Iowa!

So I've been in Iowa for a week now. Unkie and Helen's party went beautifully. You can tell we have German ancestry, because the food included brats and saurkraut. The entertainment included (I kid you not) a polka band. Everyone really enjoyed it, but there wasn't any dancing, in part because it was more than 90 degrees out, and in part because we were on the lawn. ("It's not a smooth enough surface," one partygoer explained, "Someone could twist an ankle.") But my family had a great time, telling stories and laughing. I handed out hundreds of pieces of cake, and Unkie told people I was his oldest granddaughter. He and Helen looked so happy and in love after 50 years of marriage. We should all be so lucky.

Since the party I've been mostly taking it easy and have read four good books. I've also helped a bit with farm chores, sorting sheep and house chores. I walk our minipoodle and throw things for our border collie to fetch, which Mac will do ad nauseum, even if it is 100 degrees out. After a few throws, I'd make him stop to drink water, and he'd look at me like I was so mean.

I've been a bit stranded, as the work at the farm has lead to many nails from the old house and barn making many holes in many tires. But now I have a car and can go to the restaurants and shops I've been wanting to visit. I can also start arranging for visits with family members and friends.

I'll be here until August 14, but I know how quickly time can get eaten up. In fact, being stranded has been kind of nice. I don't remember the last time I had a week with no responsibilities, work or social. It's also a rare treat to be in a space with no other people for a mile around. Well, it's rare for me. In New York, there's always someone above you, below you, and every which way.

So I'm enjoying Iowa, my family and my pets...even the scorching heat wave that just broke. Here's hoping you're enjoying your summer, too. Miss you, NYC friends!

Homeless! And sick...again...some more.

So I think I'm still sick. Sick again? Whatever. Now I need to go back to the doctor. Sigh.

But the big news is, I have to find a new apartment. Here is how the story unfolded:

Last week, Clara's cousins were visiting, which was kind of annoying. She constantly has family visiting. That week I gave Clara the checks for July's and August's rent (since I won't be here at the start of the month). At that time, she gave no warning of what was coming. Then, yesterday she says to me, "Erin, when are you moving out?"

"Oh," I replied, "I'm not."
"But Erin," she said, "I told you I needed you to move out."

Eerm...what? Do I have amnesia? Did I block it out?

"When did you say that?"
"Back in April." I looked at her blankly. "I said, 'My family's coming. I need the apartment."
"Clara, that's pretty much what you've said any time your family has come to visit."
"I know, but...well, I thought you understood."
"But you didn't say anything about needing me to move out."
"I didn't want you to feel I was making you leave." (Though that is exactly what she's doing.)
"When did you want me out by?"
"Well...the end of July."

At that point, I sort of wigged out, calling everyone I know in the city. Then Clara told me that I didn't need to worry, because her family could wait a little longer. But I've started looking for a new place and packing, because it'll be stressfull to try to throw it all together at once when I get back in August. Wish me luck.

A Wedding and a Homecoming

On Friday, I arrive in Iowa at 8 p.m. The next day, I cut the cake at Unkie and Helen's party and I get to see my family! It's been quite a week. Last Wednesday was my last day of school. Then I had to finish a paper and prepare a presentation for my last grad school class on Thursday. I then had one week to finish my portfolio, and I spent some of it with my friends and on Fourth of July celebration...and way too much time on the Saga of Chris. Nonetheless, that's all done now, and so is my portfolio! All that I need for my master's degree is to clear up some clerical stuff. Ugh.
Last Friday was my friend Madrid's bachelorette party. It wasn't the traditional debauchery. Instead we went to dinner at a restaurant called Mexican Radio, then when to a vodka bar with a cool, underground decor.

During the party, we discovered that Madrid's fiance, ChrisP, wasn't having a bachelor party. [He's a grad student, and after his friends recently graduated they moved away. Since they weren't inviting anyone to the wedding (immediate family only), he didn't feel right asking anyone to come back.]

I suggested that we throw him a bachelor party. Madrid didn't think he'd want one, but he was happy about it. We all wore ties and went to a vegetarian restaurant with a Moroccan decor, Caravan of Dreams. ChrisP said it was perfect: "I get the attention of six lovely ladies and my fiance doesn't get jealous!" He also said it was nice to be in a relationship where the friends all approved.
"Not that I wouldn't have married her anyway, it's just...sometimes you get out of a relationships, and all your friends say, 'Oh, thank goodness you got out of that one!' But when the friends all approve, it's like they see that you're a good match."

And they are. Yesterday they got married, and after the wedding they met up with us for dinner. We all toasted the couple, laughing and getting teary-eyed I ended this week with a celebration of a marriage beginning. Next week will end with a celebration of a marriage that has lasted for 50 years. That's a beautiful and inspiring thing.

Happy Birthday, America!

I had a nice July 4th celebration. I got together with some friends for dinner at a Mexican restaurant, Blockhead's Burritos. The food was delicious, but the decor was bizarre, with a sock monkey theme. Yeah...

Then we walked over to the shore to stake out a spot to watch the fireworks. The display was gorgeous. We were having an amazing time.

There was one annoying thing: some parents came at the last second. Now, they might have said, "May our daughter squeeze in next to you so she can see?" It would have a bit self-centered of them (as we waited an hour to get our primo spot), but at least there would have been a modicum of politeness. Instead, they just told her, "Get up there!" and shoved her up between Jenny and me. Her head was literally in my armpit. Yep. What is that brushing against my armpit? A CHILD'S HEAD! Who does that? Who shoves their child in a stranger's armpit? I almost went off, but held back because it isn't the child's fault she's being raised badly. I ignored them and eventually they went away, the child and her brother whining they were bored. I would like to thank my family members for their excellent parenting skills. Our extended family gatherings are remarkably brat-free. Have you seen any of those nanny shows? It's appalling how many Americans are raising their children...that they need to be told to give their children unconditional love, consistent structure and praise when it's earned.

Anyway, despite the run-in with the brat family, the 4th of July fireworks display really got me thinking about America and how much I love it. When I was traveling in Europe, there were all these amazing countries, buildings, museums, cuisines, styles of music and dance. And at first I thought America was missing that, that culture and identity forged over a thousand years or more.

But America is still young. It is a rowdy teen looking for its identity and future and expression and freedom. Because there is no set style for America, there is no limit to what this country can be, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

The Saga of Chris- The Conclusion

The Saga of Chris has come to its swift and clear conclusion. I started going out with him in the first place because I was fascinated by him and he made my stomach flip over, and I didn’t want to be left wondering, “What if?” Now I’ll never have to wonder. He turned out to be more crazy than not, and more trouble than he was worth, but to his credit, at least he added one more great New York moment to my list, and inspired a few poems.

Yesterday I called Chris. He informed me that the love of his life, the semi-suicidal and violent Carrie who dumped him while in anorexia rehab, e-mailed him to say she loved him and missed him. He said getting the e-mail made him want to throw up, and he was still shaking. Hmm.

That night, I went for drinks with Chris, Lindsey and Lindsey’s roommate, Victoria. We all had a lot of fun talking. Then they went home, and Crazy Chris appeared. Well, not at first. At first he was playing pool, and activity which (he had told me before) let him forget her for stretches of time. But then it was someone else’s turn at the table. He started saying rude things to me.

“Why are you actively trying to alienate me? What am I doing here with you?” I asked.
“What are you doing here? Honestly?”
“I’ve been having fun with you. But you told me once you didn’t need any new friends.”
“I want us to be friends.”
“Fine. Then stop trying to offend me.”

But in the course of the conversation, he (in crude terms) informed me that he was just using Nicole, a nice girl he’s seeing, for sex. Then he told me, “You need to grow up. You think you have a handle on everything, but you don’t. You have a perfect answer for everything.”

“Okay then.”

“See? ‘Okay then.’ All you have to say is, ‘Okay then.’” I think he wanted me to get all dramatic and fight with him. Well, you all know I'm up for a good fight when it matters, but you don't fight someone that...pitiful.

He went on to tell me that he still loved Carrie, and that he would die for her in the end. He said he would kill himself for her, not that night, but someday. I tried to talk to him about options for getting help. He said if his sister couldn’t help him, I sure as hell couldn’t, and what was I going to do, call the cops? He said I should leave him, and I did.

So, I never have to wonder, “What if I’d given it a shot with Chris?” Now I know the answer: disaster. I feel bad that he’s so damaged— that he’s making these desperate pleas for help, and no one knows how to help him. But I guess I’m grateful that he didn’t use me and string me along like he did to Nicole. One intense week, and the whole thing was resolved without me getting too physically or emotionally involved. Goodbye, beautiful, crazy Chris, and good luck. I hope you get the help you need. Actually, you and beautiful, crazy Carrie will probably get married and have a passel of beautiful, crazy children and live in a prolonged fit of drama and masochistic joy. Mazel tov!

The Saga of Chris- A New York Moment

Saturday Chris and I got together on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He said he wanted to get a drink first, and we went to a bar where he proceeded to have two Bloody Mary’s…at four in the afternoon. I didn’t think that was a good sign, but I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. At the bar, Chris got a call from his sister, Lindsey, saying she needed to meet us to get her keys from him. They thought it might take 40 minutes, and we decided to wait out front.

Chris and I sat on the thick stone ledge of the fountain, which was inexplicably empty of water. The stone was warm, and when I had to make some phone calls, he stretched out. He said it felt great, so when I finished my calls, I stretched out, too. Head-to-head, his legs going one way, mine the other, we lay there in the sun with cars zooming by in the street and tourists ambling by on the sidewalk. We even dozed a bit, with the wind mixing my hair with his. It's going on my list of top New York moments.

After an hour Lindsey, his mom and his mom’s boyfriend showed up for the keys. We handed them off, then went in the museum and looked at paintings. He likes Kara Walker, Degas’ ballerinas and gloomy paintings in a certain shade of blue. I like luminous women against rich backgrounds.

We left the museum and went for hot dogs at Papaya King. He was amazed I’d eat one because, apparently, all the women in his life fit somewhere in a continuum between vegetarianism and anorexia. “Yeah, women who eat,” I said, facetiously, “It’s the hot new thing. It’s sweeping the nation!”

Then he went to put a down payment on his new apartment and I went home. It was about 9 p.m. He said he might call me later, and at 10 he did. I met up with him and his friend Royal, and we talked and laughed for hours. Then Royal went home, and Chris decided we should go play pool. I warned him tat I didn’t know a thing about it, but he didn’t care. We won game after game, but lost the last one due to spectacular incompetence on my part. He had the nerve to get crabby about it. “I’m sorry,” I replied, “I deceived you when I said I was a world-class pool player. Oh, wait, no, I think my exact words were, ‘I could only beat someone at pool if my bad playing made them laugh so hard they dropped their cue!’” He laughed and cheered up, then walked me to the subway. It was about 3 at this point.

The whole walk to the station, he was looking at me strangely and told me he didn’t know what my story was. Then he told me, literally, to keep my distance (“Walk over there for a minute.” Okay, crazy boy). Then, right as we got to the station, he said, “So what are you doing now?” “Well, what are you doing now?” I countered. “Going home and going to bed,” he said. “Well, okay then.” I replied. At his subway stop, he shook my hand and told me to call him.

I'm still sick and he's still hot.

School's out! Yay! Grad school class is done! Yahoo! Next week I turn in my portfolio, and then I'm ALL DONE with my Master's Degree! Hooray!!!

Okay, I think I just used up my exclamation point quota for the month.

The last day of school, several of my students (See photo at above of them actually being kind of cute) flipped out because I didn't give them thier report cards. Of course, I didn't give them their report cards because I didn't have their report cards because they didn't turn in all of their text books. One threw a chair. So any temptation to be sentimental about leaving my seventh graders was quickly assuaged. I will miss my eighth graders, though...especially the ones I taught in seventh grade, too. I hope all goes well for them in high school and in life.

Today was my last day of my Fordham class, and afterwords, Chris, Erin M. and I were talking. Chris asked if we wanted to hang out. I said sure, but Erin said no. I decided I'd rather hang out with Erin, so I told Chris I'd changed my mind. You see, I thought Erin wanted to ditch him, and I decided I'd rather hang out with her than him. But it turned out it wasn't a rouse. She really did have plans, because it was her sister's birthday.

"Why didn't you go with them?" Erin M. asked.
"I don't know."
"You ruined his night. You know that, right?"
"I did not. I don't think he's interested. He is all about Nicole. Besides, he didn't ask for my number when we went for coffee."
"I think he was working his way up to it. I think he was going to ask you tonight."

Then mom called and I told her I was still sick, so she suggested something for me at the health food store. After I went for it, I began to wonder what would have happened with I'd gone out with Chris, Mike and Alexis. So I thought, "Maybe they're at Lincoln Park. If they are, I'll hang out with them. If not, I guess it's not meant to be." But, out off all the bars in NYC, they were there. Chris was surprised and amused that I found them. We laughed quite a bit, especially when we split a cab uptown. There was an awkward moment on the cabride, however, when he and Nicole had a fight on the phone.

I think I'm in the friend zone with Chris because of the way he talks to me about other girls. Anyway, at the end of the cab ride, he said, "You should call me and we'll hang out this weekend." I said, "I can't. I don't have your number." "Well, we can fix that," he replied and we entered it into my phone. And that's exhibit two that I'm in the friend zone: He gave me his number instead of asking for mine. But that's okay. It's so much fun talking to him. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much.

Sickness and singing

I just chatted with my mom, fresh from Brooke's birthday (she was cute as a button and loved her garden tools set), Courtney's baptism (Courtney Rose mostly slept) and the Bice Family Reunion, where the family-friendly censored version of this site (erinkiley.blogspot.com) received some good press from Unkie. I hear my recent pickpocketing incident prompted a lot of discussion. Mom says he reads my blog religiously. I'll admit I sometimes don't think about my audience enough. I treat this like a diary instead. I'm trying to correct that and become more entertaining.

Well, to catch you up from the last post, the field day went just fine. I brought bubbles and various bubble wands. The kids acted too cool for them for a while, but before you knew it, they were blowing bubbles and running around waving the wands. And remember that day when I felt like curling up on the floor and crying? Well it turns out I'm sick, and as y'all know, when I get sick I get emotional. So that explains that. The doctor gave me some medicine and I should be fine quite soon.

I have just three days of school left, and I'm so excited for summer vacation! I'm also excited about coming back to Iowa from July 14 to August 14 (from Unkie and Helen's party to the Iowa State Fair). I'm bummed that I'll miss the State Fair sheep show, but I need some time to prepare for the new school year.

I'm so excited about coming home that I'm already mentally packing, and I occassionally break into my Iowa Medley, much to the amusement/annoyance of my friends. "We are from Ioway...Ioway! Heart of all the land...joy in every hand. We are from Ioway, Ioway! That's where the tall corn grows.//Oh, there's nothing halfway about the Iowa way to treat you, when we treat you, which we may not do at all. There's an Iowa kind of special chip-on-the-shoulder attitude we've never been without, that we recall. We can be cold as our falling thermometer in December if you ask about our weather in July. And we're so by God stubborn we can stand touchin' noses for a week at a time and never see eye-to-eye. But we'll give you our shirt and a back to go with it if your crops should happen to die. So, what the heck, you're welcome, glad to have you with us, even though we may not ever mention it again. You really ought to give Iowa, Hawkeye Iowa, you ought to give Iowa a try!"

Yum...and not just the potato pancakes.

I've been kinda insomniacky lately. I did not want to get out of bed this morning, and my students were exhausting. One, an ADHD kid, got twitchy and threw a book, hitting me in the shoulder. (He wasn't aiming at me...but ow.) And it was HOT in my classroom. Ugh. Before grad school, I was so exhausted from the heat and lack of sleep and stress that I wanted to curl up on the floor and cry myself to sleep.

Since my group of fellows graduated, I've been taking classes with a different group of fellows, and I kind of thought they hated me. See, the first day, I used the words "nebulous," "connotation" and "denotation"....all in one sentence. Yeah, it was ridiculous. So the next class, I was like, "Keep a lid on it, E.J." But did I? No. Quite clearly, no.

But Thursday, after class, another student came up and said, "Oh brilliant one, can you help me with something?" And I helped her. Since then, people have been coming up to me and chatting. Talking with them one-on-one after class gives me a chance to make them laugh and let them see my fun side.

Now there's one guy in my class who is SO CUTE. (He reminds me of someone...Ed Burns. An Ed Burns/Ryan Gosling cross.) I've liked him since day one. After class, he and another girl and I were bantering and laughing. She assured me that their Fellows group didn't think I was pretentious, just smart. I felt better. Then cute boy asked if we wanted to keep hanging out. The girl, whose name is Erin, said she had a lot of work to do. Then he turned to me and said, "Are you still coming or are you scared?" "Me? Do I look scared?" I rose an eyebrow and he laughed. He said he wanted to go for coffee: "I've never actually 'gone for coffee.'" "Me, either," I replied. We agreed we wanted to go for diner coffee, not Starbucks coffee, so we had to wander for a while. While we wandered, we discussed favorite poets and authors.

We finally found a diner that looked promising. We had to order food to get a table, so we got some delicious potato pancakes. We dished on the exes and told worst-day-of-my-life stories. His ex was worse, but my worst-day story was worse. Then he paid for a cab for us to the Upper East Side. We rode up town with the windows down, chatting. He told me his favorite city is Chicago. When I asked why, he admitted it was because of the aquarium. Hee! He is so hot, but I don't think anything will come of it. I just wasn't getting the vibe from him, but it was nice being out and laughing with a sexy guy.

Tomorrow, my entire school is going to a park for a field day. Pray for me.

Happy Father's Day!

Every day at work, I see what happens to children who don't have fathers in their daily lives. The children know they are missing something, and go looking for that love and male support in all the wrong places. I always knew I was lucky to have such a great dad, but now that I see what happens to a person without a good dad (or communities without enough good dads) I appreciate mine even more.

Dad, you gave me life, love and support. You spun me around and tossed me in the air, and I felt like I could fly. You hauled me around the farm for years, taking care of me all day while mom was at work. When we were walking around the farm, you held my hand. You gave me tons of hugs, even though you didn't come from a huggy family. They were great hugs, bear hugs, where you almost couldn't breathe for a second.

You didn't get too mad when I pulled stunts like locking the doors of the truck and crawling out a window opening so small you couldn't get your arm in. That time when I was four and I started bidding at an auction, you actually bought the sheep for me.

You're not a big talker, but you let me yammer away for years. Once, I was singing in the yard and came in, asking to listen to the professional recording of the song. You told me it was prettier my way. You kept the postcard I sent you while on vacation when I was eight. You would drive your car to the end of the driveway to pick me up after school if the weather was bad. Then you'd wrap me up in blankets in front of the kerosene heater and give me a cup of cocoa.

You made me feel pretty and smart. You believed I could do anything, and made me believe it, too. Except for the sports. You were wrong about the sports. I am not now, have never been, and will never be any good at softball. But I love you for believing otherwise.

You were protective of me, and always told me to stand up for myself. Sometimes we would fight, and I'd start crying. You wouldn't want to apologize, but you wouldn't want to fight anymore, either, so instead you'd make me laugh. I'd get mad at you for using that tactic, but end up giggling anyway.

You have such a good sense of humor. Some people might not see it because you're the strong, silent type, but you're the first to laugh when something's funny. You're also great at seeing the funny side of the hard moments in life. And if someone can get you talking, you tell a great story. It's all in the timing, "or whathaveya."

When I was graduating from high school, I was trying to decide what I wanted to be. We were discussing it in the truck one day. I wondered whether I should choose something safe or something adventurous. Though (being a very practical man) you did encourage me to take some business classes, your main advice was, "You're special. Whatever you choose will work out fine, but don't sell yourself short." My jaw dropped at such a declaration. That statement has helped me to be brave at times when I might otherwise have played it safe.

When I became an adult, it was hard for us at first. You didn't know how to treat a grown daughter, and I didn't know how to behave as one. But when I told you what I needed, you did your best to do it. You've become a great listener, and so supportive. I love you so much.

Like mom, you made it so I never even understood the saying "You can't go home again." I'm afraid I must finish my letter to you the same way I finished hers: the words "Thank you" are so inadequate, but they're all I've got. Thank you, Dad.

Partying and petty larceny.

It's been an eventful week. Wednesday, Madrid and I rushed to finish our grades because they were due the next day (as described in the previous post). We were stressed afterwards and decided to unwind by going to Red Bamboo for dinner, followed by a gathering called Pub Night. We joined up with my lovely fashion benfactor, Jenny Levy. She was a little crabby from the weather and our train-delay-lateness, but I think we cheered her up.

The next day I had work, followed by grad school, followed by a reunion with VAL! Yes, my best friend Vali was visiting from Seattle. We met up at Coffee House Bar where we had delicous food and chatted for hours. It was amazing to have her back.

Friday, I got a new cell phone (the old one died). Then I threw on a new Jenny's Closet dress and met up with Laura, Melea, Reesa and Pete at Off the Wagon. It was all too fratty for me, but we quickly moved on to a comedy club. Most of the acts were rough and kind of awkward, and Melea was drunkenly heckling everyone. Cringe, cringe, cringe.

We decided to go to Solas, and that was more fun. Ryan and Dom and Sam joined us. I was enjoying talking to Sam, who is a documentary filmmaker and editor. The place was packed. You had to jostle people to get to and from the bathroom (which is when I think they carefully unzipped my purse, reached in and took it. Took what? You'll see.) While coming back, I saw my friends dancing and joined in. When the song ended, two big, blonde football-playerish guys came over, flirting and saying, "Oh, man! We were coming to dance with you. How's it going, Erin?"

I was instantly creeped out. "How do you know my name?"

"I was in your math class."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was. Where are you from?"

"Iowa."

"Exactly! We were Hawkeyes together."

"Nice try."

"Just kidding. We were Cyclones together. You know Troy Davis?"

"I know of him."

"We blocked for him."

"What did you say your name was?"

"He's Mike. I'm Kevin. And she's Jessica," referring to a passing girl who looked freaked out that he knew her name. Then he grabbed a random guy walking by. "Who are you?" The guy they grabbed looked confused.

"I'm Aaron."

"Oh, so is she!" He let Aaron go, and Aaron--looking relieved--took off.

"Well, Kevin," I said, "you obviously know your school mascotts. Aren't there better things you could do with your brain cells?" Then I turned back to my friends.

"How's it going?" Sam asked.

"Those guys are tools."

"How did they know your name?"

"I don't know. Maybe they have a deal with the bouncer where he gives them the information he sees on girls'...IDs!"

All of a sudden, an alarm went off in my head: Name, ID. ID, wallet! I opened my purse, and sure enough my wallet was gone. They had stolen my wallet and gotten my name off the ID. I had been careful, but if a thief really wants your stuff, they're going to get it. By the time I got to the bouncer, "Mike" and "Kevin" were as gone as my wallet. Just in case, I checked the floor, the bathroom and with the bartender. From asking around, I found out that at least three girls (including a friend of Aaron's) had gotten their wallets and/or ipods stolen that night. I think I was the only one whose head the guys messed with, however. What, were they trying to get my wallet and my number? "Kevin" wanted to screw me over, then actually screw me? So weird.

Don't worry, I cancelled my credit cards and filed a police report. By that time it was 5 a.m. At 10 a.m. I had brunch with Val, then sent her back to her hubby in Seattle. That cheered me up. (The brunch part, not the sending her back part.)

I could let this theft dim my faith in people or in New York. The thing is, all I have to do to get my faith back is think of all the kind people who helped me out: the bouncers, the bartenders, the cops, the phone operators for the credit card companies, and most of all my friends. They helped me search the bar, under cars and in trash cans nearby (where thieves often dump ID and wallets after taking out the cash), and gave me a little emergency money and hugs. What are two weird guys' treachery in the face of all that kindness? Not much.

Floods, fun, and student breakthroughs.

So when the story left of, my feet were soaked, and my hair had been chopped off by a crazed prima donna stylist. I left the salon and stomped, fuming, to the Subway. There were tons of us crammed into the station, and there were all these wierd annoucements every minute or two. None of them seemed entirely truthful however. ("There's a slight delay on the 6 line. And all 4s and 5s are running on the 6 line. And everything running on the 6 line is a little delayed by water on the tracks. But a train's coming any minute." Sure. I believe you.)

So I decided to go catch a bus. I stood there for twenty minutes. No bus. I walked uptown for twenty blocks. No bus. Then I did catch a bus, but it took us 40 minutes to travel 20 blocks. I walk faster than that! All in all, it took me 1 hour and 45 minutes to get home. (It usually just takes 30 minutes). And my feet had been wet for three hours.

Trains all over the city were shut down by the flooding. Carolina called and offered to drive Laura and I to a restaurant for dinner. I was crabby but agreed in the hopes it would cheer me up. We went to the Blue Angel Thai Lounge, and it was great. We had a little too much fun playing with the salt and pepper shakers, which were shaped like little people. The waiter even brought us and extra set! Then we went to Soundz Lounge for frozen apple martinis. So cheap and so delicious!

The next day I went bargain shopping for summer clothes. I went to New York & Co., The Gap and H&M. For $150 I got a pair of pants, a skirt, a dress and 8 shirts! I rule. Unfortunately, my mood was a bit spoiled by the wrap-around mirrors, which showed me just how messed up my hair was. But the next day the guy fixed it, so...whatever.

Then Wednesday, my school randomly decided the grades would be due THE NEXT DAY! And my students haven't had finals yet or turned in their portfolios. It was like a neon sign proclaiming "This is not a real school!" Grr.

On the other hand, today I had a heart-to heart with a student, David, who's done no work for me this year (well, none since September). I've tried talking to him several times (and many other strategies), but Friday he decided to open up. David told me he'd given up on passing. I replied that the Assistant Principal had asked for his work to see if he was eligible to go to 8th grade and I'd had nothing to show her. I told him he didn't want to be in the same situation, and that doing work might not help him pass at this point, but it could help him get ready to pass next time. It could also show he's trying to change, which will affect his class placement.

HE STARTED WORKING! His spelling and vocabulary are better than I thought. I was so happy. I had thought I was banging my head on a stone wall with him, but it turns out the 3,000th time is a charm.

Cute clothes. The hair? Not so much.

Life's been strange since I posted last. Memorial day I went to my friend Jenny Levy's house. I played with her kitties and we watched ALIAS while I went through her closet and tried on pretty designer dresses. You see, she's lost weight and can't wear them anymore. My favorite is a little Betsy Johnson dress that I can't stop wearing. Then on Thursday there was an early dismissal (yay!).

On Friday it was raining cats and dogs, and by the time I got to the train station, my feet were soaked. I decided to make the best of it and get a hair cut. You see, usually when I go for a haircut, my hair is on its best behavior. This makes it harder for the stylist for avoid cowlicks, etc. I get to the salon on 14th St, and get this Eurotrash stylist. I have met many, many sweet, non-trashy Europeans in my day, but he was not one of them. He was straight up Eurotrash, like "Eesn't my hair cute, how the spikes stand straight up een the air? Ahnd don't you love my designer t-shirt? Well you should, because eet cost more thahn your rent."

I should have run away, but I didn't. I told him I wanted a trim with layers. He asked how short he could take the sortest layers. I showed him. He then cut most of the hair to that length with random parts shorter and random parts about the length it was when I walked in. He didn't have time to blowdry it, so I went home (a saga I will describe later).

While shopping the next day, I discovered that my hair looked horrible. The layers were clumsyand choppy with random parts much longer than the rest, and it came to a point in the back. AARRG! So Sunday I called the salon, and the guy who answered the phone told me to come on down. When I got there, the nice guy who'd answered the phone asked me who had given me the cut. I pointed out Mr. Eurotrash. Then he asked me the problem with the cut. I showed him the randomness and pointiness. He looked puzzled by his coworker's actions.

Then Mr. Eurotrash came over.

"Thees ees not my fault."

"I didn't say it was anyone's fault," I replied, "I just want it fixed."

"Eet ees your hair's fault. Eet dried all curly and..." Up 'til that point I was polite but then I got mad.

"First of all, I told you it was curly. That's why I said, 'Keep the layers to encourage the curl.' Second of all, I asked you to dry it so we could make sure it looked right and you said you didn't have time. Third of all, isn't it your job to make any hair look good? Besides, I've dried it and straightened it, and these random parts are still four inches longer! You can't blame that on curling."

"You weel haf to wait half an hour. Then I weel help you."

"What? I've already been here half an hour!"

"Ah, but you deedn't make an appointment, did you?" he asked, smuggly.

"Your boss told me to come right over!"

"I'll take care of it!" the boss exclaimed, probably upset that the other customers were witnessing Mr. Eurotrash's prima dona act. He expertly snipped away to even out the layers. Unfortunately, the result was even shorter hair. I guess the children with cancer will have to wait a little longer for my next donation to Locks of Love.

Overheard in New York

This really tickled my funnybone...though I don't know why. I just felt compelled to share. It's indicitive of the kind of thing one hears here on a regular basis.

That Really Gets My Goat

Woman: No, I'm telling you, I'm right! He couldn't eat the Trix because he was an adult rabbit, and Trix were only supposed to be for kids.
Man: Well, I always thought it was just because he was a rabbit and not a person.
[A period of silence -- the woman looks down at her food.]
Man: What's wrong?
Woman: I'm just really getting tired of you always being wrong. --Michael's Restaurant, Broadway & 34th St, Astoria via Overheard in New York, Jun 1, 2006

Also:

I Think She's Watching You

Kid #1, looking at the Mona Lisa on Da Vinci Code poster: Hey, look! It's her again!
Kid #2: Who is this lady? She's everywhere! --Downtown 1 train via Overheard in New York, Jun 3, 2006

Heh.

Happy weekend!

Memorial Day weekend should be a calm one. My friends and I decided to take it easy after our road trip last weekend.

It was a weekend of mixed emotions for me. Saturday would have been my graduation day, but I had to postpone until August. Now I don't know if I'll have a ceremony at all. So I was bummed. But it was my friend Carolina's birthday, so my girls and I decided to drive down to a casino in Connecticut. Carolina found a dirt-cheap (but nice) hotel room online. We did a little gambling and Saturday we went to Mystic, home of Mystic Pizza. We shopped and ate at the famous restaurant and had an all-around nice time. That night I was a little depressed, and it didn't help that Laura and Reesa were constantly calling or texting their boyfriends (at least three times a day each).

I've always believed that when you're hanging out with your girls, you should focus on your girls. When I brought this up with them, they told me, "You don't understand because you're not in love." Mmm-hmm.

First of all, I maintain that even if I were in love, I'd limit it to one call a day. He'd be lucky to get that, frankly. Second of all, that's sensitive of them. Especially since I recently got my heart a little smushed at the end of the most serious relationship I've ever had. Thanks, guys. But Carolina talked me through it, and by the end of the night she and I were shimmying it off on the dance floor.

Tonight I'll watch a movie and go to bed early. Tomorrow I'm going to Target (which is like a day trip here) and tomorrow night I'll go out with my ladies. Sunday I plan to go to church and then get my work done so that I can relax all day Monday. Relaxation, Yay!

That said, it's kind of a strange "celebration." It's supposed to be a day to remember the sacrifices those who died to protect our nation. In Iowa Mom and I would go place flowers and flags on the graves of our relatives, but here it gets lost in the picnicking and the sales. It's such a serious subject and I try to keep it in mind. I hope you do, too.

I have a new niece!

Big sister Brooke, along with Mom and Dad, are happy to announce the birth of Courtney Rose Kiley.

She was born at Covenant Hospital in Waterloo, IA on Wednesday, May 17 at 7:23 a.m.

Courtney weighed 8 pounds, 7 ounces and was 20 inches long.

(P.S. J.B. and Erika think she might have red hair. J.B. called me to tell me all about it, and I could hear Erika adding details in the background. It was cute.)

Me vs. Trish Darrow

Last year, my best NYC friends' names were Lex and Drew. Well, there was also my crew of ladies (Madrid, Laura and Carolina), but Lex and Drew were my first real friends here. We bonded early on in our fellows training. One day Drew expressed interest in dating, but I told him I didn't feel that way about him. He replied, "We'll have to work on that." I disagreed.

But then he never acted on it, so I figured he'd realized I was right. He hadn't. I was oblivious all that year as we struggled through our teaching and grad school classes. In the meantime, he was also working on his comic book, ArchEnemies. In June Drew told me we couldn't be friends anymore. It sucked, but he was right. I miss my friend, but our friendship wasn't good for him.

Now I can't hang out with him, but I can read his web site, his comic book, and the blog of one of his comic book characters, Trish Darrow. If Trish were real, she and I would be pals. In fact, we are eerily similar. First of all, see picture above. That's me rockin' the blue hair for Halloween 2004 and Trish, who rocks the blue hair every day. Also, Trish and I both have acute senses of smell. Seriously, we've been tested! We're both 26 and living in NYC. We both love to doodle (though I only doodle on paper and don't approve of vandalism).

I adore 50% of her favorite bands (We both love The Clash, The Ramones, Green Day, Reel Big Fish Save Ferris, Evanesence, The White Stripes, Weezer, They Might Be Giants and Josie and the Pussycats). I also love 50% of her favorite movies (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Garden State).

How much is coincidence and how much is a friend stealing my personality for financial gain? You decide. Honestly, it could be mostly coincidental. If that's the case, then it really makes sense that he would like me. He invented a girl he liked, then met one a lot like her.

If he stole my personality...well, when you're writing it's natural to draw, consciously or subconsciously, from your real life experiences. And they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. You know, if Drew and I still hung out, he would probably claim that I'm stealing Trish's personality. Heh.

One way or the other, though I can no longer hang out with Drew, it's nice that I can still be entertained by his personality through his work.

P.S. At the beginning I mentioned Lex. We still hang out when she can spare the time away from her girlfriend.

Happy Mother's Day

Okay, I know this is not my family blog. This is the uncensored version, but I'm posting my Mother's Day tribute from Girl Out of the Country (erinkiley.blogspot.com) anyway:

One day, while flipping through the channels I saw a program on PBS called Mother Daughter Wisdom. Dr. Christiane Northrup wrote a book and gives talks on the connection between emotional health and physical health, and she had a lot of salient points on the connection between mothers and daughter and the effect that relationship has on your health.

Anyway, when the show started, I loved my mother and all the great female role models in my life. By the end of the show, I really loved my mom and my female role models. Really loved. I had to pick up my phone and call my mommy on the spot. I don't remember what Dr. Northrup said exactly...I think basically she was outlining all the ways it can mess up your health if you have a bad mommy, with a few examples of bad-mommy-having. This highlighted for me the benefits of my own good-mommy-having.

Thanks to all the smart, nurturing, brave women in my family who support me. But thanks, most of all, to my mom.

Mom, you gave me life, love and support. You cooked for me. You changed my diapers and did my laundry. You didn't have a nervous breakdown when I was a tiny little girl and you would wake up some mornings and I was GONE and you would have to search the farm frantically and find me up in some TREE somewhere, even though you had taken the precaution of hiding all my clothes in a dresser that was practically in your bedroom.

You believed me when I was sick, and even though my teachers told you I was a hypochondriac, you kept taking me to doctors until we found Dr. Gold and he fixed the problem.

You took me on Girls' Night Out to the movies and the symphony and to touring Broadway shows. You indulged my passion for old movies and let me watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Grease every day for a year. You gave me the theater bug by letting my haunt the Bittersweet Theater while you and your friends rehearsed.

You taught be about feminism and choice. You let me be an overachiever with a million activities and responsibilies (which, in turn, complicated your life). You told me it was okay to say "No," when people ask for help, too (even as you were trying to master that skill). You told me, at least a million times, "Be a problem solver, Erin!"

You let me cry when I needed to. You told me not to be a teacher. You were incredibly supportive when, six years later, I did become a teacher. You made it so I never even understood the saying "You can't go home again." The words "Thank you" are so inadequate, but they're all I've got. Thank you, Mom.

Hot night. And ow.

I had a great weekend. I went to a "Fellows Happy Hour." Actually, the only Fellows there were me, Sara and Caroline, but some of their friends were there, too. They were really fun people. I was wearing makeup and a cute little dress and had my hair down and naturally wavy. Sara didn't recognize me at first.

"Wow! You clean up good! I was thinking, 'Who is that beautiful girl walking in here?' And then I realized it was you! Seriously. You look great."

Heh. On the one hand, she was so complimentary about how nice I looked. On the other hand, do I look that bad normally? Well, to be fair, she usually only sees me right after a hard day of teaching.

It was great to have new conversations with new people. Then I met up with Madrid, Jen, Laura, Carolina, Jenny, Reesa and Pete. We chatted and drank for a while. Then Madrid and Jen took off and the rest of us went dancing at Opal. Laura, Carolina and I stayed the longest, shimmying into the early-morning hours. We were the hottest girls in the room, though not the prettiest. You see, the Opal crowd is rather preppy. The other girls were all so concerned about their hair and makeup and manicures. We were just concerned with dancing with abandon. That attracted the men like flies! But in the end, we shooed them all away and Carolina even drove me home. Yay!

This week has gone by quickly, but the kids have been stressing me out so much I'm getting stabbing pains in my stomach. My pre-ulcer hasn't been this exacerbated in years. I've put myself on a bland diet, and I hope that will help for now. I had been thinking about staying at my school, but I guess this means I need to look for a new place to work.

Happy Birthday to Me!

April 29 was my 26th birthday, and I had a lovely time. I spent most of the day relaxing in my apartment. I watched The Muppet Movie and cried during the finale ("Life's like a movie. Write your own ending. Keep believing. Keep pretending. We've done just what we set out to do... thanks to the lovers, the dreamers and you!") You can laugh if you want, but I've always found that scene so moving and inspiring. I'm glad I haven't outgrown it.

I fielded some birthday calls from the family, and that night I joined my best friends. Laura, Madrid, Chris and I met up at La A'nnam for supper. I didn't want to carry leftovers around, so I ate and ate and ate WAY more than usual. My friends could have warned me. The could have, but they didn't.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

"No," Laura replied. "Don't go yet. I'm telling you a story."

"But I have to go to the bathroom."

"No."

"Why not? What, did you get me a cake," I joked, "because if you did, they're sure to bring it the minute I leave."

"No, we didn't get you a cake," she replied, just as a waiter carried up and adorable chocolate cake with a fudgy center and they all began to sing. So I was stuffed to the gills, but of course I had to eat it anyway! And it was fabulous.

Then Chris went home. The girls and I bought a deck of cards and met up with Carolina at Blue and Gold for some libations, conversation and card-playing fun while listening to the best jute box around.

The card game was Cat's Circle of Death, a game I've never played without having a great time. I'm not sure I'm following the rules correctly (because it's a drinking game, and it's hard to remember the rules of a game you've only ever played while under the influence of booze). Here it is as closely as I can remember: An ace means you get to make a rule. Cards 2-5 mean you take as many drinks as the card says. Cards 6-10 mean you get to "deal out" the number of drinks on the card (for example, you draw a nine and make Carolina drink three and Laura drink six). A jack is a "social," so everyone takes a drink. A queen means "questions," which we play as a round of "Never have I ever" (eg. "Never have I ever worn handcuffs," and if you have, you drink). A king means "kategories" (for example, "Types of beer" or "Beatles songs" and the first person who can't think of one drinks).

Madrid quite evilly made the rule "Any time a 9 is played, anyone whose birthday is April 29 has to buy a guy a drink and get a guy's number." By the end of the night, I was VERY popular, but I the bartender probably thought I was a total slut. You see, somehow the 9 got played SIX TIMES. I was too drunk to really call my friends on their cheating.

"But I've got four numbersh already. Did you guysh put that 9 back in the deck?"

"No, we swear," Laura replied.

"Well, then you bitchesh sent me out on a six!"

"Oops," Madrid replied. "Oh, well. Go!"

I make it home safely an woke up the next morning with a crumpled pile of numbers on my bedside table. My twenty-sixth year? So far, so good!