a fossil that is more than 30 million years old! Usually, that stuff is behind glass, but not in Evolution.



Then I left my friend and went out on my own to Brooklyn, to visit an incredible perfume shop I had read about. Perfume is no fun to buy on the web... a pilgrimage was in order. I schlepped myself to CB I Hate Perfume and spent more than an hour filling my nose with scents like "garden tomato" "bonfire" and "roast beef." I ended up buying a few lovely scents such as "green vine" "white soap" and "california roll." In that shop, I was a little girl, trying on Mom's perfume. I even got to meet the owner, Christopher Brosius. It was just what I imagined it would be.






As I left that evening, I felt a little like New York during the last few years-- knocked on my ass, but slowly rebuilding.

Say hello to my lil' friend...

So, I'm walking down Mass. Ave today and I hear yelling. It's coming from a skin-headed man with loads of tattoos, standing with a woman and two small children. The man is screaming at a young girl, who looks to be about five, and grabbing at her arm. He says through gritted teeth, "When we get home, I'm going to give you a SPANKING, ok?" The girl and boy, who is about three, are both weeping softly and looking terrified. As I walk past them, the two adults are too involved to notice that I am watching. About 20 yards away, I turn around to see what is happening. I watch the man scream, "Do you see what the sign says? DO YOU SEE WHAT THE SIGN SAYS?" Then he hits the little girl in the face. At this point, the woman looks up and sees me watching. The man looks at the woman and then at me. For a moment, our eyes meet and my eyes narrow as I give him a quizzical look, as if to say, "Do you realize what you're doing?" I turn on my heel, and casually walk away as he screams unintelligible curse words at me.
Have you ever wished for a police badge and a gun? I sure have. This would have been the perfect situation for it. I would have walked confidently up to the couple, put the badge up with my left hand, grasped my gun in the holster and said, "Elbow... Boston P.D. Did I just witness you STRIKE that little girl in the FACE?" Man, it would have been sweet to have the authority to get up in his face and make him feel one IOTA of the fear that the little girl was feeling. It really boils my blood to see adults treat young children like that. I've been working with five-year-olds for almost 20 years and no child has EVER done something that would make me that mad. People like that need a good dose of fear and authority staring down on them. What I wouldn't give to scare him just enough for him to pee in his pants just a little...

Long White Dresses

Recently had my first experience trying on wedding gowns (or as I like to call them, "long white dresses.") Last weekend, I went to have a "rough draft" session at a low-end chain bridal shop. While the salesperson was very nice, the dresses were not to my liking (what's up with all the strapless, beaded crap?) In any case, I left the store feeling like a dressless, beached whale (mental note: fake bake before next session).
The next session was today, a spontaneous decision brought on by a challenging week with my students, a free night, and late hours at the bridal salon. This session was vastly different from the last one, and I really enjoyed myself. Here are a few reasons why:
1. The dressing rooms were like small condominiums, with flattering lighting and lots of strong hooks on the walls.
2. The lighting made my ring look extra sparkly. :)
3. I did not act like a Bridezilla, so the woman who helped me did not act like Shopgirlzilla. In fact, she was lovely.
4. I found out that I am almost the perfect "sample" size, which means I can try on anything on the floor and it fits well.
5. The dress I liked best was the cheapest of the bunch. (still, it cost as much as an average round-trip ticket to Hawaii)
6. The staff kept having reasons to refer to my "fiance, " which always sounds so nice, I have to admit. (Sometimes Seatmate calls me "Fiance" or "Future Wife" just because he knows it makes my toes curl. :)

But the best reason of all:

The salon also carries prom gowns, so there were tons of teeny bopper girls and their mothers in there, looking around. Every time I would emerge from my dressing room in a gorgeous gown, there were lots of gasps, oohs and aahs. The girls would say, "Look! She's getting married." And, "Ooh look Mom, there's a bride." And I would stand there on my pedestal (yes, they actually have pedestals) and look all bridely and glowy and happy.

What fun!

So here's my recent observation: There are tons of unworn/unaltered dresses on ebay and craigslist because some girl has bought a dress, and then changed her mind and decided on a different dress. Some of the first-purchase gowns cost upwards of $4000! How in the world could you NOT be serious about blowing four grand on a GARMENT that you are going to wear ONCE? These are probably the grown-up versions of those twits on "My Sweet Sixteen." In any case, even though I found a gorgeous, reasonably-priced gown today, it doesn't mean that I am going to pounce on it like a cheetah and fore go all the fun of trying on every last non-beaded, non-strapless gown in this damn city! I think those poor "two-dress" souls have gotten a case of a disease I like to call "Seeingmyselfinaweddinggownforthefirsttimeandlosingallsenseofreason" syndrome. I was discussing this problem with a young colleague at work today, who is also planning her wedding. In retrospect, I am glad I didn't insult the "two-dress" girls too much...

Turns out, my colleague's FIRST dress is on ebay for $2000. :)

Pop Goes the Question

Last night, alone on the observation deck of the Prudential building, my Sweetie dropped to his knee and asked me if I would spend the rest of my life with him.

He offered me something sparkly...





.... so I said



My cheeks still hurt from smiling. :)

Oh....My......

So, I hop out of the shower and stroll into the living room, where the TV was broadcasting "Breaking News." At last! It was the long-awaited result of the Anna Nicole trial in which a court was to determine who was going to get her rotten, stinky remains ("Ooh, I do! I do!")

Truth be told, I couldn't care less about any of this crap. Like OJ and JonBenet, this craziness is just brain candy for bored, gossipy people who have nothing better to do but sit in front of the TV and delve into other's personal lives. HOW is this ANY of our business? How pathetically desperate for cognitive stimulation do you have to be to give more than a half-ounce of crap about this case? Apparently many people do care, because they broke into several reputable programs to broadcast this news. As I was scooting around the channels to see how many stations thought this was more important than their regular programming, I saw the judge of the case literally BREAK DOWN as he read the ruling. Sniffling and weeping, he dramatically tapped on his bench to get his composure. You have GOT to be kidding me! It makes me so sad that our country has reached the point where a JUDGE (an individual who is appointed to decide cases in a court of law) would turn his courtroom into a freakshow by being unable to keep control of his own emotions during a ruling. I would rather french kiss Wilford Brimley for a full three minutes than watch one more moment of that puke-inducing dramafest.

I'm now officially scared of daytime television. Somebody get me back to work. Stat.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/74/Wilford-Brimley-03.jpg

Yummy!


UPDATE: If I was at work today, I would have missed the opportunity to watch "Michael Bolton-- A Tribute on Ice" (an ACTUAL show)
I pity the skaters, who likely had to listen to Bolton's whiny voice over and over again as they rehearsed.

Gimmee an M!

My Mom is getting her first dose of chemo today. She is such an ass kicker.

To get rid of her inconvenient cancer, her brilliant doc has concocted a lovely mixture of two asskicking drugs: Oxsaliplatin and Gemzar. In her honor, I have created the first image of the Official Mascot of her Winning Team:

Say hello to Sally Platypus (with Gems):



(She looks timid, but she's got sharp teeth in that duckbill)

Go Mommer!

Introducing...

And now for something completely different.

I have decided to name my breasts.

This revelation came from being in the Philadelphia airport and having so many men blatantly stare at them that I thought--since they were so intriguing-- that they should have the ability to be introduced, thereby needing names. Hell, they both seem to have moods and personalities anyway, so what's the difference?

Instantly, I thought the one on my right should be Claire, for reasons still unknown to me (and Claire). She just seems like a Claire. Easy enough, but what about my left one? I thought it might be nice and ironic to name a breast after a man. After all, the left breast was the one that has always given me a little trouble. Moody and a little saggier than Claire. This was going to be tricky. So I turned to the person who knows them best (after me and perhaps a smattering of gynecologists)-- Seatmate. I explained the situation, and he was happy to help with the naming (he is a good man). He had some solid suggestions: Theodore and Francis to name a few, but they just didn't seem right. Then all of a sudden, he came up with the Father of All Male Breast Names-- BUSTER! I loved it immediately for the not-so-subtle use of the word "bust", but then Seatmate had an even better use of the name. Picture this: A lecherous man feels the need to visually size up my melons, and I walk right up to him and ask, "What are you looking at, Buster?" He stumbles back, stunned that a bubbly, smiley-type woman would approach him in such a threatening manner. But then I repeat, "Are you looking at Buster? Or Claire? Because personally I would be looking at Claire today because she is slightly perkier than Buster." Confused, he slinks away, swearing that he will now keep his eyes above the neck, where they belong.

So, here they are, Ladies and GentleLecherousMen:



Claire and Buster.

P.S. I hope the link works!

Curious

You meet all kinds of people when you are out in the city on a weeknight. When I was on the Silver Line this evening, I stood next to a woman who was young and quite petite, wearing a lavender coat. When she reached up to hold the bar, her sleeve slipped down and I caught a glimpse of her watch. It was a large silver men's watch-- but on her delicate wrist it looked positively huge. I was instantly sucked into morbid curiosity about why she would be wearing a timepiece that was so obviously wrong for her body type. It couldn't have been a gift, and I didn't think she would have chosen it for herself. I decided it was from a man, but who, and why? Just as my curiosity began to wane, I noticed a new twist: the second hand wasn't moving--the watch was stopped at 5:03. Ooh, now I could barely contain myself... a young, slim woman wearing a huge men's watch that was wasn't working. Why? My mind reeled at the possibilities. A stolen timepiece from a man who'd broken her heart at that exact moment? A brother who'd been shipped off to Iraq? A father or grandfather who had passed away, but was not nearly forgotten? A friend lost in the World Trade Center? Just as I was considering the possibility of gently inquiring about the watch, she rang the bell and slipped through the back doors into the night. It took me about a half hour to stop thinking about this woman and her watch. But by then, I had become curious about why I was so damn curious...