Two things I hate:

Weddings and superficial people. 

Alas, I agreed to spend my lovely saturday afternoon wading through the jungle that is both these things.


  this is what I wore.


please ignore the messy bookshelf.


I've never worn so much pink in my life.   But you know, the heels lasted about 20 minutes before I realized we would be STANDING for this wedding.  Thank goodness I brought sandals.  I'm just not willing to pay the price for beauty.

I soon became astounded at the number of superficial and insecure people attending this wedding.  I didn't know anyone except for my date.  One particular conversation certainly left its mark on my memory.

Her:  "OMG she's soo New York!" (obviously in admiration referring to a bridesmaid).

Me: "uh, why is that, exactly?"

Her: "Because she's beautiful, tall and skinny. like a model!"

Me: "You think that's New York? So there aren't models in LA and other parts of the United States? You only associate beautiful people with NYC? Not Wall Street, Central Park, New York Pizza, 9/11, the amazing diversity in culture, Broadway, Greenwich Village, Times Square...?"

Her: "Well I didn't mean to OFFEND you." 

Me: "I'm not offended.  I just don't understand how you can associate only tall, skinny models with New York City.  That's not my viewpoint on the subject at all and I grew up there."


She rolled her eyes and left in a huff. 

Was it something I said?Apparently I will never get along well with superficial, ignorant people. 

I think I'm okay with that. 

It amazes me how severely misguided people are, sometimes.


On the other hand, (don't hate, Redskins fans) GO GIANTS!!!!!!

I'm just a Basketcase.

I've just begun teaching with a different school.  One slightly closer to home, high achieving, supported by administration (which is rare), and has not had music for ten years.  I've got quite the job on my hands.

I have to admit it.  As a teacher in Maryland, I've most definitely lost it.  I've lost it during breaks, after school, and worst of all- in the classroom.  Today was one of those very rare occasions.  I don't mean that I broke down and cried-  I just don't do that.  But I did lose my temper. 

Children like to test their teachers- especially young(ish) teachers.  Beginning my fourth year as a music teacher in a rough area, this is not news to me.  I run a tight ship.  I keep classes organized, running smoothly, and I do not tolerate children hell bent on negativity.  One of these particular children decided to test my toleration.  

Perhaps I should have taken him aside more often.  I've done this many times before, in warning.  These warnings were ignored.  So when the final test came upon me,  the temper seized me.  It's no wonder some children think I'm scary- and yet most of these children absolutely adore me? It astounds me.  They see the temper, and yet hug me ceaselessly and thank me for teaching them music. 

The fierce love for me is astonishing.  And the fact that despite certain brats, most children discover a way to love and learn in my class.   I continue to discover ways around these obstacles, move on, and continue my lessons. 

This is why I teach.  I suppose not everyone has a job so rewarding, and for this I am thankful.

But oh, do I love the weekend.  When I can finally sit back, relax, and pretend that I have all the patience in the world.

Look back to move forward.

Living through break ups.  It's all just another element of living, isn't it?  Pondering the events of a past time causes memories to emerge, even in the middle of dreamless, sleepless nights.  Listening to street sounds and air vents sent me into wonder of the heart breaking emotion followed by numbness, perhaps even emptiness, and then rebuilding.  Everyone experiences this- not everyone wishes to revisit it.

We were always a contradiction, he and I.  For years we created our own articulate arguments, even when they meant nothing to us except a competition over words. It never really mattered why or what we needed to say because we only had to be right. And I sank into the overtones of constant argument while listening and reacting to the ridiculous device on my ear.  After awhile, I simply stopped arguing- even when he begged to hear it one last time.

I had a lot of nerve and he watched me throw that curve overhead until I lost track of time.  and distance.  It didn't matter anymore that he kept track.  I found pain in the peace we pretended to have and I was too busy just to grasp a hand.  But I had the support, nonetheless, and then all of this.  

All of this is just a collection of recollections I keep finding among thoughts entwined around a name.

 I know now... I know that pen will never make a mark again.

 

jersey memories.

have i really been away from the home i grew up in for this long? ten years. really? ten years have gone by. i was in school for four of those years. and it has already been six years of living independantly. on my own. alone.


the memories always flood back. i still leave in the middle of the night and come home late, creeping up the stairs. i know exactly where to step in order to avoid the ancient creak from beneath my bare feet.


my room has changed. the house is in the middle of "renovation". it stopped midway because my mother ran out of money to fund it. my old room is still painted sky blue. there are still two large closets, packed with mementos, photographs, journals, stories. my mother packed it all away for safekeeping. justincase i decide i need all of this back.


my mother only prepares a homecooked meal for my expected arrival. it's foreign to me, she never used to cook. but now when i come home once in awhile, she actually does in fact, cook.


there's a guest bedroom with old fireorange carpet and peeling, flowered wallpaper. it smells old, and it is always rather freezing because of its location just above the garage.


the house has been painted a cheerful yellow with light blue shutters.

i hate it.



i love my old home.


it's strange to see how much we have evolved in ten years.   It's even stranger to think home has gone from my place to live to my place to visit. From a movie to a photograph that's frayed around the edges.

And do you remember when we used to sing our every care and worry into the world?



remember how well we blended in the light of the stage?



well. i do.

27

Hi, my name is Jersey, and I'm twenty-seven. 27.
I keep rolling the number around in my mouth, not comprehending the fact that I really am getting older.
Should I have done more by now? I doubt it. Judging by the past few years entries, I would imagine i've lived through quite a bit.
Should I be more mature? Perhaps. Sometimes I think I was more mature in college than I am now. I was still living in dreams, planning a stumbling forward performing career, and drinking in the possibilities of life.


Perhaps my last entry seemed entirely cynical. My thoughts on love and life do not exactly lie in the same path five years ago. Instead, I am learning to live differently. To excel in what I KNOW i can- and at least trying to hold a little bit of love in my hands, for once. After all, I cannot remember the last time I felt that kind of love. It has nothing to do with readiness, boundaries, cynicism, or letting my heart go again. It has everything to do with letting go of my past. stepping forward, even if I am truly stumbling.


I need to stop being afraid of what has happened to me. I will never allow that to happen again. And so here I am.

27 with new possibilities.

It's time to grasp a few dreams, again.

Ankles swallowed by metro doors.

Last night was fantastic. I mean, a completely necessary girls only danceyourassoff sort of fantastic. Scarlett and I began the evening watching the new Angelina movie, Salt. This is a great action flick if you can suspend your belief system temporarily. Anorexic women looking like skin and bones couldn't possibly kick that much booty, but I'll admit it was a perfect beginning to our ladies' evening.

After such an exciting, heartpounding "woah, did she just take down three dozen Russian spies!?" movie, we promptly decided to have a few and catch up at our favorite Irish pub, Fado's in Chinatown. Spotting two empty seats at the end of the bar, Scarlett and I spent hours catching up on life - you know, the usual (i.e. men, dating, drama, more men). Oh, and by the way- Magner's is cider for the soul.

Meanwhile, the currentboyinmylife (007) began the persistent texting ritual called "where are you can I come and join you please?". I was unamused. This is a girls night! Never crash this sort of night, boys. It's just not a good idea. Back and forth we texted, me hinting in my usual subtle way NO DON'T YOU DARE COME HERE and his oh ok fine, then i guess i'll just go home. the perpetual dance got old quickly, and i caved in to the guilt trip. You know what's crazy? I didn't even KNOW he was guilt tripping me at first! Of course I figured it out and the Jersey in me surfaced immediately.



Here's one thing I won't do. I will not apologize for my decisions. I will not apologize for what I choose to do, and with whom I choose to do it. Especially, above all- to men. It's just not worth the sacrifice.



Anyway, he chose to arrive two ciders and a douchebag comeon later. I chose to not attack the guilt tripping issue. Instead, I grabbed my girlfriend's hand and started dancing. Of course, 007 danced along behind me, doing the typically unattractive bump and grind, hands on hips and violently swaying to and fro. I didn't mind, though. His dance was of a completely unaware, goofball nature that made me laugh the rest of the night. Besides, my dear friend found herself a fabulous dance partner, so what could spoil the night?



2 a.m. and I was ready and rarin' to catch the metro home. I said my goodbyes and walked with 007, allowing his arm to wrap around my waist with the promise of seeing me home safe and sound.



You know, I always end up injured when my clumsiness and the metro mix. I've broken my foot twice running for the metro in flip flops. However, I never miss my metro stop- no matter how tired I am, I always recognize when it's time to jump the platform. However, this time was an exception. It took me several seconds too long to walk through those metro doors and guess what? My ankle was nearly severed by the heavy crush of those doors. Luckily, I was able to pull my ankle out with a mere bruise and alas! A broken sandal.





So, the moral of the story is this.



Men, never crash a ladies night.



And women, unless you want to lose a perfectly good sandal, don't run for those metro doors. they will not stay open. Just wait for the next metro stop and your limbs are more likely to survive.

2008 already?

New Year's Resolution
#1: work out more. eat out less.
which leads to
#2: cook more at home = spending less money.
i'm not exactly the typical girl who makes resolutions and breaks them once per year. actually, i'm a believer of making/breaking any resolution at any time of year.
#3: make resolutions throughout the year.


so last night i made homemade pea soup with ham. i just had some during my lunch break and it is now doing terrible things to my stomach. i feel sorry for my 1:00 class. i should have left out the ham.
i just realized how much i hate ham.





i can't believe i'm a teacher, sometimes. children urk me.