The Scores Are In!

Who rules? Me! Now I don't believe in teaching to the test or judging a student (or teacher, for that matter) solely on some test, but since my employers do, I let this news work for me.

First, I'll set the scene: my witchy bosses have it in for me! They've been giving me trumped-up negative write-ups in my file and undeserved negative observations (My lesson was unsatisfactory because my font was too small? I could read it from the back of the room, but okay...) They even sabotaged me in the meetings where we would plan my observation lessons. ("Parents blame you when their kids don't do well. When you're a weak teacher, there's only so much I can do to defend you." Wow. You think I'm a weak teacher? [That may not be clear in writing, but it was clear in her tone.] Well, that makes me feel comfortable and confident with you visiting my class tomorrow.) My friends an I suspect they do this so I can't get a job teaching at some other junior high or high school. As a bonus, if I quit, it looks like I quit because I was a bad teacher (as opposed to "Oops, we lost another qualified, experienced teacher").

During my last post observation, I said, "Look, what do I have to do to get a satisfactory rating for the year?" "Well, I don't know," the Principal replied. "What steps can I take? I want to do the right thing." "I don't know..." I had to ask her four times. She said she would send the literacy coach and my AP to observe my lessons and give advice. She said she would visit to see if I was taking her suggestions. She said I should get my students to follow all my instructions. I should do this without ever raising my voice. Right. Now basically, she couldn't give me an unsatisfactory rating because she didn't follow through on her part of the bargain, but now she really can't!

The top score on the test is 4, above grade level. Who has the only students in the whole school with level 4 scores? That would be ME! And they didn't come to me with 4s. I helped them raise their scores to 4. I raised more scores in one class than any other teacher. I raised more scores total than all but two teachers. In my worst class, I managed to retain the scores of all but one student. In short, I rule in a way that my number-cruching boss cannot dispute. Hooray! If she wants to live by the scores, then her vendetta will have to die by the scores. YAY, YAY, YAAAAAAAAY!

Memorial Day Weekend

Friday I was tired and stressed, but Madrid convinced me to come for drinks right after work. I was tired and sweaty, but I agreed. We met up with Laura, Carolina, Jenny Levy, and two of her friends. We snacked and sipped and had a lovely time. Then Jenny's friend said, "Hey, did you notice the vagina mirror?" "WHAT?" I sputtered. "In the bathroom! There is a full-length mirror opposite...where you sit. Your sitting there and all of a sudden you look up and...hello! Vagina mirror." Anyhoo, Jenny is pals with the bartender. She made up a shot for us and said we could name it. The name seemed...obvious. I thought the bartender was going to fall over laughing.

The group broke apart. Then I was going to meet up with Tom and his friends. There were some really irritating train snafus...which are so irritating I'm not even going to make you read about them. Suffice it to say, by the time I got there, his friends were all gone. Grr. But I forced myself to cheer up fast. Part of being a good girlfriend is not being a drag, and with all Tom has to hear about my job, I don't have many drag points to spare.

Saturday, we went to his parents' house. They have a lovely pool and hot tub in the back yard. Also, his mom made the most delicious pina coladas I've ever tasted. "Here," she would say, "have some more. And I didn't put in enough rum. Here, have more rum." Mmmmm, I thought, so this is what alcoholism tastes like. Then Tom's dad grilled us some delicious food. We swam, chatted with his family and soaked up rays. I got a little sunburned.

Sunday we went to Brookyln's Tom's Diner. Everyone there was really friendly. The staff handed out orange slices. We got there early, but I've heard if you come later there's a line around the block, and they give you orange slices and cookies on line. Then we walked through Prospect Park. We bought bagel sandwiches and picnicked in the park. Then we joined up with Debra at Metropolitan for barbecue. Eventually, it was just too crowded, so we went to meet up with Dom, Tori, Becker and Mike. Mike had broken up with his girlfriend. She was nice, but...well, it's just one of those things, I guess. They weren't getting along well enough.

I began to feel woozy...whether from heat or dehydration or alcohol or the smokers nearby...who knows. But I pushed through it and found my partying-second-wind. We ended up playing Truth or Dare, of all things! Tori was disappointed I wasn't drinking and had the bartender invent me a drink, The Joy Machine. Wow. Two original drinks in one weekend! Monday we had breakfast, watched some cartoons, then Tom made me delicious pasta. Then I went home to grade papers. I didn't get enough done, but then when do I ever?

After Graduation

So I went home from the graduation ceremony exhausted, had a snack and typed up a blog entry. Then I took a nap. I managed to wake up and spiff up to go out with my ladies. I met up with Riza, Laura and Carolina to celebrate Carolina's birthday. We munched on yummy Peruvian food. Carolina cursed us for the cake and the serenade by everyone in the restaurant. Then we went dancing at no malice palace. Tons of guys were hitting on me (well...tons, three...same difference). That never happened when I was single! One adorable guy elbowed me in the eye, so I made him buy me a drink. He thought I was flirting, when in truth I was charging him the asshole tax. Besides, I was out of cash. Then I met up with Tom, and we stayed out until the bar closed.

Sunday I watched The Godfather at Tom's urging. I'd never really felt the need to watch it, but Tom convinced me. It was okay, but suffered from two things: 1-Famous Movie Cliche Syndrome and 2- lack of sympathetic characters.

1- FMCS is when a movie has been tributed and referenced and knocked-off so many times that the original feels...unoriginal (think "It's a Wonderful Life.") On top of that, most FMCS flicks are so famous they've been hyped to death. How can the actual movie stack up? It was like, "Oh, I've seen this scene." "Oh, that's the context for that line. Cool."

2-Tom and I agreed when watching Sopranos. We're supposed to root for these people who make their living from crime and intimidation? We're supposed to feel sorry for the people who sponge off the people who make their living from crime and intimidation? It's all about people who treat other people like puppets. (See the poster above!) I feel the same way watching The Godfather. Tom, on the other hand, feels troubled that I don't feel overwhelming love for The Godfather. It has nice characterization and cinematography and pacing and acting. It's a well done film! It deserves the awards, the acclaim, the mantle of masterpiece. It's just...see all comments above. Maybe it will grow on me? Some movies do.

So then there was a week of work. It was hot and we were all crabby. And then one kid, lets call him "Boberto," pushed me too far. He's been faking orgasms in my room on and off all year. Tuesday he did this weird snakey dance up in my face, proclaiming, "You're makin' me hot, you're makin' me hot, you're makin' me HAAAAAAAAAAWT!" Then Wednesday he was moaning again, and said something really rude to me, I don't even remember what. "Fine, 'Boberto,' I've been trying to decide what to do about your nasty comments yesterday. Now you've made it easy."

I turned the reports in to the dean and told them I wasn't comfortable with how 'Boberto' was treating me. They called his dad who kept saying "I don't know where these allegations are coming from. You keep making these allegations." Unfortunately, we couldn't ask "Boberto" about the incident, because he had cut school for the last few periods of the day. The AP, the dean and I had to stop ourselves from laughing out loud when his dad claimed, "'Boberto' is such a quiet, shy boy." My AP usually drives me nuts, but I loved her when she replied, "Well, that's not what we see at school."

We had to meet again the next day (Me, AP, Principal, Dean, Parent Coordinator, 'Boberto' and his parents). 'Boberto' stuck to his claims: He didn't say or do any of those things. He'd never been in trouble in my class. I just didn't like him, and was making this stuff up to get him out of my class. I emphasized that that isn't the case, I'm not a liar, and I'm trying to straighten out his child so he doesn't get sued for sexual harassment some day.

My principal stuck by me. She showed the child's father the kid's report cards (all failing), his progress reports (failing with complaints about his behavior from all his teachers) and his attendance record (absent 22 days, late 88 days). Oops. Daddy's little angel isn't so angelic after all. P.S. Dad claimed to be involved in his son's life, and to really know his son. So how didn't he know all these things? It's a mystery. Well, he's out of my class, at least. And has "Boberto" learned his lesson? Well, today I heard him tell a girl, "You don't have hair on your head, you have pubes." So obviously he's put himself on the straight and narrow path.

Graduation!

Today I graduated! My official graduation date was August 31, 2006, but the ceremony was today. I wasn't sure if I wanted to pay all the money to rent the robe and go through the ceremony, but I decided I needed the closure...that feeling of finality.

I got the robe Thursday, but when I got home, I saw that I was supposed to get a blue hood and they gave me a yellow one instead. Friday I stayed home sick from work to get the correct hood. I didn't feel well, anyway.

Today is the birthday of my friends Madrid and Carolina. Madrid wanted to celebrate last night. I agreed, but who did we see once we got to the restaurant? My Assistant Principal. Oh, GREAT! I was trying to back out before she saw me, but Madrid (not thinking), exclaimed, "Oh, look who it is!" and started waving. "Let's go say hello." Aaarrgh! Afterward, I asked her what she was thinking of. "I wasn't! I'm so sorry!" She felt so bad. I really hadn't felt well Friday, but this made things look suspicious, and my employers have gone after me for a lot less. Oh, well. They will or they won't bother me about it. I can't control their actions.

Back to today: Tom was nice enough to come take some pictures of me in my cap and gown. As we walked over to Central Park, one of my neighbors called out, "Congratulations, girl!" We found a pretty spot with craggy rocks and blooming trees on one side and a marathon or race of some kind on the other side.

Then I hopped on the train into the Bronx. I had to run to make the lineup on time. Then I found that only three of us had the blue hood. Apparently, they'd given everyone the wrong hood, and only three of us asked for the right one...essentially making us the ones in the wrong hoods. Heh. Oh, well.

The ceremony was actually nice. Each group stood and was recognized. The address was given by Willie Larry Randolph, manager of the Mets and former coach of the Yankees. Everyone involved enjoyed stirring up some Yankees-Mets rivalry among the student body. His speech was good, not because it was original or had jokes, but because his delivery was funny and -- unlike the speaker at my undergraduate commencement -- he wasn't CRAZY. (Seriously, that guy talked about a girl getting an eye poked out by the wire of a spiral notebook. Ew.)

One speaker from the university teased the undergrads about their collegiate experience: "You gained the freshman 10, you fell in love...she dumped you. You said, 'Fine. I'll show her. I'll become a Jesuit.' But it doesn't work, I can tell you. So you pierced your ear instead, taking it out when you went home to visit mom and dad." Hee.

The benedition was given by this hilarious priest (I think), who delivered it in such rhyming couplets as: Bless the students/ keep them holy/ help them lose the rolly-polly/ shape they blame on Sodexho*/ but is the fault of lack of exo...cise."

Then we sang the Alma Mater. Now, during the National Anthem, I gained a suspicion that was confirmed during the Alma Mater: people can't sing. I'm not saying I'm the best singer in the world. I'm just saying...with a song they know, people can get by. When they have to sight-read, they are lost.

By this point, it was sprinkling and cold. There were going to be second ceremonies, divided by school. Our individual names would be read as we would be handed scrolls. But I was cold and tired and hungry. I'd forgotten my wallet, so I couldn't buy food. I decided I was done. I just wanted to go home to sleep. I'd already gotten everything I needed from the day: a ceremony to put a close to that time in my life and prepare me for the time to come.

*Sodexho is a company that provides food to many universities, including my other Alma Mater, Buena Vista. It is not known for having fresh, healthy, delicious food. It did, however, provide yummy ice cream, and you could tell a meal was bad if you saw everyone eating ice cream cones instead of dinner.

Freaking out

Hate job. hateHateHATE! AAAARRGHHH! Help. Why, why, why? Paycheck. Only for the paycheck. Virginia? MFA. Poetry. LOVE! But my love is left. And where to live? WHERE? Need a home! How to get there...not just me but my stuff? And I'm just so tired, my feet and mind and voice. A month and a half...I just have to get through a month and a half. A month and a half? All I have left with this city...all I have left to get ready...is a month and a half? It's a blink. It's a lifetime. And I'm freaking out. A lot.

Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!

So it's Mother's Day again...that day when we all do our best to show our mommies how much they mean to us and how much we care about them. My mother is such a giving, caring person. I just with other people would nurture her as much as she nurtures all of us.

She's taken care of all her students for decades. She's taken care of Dad and the house(s) for decades. She's taken care of pets for decades (she was the one who usually fed them, cleaned up their accidents, took them to the vet, and took them to the vet that heartbreaking last time). And perhaps most difficult of all, she took care of my brother and I for decades. Now we're grown up and off on our own, but she still gives us love and support.

We don't do enough to show her what she means to us, or how much we care. Maybe it's because what she does for us is so amazing, we know what we could do would never match up. But I'm trying: trying to call more, and to listen more. Trying to tell her I love her and appreciate her whenever it comes to mind. I haven't gotten there yet, though. If I really did that, I'd be calling her every day.

Mom, I love you, and you've done so much for me. You've been my mother, my inspiration and my friend. And isn't this 1970s photo of you adorable? I took a digital picture of it when I found it in Grandma Carol's album this summer. I think you should consider giving this haircut another try. It's flattering and back in style. P.S. What happened to your hand? Also, do you still have that watch? If so, I want to borrow it because it's adorable.

The good of this week: Tom and I got together Wednesday for gorgeous Cuban food. He was in the city for a delegates' assembly (he's a United Federation of Teachers union delegate). The Cuban food was relatively inexpensive with big portions. I tried a great dish called Pernil. YUM! There was enough food that I ate a bunch that night, more Thursday night, and the rest for lunch today. Friday Tom and I went out for really yummy burgers in Brooklyn.

Saturday we got together in the city. We went to the vegetarian restaurant, Zen Palate. They have these peanut basil rolls that are mouth-wateringly good. They used to have this puffed pecan dish that was scrumptious, but they don't serve it anymore. (Pout.) The dish I got instead was alright... At least the basil rolls didn't disappoint. After lunch we went to see the movie Grindhouse, which is crazy, gory fun. Warning: if you didn't like Kill Bill, you won't like this. If you don't fondly remember (or do research on) grindhouse movies, you will think it is just an aweful flick. It's bad on purpose. It's awesomely bad (Think Evil Dead II, but a little less campy and a little more gross). Then he headed back to Brooklyn and I met my girlfriends for dinner. I love hanging out with them, but I was sleepy and went home to bed before Carolina joined the group for drinks. Oh, well. Maybe next weekend...although that's going to be a busy weekend! Dawn Dorland is coming to visit and I'm graduating...if I manage to get a robe. More on that later.

In other news, my job is so horrible that I want to quit every day, and it's only the idea of a summer full of paychecks that prevents me from doing so. I HATE MY BOSS! I know that's not a Christian thing to think or write but she's just so mean and I've turned the other cheek several times and all I ended up with was another slap in the face. I'm kind of at a loss here. I've tried treating her as I'd like to be treated, but she continues to treat me like something stinky that she stepped in and that is now stuck to the bottom of her shoe. She walks all over me, and acts like it's a bother to do so.

I just keep repeating to myself, "All you can do is the best you can do." I do my best to keep my classroom nice, plan and execute my lessons, and grade papers. I try my best to reach my students. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but I can't control everything. It reminds me of the Serenity Prayer, which I found at http://www.cptryon.org/prayer/special/serenity.html. People usually only quote the first stanza. Now you have a chance to check out the full text, along with the calendarific photo the blogger posted with the poem. I especially like the part about hardships being the pathway to peace.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next. Amen. --Reinhold Niebuhr

Happy Cinco De Mayo! Also: Auto Adventure.

At left: Feliz Cinco De Mayo! (Poster translation: "Before your celebrate, designate a driver." Oh, we did, as you shall see.)

The day after my birthday, it was work as usual. My door is untreated wood, and the first year it was installed, the grafitti artists tagged it like crazy. You can't get grafitti out of untreated wood, so I covered the door with paper. Students take pride is ripping it and writing on it. After work Monday, I had to re-do a bulletin board vandals messed up and I fixed my door by creating and laminating a large poster. The poster should protect the paper so they can't rip it.

Tuesday I thought I was going shoe shopping, but I didn't find anything that fit, so I went bra shopping instead. I needed new ones because of the weight I lost last year (I went from 36C to 36B). Because it's expensive, I've been replacing my bras a few at a time. Wow. This paragraph manages to be simultaniously mundane and too much information. Wednesday I went on a mini-spree at H&M to buy two pairs of pants, two spring dresses, and short-sleeve button front shirts in black and white (wardrobe staples!). All this was also necessary due to the weight loss. I like how I look lighter, and I feel more fit...I'm even starting to enjoy running a little. But it's been expensive! Half of my skirts are so loose that they twist around when I walk. The side seams end up in front.

Thursday I was supposed to clean and do laundry. Instead, I went out to eat with Tom. His allergies were acting up, though, so things were cut short. I was home in time to sink into bed and watch Grey's Anatomy. Then Friday I did the world's fastest four loads of laundry before meeting up with Laura, Carolina and Madrid at Three of Cups. My shrimp pizza was yummy, but I ate too much and it upset my stomach. I told them I was going home instead of staying out for drinks. "No! You can't go home!" I decided to cut to the chase: "Guys, I just puked in my mouth." "But you don't have to go home," Laura cajoled. I thought perhaps I just hadn't said it right, so I tried again: "No, seriously! I just puked in my mouth!!!" "Oh, okay, if you're sure you want to go home," Laura replied sadly. Hee. Once I got home, I took an antacid and felt fine.

Then Saturday, I went to JFK airport. Was I going on a trip? No! I was going to meet one of my bestest girlfriends, Rose. Rose is a wonderful girl I met in Spain. She's a native Southern Californian. She works for Planned Parenthood and is a high ranking officer (perhaps the highest ranking?) of the local NOW chapter. She's also an awesome dancer and speaks killer Spanish. She is, as we speak, in Spain working on her dual citizenship. This is possible due to her adorable Spanish hubby. Anyway, she had a layover in her San Diego-Madrid flight: a few hours at JFK airport. So I trekked all the way out there to hang out with her. I gave her a backrub and comforted her about her unusual transatlantic marriage. She gave me delicious Kinderbuenos (my favorite European candy bar) and comforted my about grad school in Virginia and having to leave my beloved boyfriend. We gave each other the world's longest hug when she had to go back through security to catch her flight. I'll miss her, but seeing her was so great! Every time I see her, it's like we were never apart.

After Rose left, I went to a Cinco De Mayo party at the home of Tom's friends, Sarah and Afton. The food, music and friends were great. Their dogs tried to eat Tom's pants. Oops. We ended up playing Password (or Catch Phrase or whatever). I was awesome at it, but I should probably have taken it down a notch. When it was time to go home, Tom had had a few drinks and announced, "Either you'll have to drive or we can take the bus." Thus began my first driving adventure in NYC!

I made Tom promise: No yelling at me. No making fun of my driving. This proved challenging from the start, as I am used to gear shifts attached to the steering wheel and his is on the floor. When I wanted to go in reverse, I ended up washing the windshield. Anyway, slowly but steadily I managed to get un-parallel parked! It was a standard parking job in NYC, but in Iowa it would have been considered a little tight. Also, it was on a hill. Even with the windshield-squirting, I was pretty happy with how things were going when there was suddenly an ambulance parked facing me in my lane.

"What do I do," I asked. "Go around it," Tom replied. But then I found that fire trucks were blocking the road ahead and to the right and there was no left turn. In other words, there was nothing to do but turn around. "Do a K-turn." I could not remember exactly how to do a K-turn as I probably hadn't done one since Driver's Ed. I forged ahead, anyway, and SQUIRT! accidentally washed the windshield again. I was trying to turn with these fire trucks everywhere, and several other cars were trying to turn, too, which made the whole process more perilous. Tom yelled a little, and I reminded him of my two rules (No yelling at me. No making fun of my driving.) He forced himself to be calm as I got the car going in the right direction. I calmly drove as the people around me...drove? Is that what you call it? Drivers in Brooklyn are CRAZY! I'd exclaim at some crazy maneuver they'd make, and Tom would reply, "It's Brooklyn," as if that explained everything. I got us back to Tom's apartment safely and even managed to parallel park. He managed to only make fun of me with his eyes.

Happy Birthday To Me!

So what's new? I already mentioned that Tom brought me gorgeous tulips which I've been trying to maintain despite their suicide attempt on Monday. I woke up needing to use the bathroom. When I returned to my bedroom, I saw they'd jumped, plastic juice-jug vase and all, from my dresser. Many of the tulips were mangled and they made a mess of my open shirt drawer. (Perhaps now I'll remember to keep it closed.)

But getting back to my birthday, Saturday I found myself all alone in the restaurant. Carolina was trying to find a parking spot. Laura, Madrid and Tom were stuck on trains (the most popular NYC excuse for lateness--goodness knows I've used it myself. The best part is, half of the time it's true.) Tom was also slowed down by the fact that the first round of the NFL draft took way longer than expected. After thirty minutes of sitting there by myself, people started showing up. Then Madrid called to tell me I was as the wrong Two Boots location. Actually, the restaurant she was at has changed its name to Reboot. Hence the confusion.

We ate yummy food (though Madrid claims it used to be yummier), I got sweet presents (a rose from Madrid, home-made earrings and stationery from Carolina, a home-made bracelet from Laura and a Barenaked Ladies CD from Jenny. They also ordered me some cake (actually a "peanutbutter bomb") and sang to me as I blew out the candles. I'd originally planned to go dancing at Niagra after, but we were having fun talking, so we stayed at Reboot. Madrid was the first to go home, and we forgot to take a picture (see above) until after she left. Oops. We decided sometime soon we'll get cuted up again in the same clothes, take a photo of her and me and pretend it's from my birthday.

The next day, Tom and I went for bagels. Oh, how I love a good everything bagel. For lunch, we ate sandwiches while we watched The Science of Sleep, a trippy movie staring Gael Bernal Garcia. Thank goodness he's pretty or the movie wouldn't have worked. It's sort of a romance wherein a shy guy can't tell his dreams from his waking life. He does a few charming things (in that special way that crazy people are charming), but we'd never believe the girl liked him if he wasn't so pretty. Then I opened my present from Tom. Upon his female students' recommendations, he got me a handbag. A salesgirl helped him pick a straw handbag with brown leather handles. It's pretty, but now I may have to buy brown sandals.

After lunch, we met up with Tom's friend Debrah (Deborah? Debra?) and went to a bar called Pete's Candy Shop. I was disappointed to learn that it didn't actually sell candy. I totally think bars should sell candy, by the way. We were at this particular bar to meet up with Debrah's kickball team. They're city employees. Several of them work in a department that investigates charges against the police. Anyway, the team was called The Government Kick-Backs. We all made shirts with the team name on the front and our numbers and nicknames on the back. My number was 27 (because I turned 27 that day) and my nickname was Grafty Bitch.

In college my nickname, among some friends, was Crafty Bitch. My neighbors loved crafting, and whenever I crafted, I found it easier and my results were better. "You're like that crafty bitch in elementary school whose handprint turkey always turned out better than mine!" Julie exclaimed. So I just adjusted it a bit. Everyone was amused by my name, though I had to define graft for a few people ("practices, especially bribery, used to secure illicit gains in politics or business; corruption").

Brooklyn has a crazy kickball league! The picture does not do the insanity justice. Many of the teams were in costume. One team smeared themselves with fake blood and strapped on horns. Another team (mostly guys) wore denim vests and Daisy Dukes. Yet another team was pirates! We were pretty low-key in our t-shirts. Tom was awesome. Me? Not so much...but I was probably not the worst one on the team. We got killed (our opponents had been contenders the season before) but we had fun.

Some of the fun could be attributed to frequent trips to the bar across the street, not to mention how cool the kids on the team are. Unfortunately, I'll probably not see them again. You see, we played to have fun with Debrah. Debrah was there to support her girlfriend, who is team manager. Debrah and the manager broke up. Thus, no more kickball. But we didn't know that as we left the game. Tom drove me back to Harlem and we had supper at Melba's (He had a Po' Boy. I had a burger.) It was delicious! It was a nice day.

I turn 27 tomorrow!

It's been a rough, busy couple of weeks. I got all self-absorbed. I forgot to call Harmony for her birthday and Erika for her birthday and Gwen for her birthday. Sorry, guys! It's only when my birthday came that I realized how lax I'd been.

Honestly, I couldn't deal with my own birthday until yesterday. What did I want to do? How did I want to celebrate? My friends kept asking, and it made me cranky: not because I don't enjoy celebrating my birthday, but rather because I couldn't decide where to meet and what to do.

As it is, I chose a restaurant with three locations in the city and I'm afraid some of my friends might end up at the wrong one. (Oh, I hope not!) The thing is, it doesn't matter where we go or what we do -- as long as my best NYC friends and I are celebrating together. Wish me luck as I transition from my mid-twenties to my late-twenties.

P.S. Tom gave me dozens of gorgeous tulips! I didn't have a vase big enough, so I had to chop the top off a juice jug. (It was Tom's suggestion. He's a problem solver.) Aren't they pretty? And they've been getting prettier as they perk up and open a bit. It's so nice to receive flowers.

Six months, new books, new haircut!

Tom and I celebrated six months of dating on Friday. Madrid teased me about it until I reminded her it was my first relationship to last that long since I was a teenager back in 1999. (Hi, Paul!) I correctly deduced that six months is not a gift giving occasion, although I did give him a card.

"You bought me a card?" he asked, sounding a little worried that I'd bought him something, but he hadn't. "No," I replied. "I have a bunch of cards in my apartment. I didn't buy you a card, I just filled one out for you." I wrote a little note on the left side and a poem on the right. The note explained that the poem takes poetic license (it mentions forever, though I make no claims on his forever, etc,) and it included some levity to make the whole thing less sappy. He seemed to really like it. "I love your poems," he told me later. "I'm always more than flattered that you write some of them for me."

For dinner, I wore a green dress that I've been dying to wear for a year now. It has a satiny bodice with a deep-V neckline and a velvet skirt that flares a bit past the hips. I tied an open button-front black shirt over the dress to make it a little less formal and threw on my new black heels. When I arrived at his door, Tom said, "You look so hot, if I wasn't starving, Id take you now." Ah, how romantic. ;)

We went to an Italian restaurant where we had delicious food and wine. Tom toasted our six months together and said some things so sweet I blushed.

The next day, we ate tangerines and toast for breakfast. After that we watched a movie. Then we went to the bank, took a long walk in the glorious sun, and went grocery shopping to buy supplies to supplement our leftovers from the half-anniversary feast. We still had most of my delicious duck, duck sausage and beans. We bought a loaf of Italian bread and Asiago cheese at the gourmet store and went home for our gorgeous meal. Finally, we took a nap on the couch while watching sports.

I woke up just in time to go meet my friends in Manhattan for Mexican food at El Centro. Madrid brought woman who'd just been accepted to the Teaching Fellows and wanted our advice. We told her about the good, the bad and the ugly of it while eating delicious comida and steadily sipping on margaritas. I have no idea what that poor woman will decide. In the end I told her I was miserable at my job, but I didn't regret being in the Fellows program.

This morning, after more than a year without a haircut, I finally did it. I went to Aveda, splurged the sixty-some dollars (counting tip) and got a couple of inches trimmed off. (The hair ends about where the photo ends). In real life, I look cute as can be with my new haircut, but getting a flattering picture of it was so difficult. Part of the problem is bad lighting, part that I'm trying to take a picture of myself, and part that I'm sleepy. Photos when you've got bags under your eyes are rarely flattering.

Well, at least the photo acurately portrays how cute my hair looks! Those waves? Natural. Hooray! The last haircut revealed my hair's possibilities for wavy goodness, and I was a little afraid that my new haircut might not yield such good results. But it did. Phew. Plus, no more split ends. The stylist, Amanda, said it looked remarkably good for hair that hadn't been cut in a year, and I'm lucky I have strong hair.

Oh, and the new books! I promised to mention new books. Well, Tom's been supplying me with his books for a while now, books like Slaughterhouse 5, Cat's Cradle and A Prayer For Owen Meany. He complains, "At this rate, you'll have read all my books before I have!" Now he's started me on the Dune series, which he got started on and loved as a teen. He's still got a soft spot for it, I think. The first book is really good, as are all the books Tom supplies. Even so, for the first time in months, I heard the siren call of Barnes and Noble. I went in and bought one book a student has been begging for (the third Artemis Fowl book), Jeanette Winterson's latest (she's my favorite author), No Bliss Like This: Five Centuries of Love Poems by Women, and Prozac Nation: Young and Depressed in America (as recommended by Val). You know, books are one purchase I never regret. The mediocre ones entertain you. The good ones become a part of you. The best ones change you. You never know until it happens.

Spring Break, Part 3: The End (and other random stuff)

Friday I met up with Laura for Italian food. Saturday I actually spent by myself running errands, cleaning my room, vegging out in front of the TV and relaxing. Sunday I went toPark Avenue United Methodist Church. Happy Easter! (The Easter Egg photo at left is is from jowra.com/photos/easter-eggs/) I got to sing the Hallelujah Chorus, which rocks! It's one of the most-fun things for a singer to sing.

Then I returned to the apartment where I tried to make Dutch Letters. It was a disaster! Several things worked against me. I don't have a mixer or a pastry knife. I tried to get by with an actual fork, but forking chilled butter and flour until it's well-blended and then adding ice water until it forms a ball? Yeah, that was frustrating and unsuccessful, and I ended up having to add too much water. Plus, it's a chilled-dough recipe, and the apartment was really hot, so the dough got sticky and I over-worked it. The result was gross enough that I threw it out, but just good enough that I've kept the recipe to try again with better tools and better climate.

After cleaning up my kitchen mess (oh, all those almonds who had to die for that wasted almond paste filling!) I hopped a train for Brooklyn where Tom and I had dinner at Dom and Tori with Tom's friends. They're good people, though a touch heretical. (One proclaimed, "Happy Zombie Day!") Dinner was delicious ham with a fantastic glaze, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, asperagus and more. Then we watched Sopranos, which I'd never seen before. I don't like the show much (because I can't sympathize with the characters) but it's well-written so I can see why other people do like it.

For the next day and a half, Tom and I just blissfully hung out together and avoided mentioning the jobs we dreaded going back to. On the plus side, just two more days until the weekend! Only 54 days of school left!

Random Stuff

1- April 11, Tom and I will have been dating for six months. Is that a present-giving milestone? It probably is, but I have no idea what to give him. The last three presents I gave him (The Encyclopedia of Heavy Metal for his birthday, a Mets blanket/throw for Christmas and a capuccino/espresso maker for Valentine's Day) were all big hits. But now I'm at a loss. He doesn't like generic presents. Who does, really? Framed photo of us? Maybe. Heavy metal, the Mets, coffee, beer and good food are the four things he enjoys most. Should I give him beer? I could cook for him, but he's so much better at it than I am. I'm at a loss.

2- I don't remember this, but Tori told Tom that on St. Patrick's Day, I tipsily told her that she and Tom's friends were rock stars, and I didn't know if I was rock'n'roll enough to run with the crew. She found the statement "charming." Hee.

3- I haven't had a haircut in more than a year. I need a haircut. I'm starting to get some funky split ends. So then why haven't I done it? If you're a loyal reader, you recall the trauma that was my last haircut. One guy butchered it so badly the salon owner volunteered to fix it and gave me an awesome cut. I can't afford the salon owner, and I'm scared of meeting up with another butcher. Also, at most salons, the longer your hair is, the more they charge. The problem is, the longer I wait due to money-tightness, the more it will cost me to eventually get a cut. I'm going to have to bite the bullet soon.

4- I am so tired of having broken-out skin. Strangers used to stop me on the street to tell me I had skin like porcelain. Girls in high school proclaimed, "Your skin is so perfect. I hate you!" People compared it to peaches and cream or strawberries and milk. In Spain, a man said I had skin like "rosas y azucenas," which translates to lillies and roses. Another said I glowed like a woman painted by Botticelli, and Tom once said I looked like a woman in a Degas painting. Okay, I know that those are more skin compliments than most people receive in a lifetime. Maybe it's all balancing out now? All I know is I now have pimples and pale pink dots from past pimples bracketing my mouth. I've switched products. Nothing seems to help. I'm not sure I can afford a dermatologist for a cosmetic issue like this. Besides, it may be caused by the stress from my job, and I'm leaving this job. I just wonder: will the problem go away? Will the scars fade?

Spring Break, Part 2: The Cherry Blossom Festival

Monday we got up early and ate breakfast, that took Tom's are in for an oil-change and a quick check-up. As that was being done, we went to a nearby store so I could look for a bathing suit. The hotel we booked had a pool, and my suimming suit is old and too big.

Tom didn't understand by reluctance and by antipathy for the whole suimsuit-shopping experience until he got to see what it was like. So many of the suits were tacky or the wrong color for me. Of the few non-tacky, right-colored suits, few had my size. Of the ones my size, I'd be spilling out the top or spilling out the bottom, but the next size up was just too big. Then I convinced Tom to try picking one, and of course the one he picked for me was perfect. Guys are great like that sometimes. (Later we would discover that the hotel's pool was closed, but that's okay. I needed a new suit anyway.)

We hit the road and the closer we got to D.C., the nicer the weather got and the bluer the sky was. We got stuck in traffic and arrived in the capital city later than we'd hoped, but it was still early enough to throw on some lighter clothes and see the sights.

We walked from our hotel to the White House, next the World War II Memorial, then over to the Basin where the blossoming of the cherry trees is most spectacular. We made it all the way to the Jefferson Monument. By then, I was feeling peckish, so we took a train up to Georgetown to find a restaurant.

In Georgetown, we wandered onto some side-streets and found a French Bistro. They took us to the patio (patio dining is an essential part of life in D.C.) where a man was playing guitar. He was silver-haired, in his 60s and had an accent we couldn't quite discern (from somewhere in Central or South America, perhaps?). The food was not remarkable, but the musician's set list certainly was. It included such hits as "Sunshiny Day," "Girl From Ipanema," "Funiculi," "Bippity Boppity Boo," "Yellow Submarine," "Karma Chameleon," "Proud Mary," "Country Road (Take Me Home)," "Livin' La Vida Loca," and "My Girl." We were shaking from trying not to laugh out loud, but somehow we managed it. It was chilly as we walked back to the hotel.

Tuesday I put on a pretty dress -- my long, black Betsy Johnson with the tiny pink flowers printed all over it. I paired it with my cute pink cardigan, with makes the dress look more pink than black. We bought sandwhiches at Whole Foods and had a picnic on a patch of grass in the Mall. Then I took Tom to the Smithsonian Castle. Behind it are beautiful gardens and sculptural elements and cherry trees blooming. I took a photo of Tom and asked him to take one of me, but he wanted to wait for a backdrop he liked more.

After that we went to a gallery and sculpture garden. In the garden, Yoko Ono had left a tree for people to tie wishes on (see photo at left, downloaded from londonkoreanlinks.net). A woman was going to get more wish slips as we circled the tree reading wishes in many languages, written by children and adults. Some were innocent ("I want a puppy." "I wish every little girl has a dolly to play with."), greedy ("I wish I had a million dollars."), altruistic ("I wish for world peace.") or sad ("I wish my mommy didn't cry so much.")

We passed a crazy sculpture that I had to get a shot of, and I took pictures of Tom, too. Then we went to the National Gallery so I could use the bathroom. We looked at the beautiful paintings and sculptures, then they shooed us out because it was closing. We tried to get to the Library of Congress before it closed, but we were too late. We made a plan to go to the hotel, then walk to Adams Morgan to find a restaurant.

I told Tom I really wanted to get a picture of us. The next thing I knew, we were on the escalator down to the train, and I was upset. He saw the look on my face and asked what was wrong. "I had one thing I wanted to do today: get a picture of us, and we didn't." I am embarrassed to admit, I even cried a little, less because of the picture than because I felt like he wasn't listening to me. He promised we'd get a picture, but I was skeptical. During the train ride, he exclaimed, "If you grab your stuff, we could jump off right now at this stop and we'd be at the Basin in a couple of minutes." But it was too split-second for me to decide. Besides, I'd been crying, which is rarely a good look for me.

We went back to the hotel to take showers (it was hot and quite polleny. I had a rash, perhaps from the new sunscreen I got). Then we got all dressed up and walked to Adams Morgan. I took Tom to an Ethiopian restaurant Rose had introduced me to. Tom really liked the place. Then we took a cab home because it was chilly and I was exhausted. In fact, I fell asleep the minute my head hit the pillow. I didn't even follow my usual evening ritual of scrubbing my face and applying lotion.

The next morning, it was the day we were scheduled to leave. The sky was white, the weather drizzly. For the past two days, my hair had been perfect and my outfits adorable. Wednesday my hair was frizzy, my clothing was warm but not notably cute, my rash was worse, my ankle hurt and my eyes were puffy and dark from my allergies. Oh, I felt attractive. Nonetheless, Tom offered to go out so I could get my picture. After how upset I was the night before, I couldn't really say no, so we trooped over to the Lincoln Monument.

He snapped an unattractive profile of me on the way and a nice fellow-tourist snapped a shot of the two of us on the steps that I had to heavily doctor on my computer. (She framed it strangely and didn't use a flash, so Tom and I looked like a silhouette.) Anyway, I managed to let all my grumpiness go, because he was really trying to make me happy. Then we checked out and headed for home.

That night, Tom made me delicious pasta with tomato and zucchini and just enough cheese. It was light and fresh and I managed to eat a few chunks of zucchini before it started making me gag. I've learned that I don't mind zucchini as a flavoring in a dish and I can handle small amounts of it, lightly cooked. So once it made me gag, I started eatting around it and went back for seconds and thirds. He's such a great cook! For dessert we had lightly sugared strawberries and fresh whipped cream.

As we were talking about our trip, he told me, "You know, when we passed Yoko's tree, I couldn't think of anything to wish for, besides ending war or curing diseases -- cheesy stuff like that. I thought, 'There's nothing I want right now. '" He mentioned how lucky he was to feel that way. "You know what?" I replied, "I had the exact same thought!" And it's true. As I looked at that tree, I was glad they'd run out of strips of paper to wish on, because I couldn't think of anything I really needed. Life was as perfect as it can be.

Spring Break, Part 1: Spring Awakening

Friday night, Tom showed up at my door and began kissing me the minute I opened it. We kissed through the apartment and into my bedroom. It was almost 10 p.m. by the time we finally ordered and got our food delivered. It was pretty yummy.

The next day, we tried to go to Melba's for brunch, but it was closed, so we ended up at the utterly inferior Euro Corner. Meh.

After that, Tom said to me, "What do you want to do today?" I said, "How about a matinee?" He made a face, and asked, "Is there really anything out that you want to see?" "No, I replied, not a movie! A play!" He agreed enthusiastically, and as my internet connection was messed up (Grr!) we headed down to Times Square and wandered to some of the theaters that had shows we were interested in.

A kind man at the Spring Awakening box office told sent us to the TKTS booth. For the amount of cash that would have put us in the back row, we got seats in the eleventh row, center. Yow! And for once, the lines weren't horrific! It was still a little pricey, but worth it.

See photo at left of Jonathan Groth and Lea Michele, downloaded from usatoday.com. They're both amazing. (However, he spits a LOT when he annunciates.) The show is based on a 1891 German play by Frank Wedekind. At the time, no one would put it on, because it was too racy. It explored the differences between bourgeois and bohemian values of the era. It suggests that when you try to shelter children, you often damage them. Turning a blind eye to their problems can be just as damaging. The adults in the play claim they're doing what's best for their children, but often it's just what's most comfortable for the parents.

The sets are beautiful, original and stark. (See photo below, downloaded from romancevagabonds.com) It's set in the round, with audience members flanking the stage on risers, and the actors sit among them when they aren't in a scene. That was interesting, though I'm still trying to work out the purpose of it. The choreography...well, most of it is awful. The actors are amazing actors with fabulous, rich voices, but most of them are NOT dancers. The choreographer, upon seeing this, should have toned things down a notch...or twelve. The arm motions remind me of some of the cheers our squad did in high school, only we made tighter, cleaner movements. The music is fresh and rousing, but the strongest numbers are in the first half of the show, as are the most exciting events. As a result, the play was really good, but anticlimactic. The thing is, without completely changing the events of the play, I don't know how it could be remedied. The upshot? I've always loved RENT, but its ending left me incredulous. Now, I forgive Larson everything. He had to end it that way to avoid the anticlimactic-problem Spring Awakening is experiencing.

The funny thing is, I've listed a ton of things wrong with the show, but Tom and I still really liked it. We thought that was actually one of the most remarkable things about it: this show has issues, but it's so charismatic and likable!P.S. as we were leaving, we saw Stockard Channing. She looked pretty.

Then we (Tom and I. Stockard didn't come.) went for Thai food on Nineth Ave. It was scrumptious, especially the chicken coconut soup. I was supposed to go out with Laura and Carolina that night, but I ended up going home and falling asleep right away. Tom went to his friend Terrence's birthday party. The next day, he called me to join him and his friends for grilled food and the Mets' opening game at Mike and Brit's house. I agreed, but first I had some packing to do for a somewhat spur-of-the-moment trip to Washington, D.C. we had planned. I met him in Brooklyn in a light rain, lugging a big bag of stuff. A cherry tree across the street was blooming. "Those will be everywhere in DC tomorrow," I said. "And it's supposed to be 80 degrees," he replied.

Tom's friends were lots of fun (Coincidentally, Brit and her sister, Afton, are Iowans.) and provided great food. I dozed a bit during the actual game, but I don't think anyone noticed. They're the kind of people who would have teased me if they had. But in a nice way.

Tom later told me,"Saturday night, there was a lag in the conversation, so I said, 'Guess what I did today? Erin and I went to a Broadway show.'" They were all surprised, and Tori said to him, "Can you talk to Dom about doing things?" Heh. Tom said, "To me, that's half the reason to have a girlfriend. So you have someone to do things with." (By "do things," we mean go to the park, a museum, a play, have a picnic, etc. Anything that gets you out of the apartment and enjoying your surroundings.) "No," I replied, "You're right. I definitely do more things now that were dating than I did when I was single. Well, I did things on my own, sometimes... especially in the summer... especially that summer when I didn't have air conditioning. But that's not the point. The point is, I love doing things with you."

5K? No way. Also? STOP THE BEEPING!

Okay, I love my apartment, but sometimes the airshaft outside my window acts like an echo chamber. It doesn't happen often, but suddenly there will be a child crying or a dog barking or a phone ringing or an awesome jazz trumpet riff that sounds like it's IN MY ROOM. And right now, there is this soft, electronic beep.

Beep-beep-beep. Pause. Beep-beep-beep. Pause. Beep-beep-beep. Pause. Beep-beep-beep. I've searched the whole apartment just in case it's coming from somewhere in here, but I can't find it. I'm guessing it's an airshaft echo. I'm praying it stops soon, cause it's making me nuts.

So on to the running stuff: Recently, a coworker asked me if I wanted to sign up for a 5K run. I was hit by instant opposite thoughts: the words "Hell, no" and a truimphant vision of me crossing a finish line. It was such a satisfying image: me, toned (my cellulite magically erased) and... slightly taller? (See photo above downloaded from Handbag.com.) Tall, firm me running effortlessly. I'd be a runner! One of those people who happily get up at 5 a.m. to run before work. People who happily break through "the wall" and brag about finding their "second wind."

"If my big self can do it, a skinny person like you can do it," the coworker encouraged. "Besides, you don't have to run. You can walk it." Ah, but I KNOW I can walk 5K. That's not brag-worthy. Half the fun of the vision is that in it, people say, "What did you do this weekend?" and I respond, "I ran a 5k." I'd be like my Alex P. Keaton boss at the Business Record. He and his wife were beautiful, athletic, workaholic reporters who spent their spare time romping with their Weimereiner or training to climb Denali (AKA Mount McKinley to us non-climbers). Anyway, my fantasy of being like them was interrupted by an insistant voice: the "Hell, no" voice.

The voice brought with it a vision: Me in ninth grade with my lungs burning as I tried to pass the President's Physical Fitness Test. Me in eighth grade hocking up great wads of phlegm as I rounded the punishing final lap of the 1500, which was my event in track. During a meet, I would run the 1500 -- aka a mile -- then the 800, then the 400 leg of the distance medley. Oh, I hated it. I wheezed my way through it and wondered if I had asthma. My parents said I didn't because they were used to my brother's serious asthma. Mine, by comparison, was mild enough to appear nonexistent to them. "You're just out of condition," Dad would say. "You need to train more." In high school my cheerleading coach heard me wheeze, sent me to the doctor and I got an inhaler. That made running less wheezy and phlegmy, but not much more fun.

Once in a while, I like to race down an open path with the wind in my hair, but most of my sustained attempts have been disasterous. I shall now exorcise the trackstar delusion:

Once, when I was running a 1500, it began to sleet. Running a mile? Miserable. Running a mile in sleet? There are no words. But adding insult to injury, when we reached the finish line, there was no one there! We all stood there, shivering, looking around in confusion. Visibility had gotten so bad, they'd cancelled the track meet DURING THE RACE. We trudged back to the bus where the rest of the track team was cuddling cosily. As we dripped our way onto the bus, they tried not to laugh at our sodden misery, but in the end could not help themselves. It was an hour drive home.

Another time, as I was running, someone stepped onto the track. When you're running long distance, it's like you're too tired to dash around someone, too tired to yell at them to move. I dredged up just enough energy to call out, "Track!" The girl had no idea what that meant, and someone dragged her off the track just as I would have plowed into her. It was distressing because I was like a machine. I couldn't think or change. All I could do was stay between those white lines.

Oh, and once I got all phlegmmy while running (asthma does that), and I spit, and a strong gust of wind blew the spit onto my friend Dawn's leg. Oops. She got really mad, and I wiped off her leg and let her spit on me to make it even. Hee. Okay, I actually kind of like that memory. I think for me, that's what running should stay: a memory.

P.S. PLEASE STOP THE BEEPING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wonderful weekend/ A realization

After a sucky, emotional week, this weekend was like a breath of fresh air. After work on Friday, I went out with my friends (Laura, Ryan, Madrid, Chris and Carolina) at Valhalla. We talked about the various forms of turmoil we're going through. Carolina seems relatively content. Chris is trying to schedule all his grad school work. Madrid hates our school and she has a job interview, but she's afraid she'll hate that job, too, because it's at a middle school. Laura hates her school, but loves teaching kindergarten (and those jobs are impossible to find). Ryan loves his job, but the hours they make him work mean he'll never have time for his band (the new one, because Who By Fire just broke up) or for Laura. And then there's me. I'm in love for the first time, and now I may have to leave him if I want to fulfill my career dreams.

After hours of talking and laughing with my friends at the bar, I hopped on a train to Brooklyn. When I got to his apartment, I found he had bought me a present: a tiny, perfect raspberry cheesecake. We had a nice night, which included a candlelit bath. Saturday, we woke up at 7:30 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. We got up, had breakfast and eventually went out for lunch. It was Italian, and it was scrumptious. Then we wandered around a cute neighborhood of Brooklyn shopping for fresh food and such. We soaked up some sunlight before heading back to the car. When we returned to the apartment, we took a long nap. We made yummy turkey sandwiches and fresh oranges and cheesecake for supper. Deborah called to invite us to "two parties...they'll probably be bad."

Tom wanted to go. I was tired and did not. I told him, "I don't really want to go, but I do want to make you happy. So it's up to you." "Thanks for being honest." But then, later, he said, "As the weather gets warmer, I'm going to want to go out more. You're going to have to fake some enthusiasm." We noticed a few things. 1- Tom likes to go out more than I do...a lot more. He likes to go out five days a week. I'm more comfortable with three...if that. 2- I drag my feet when he wants to go out, but once I actually get out I have a great time. 3- Hopefully, as the year progresses and I'm under less stress, I'll be in more of a going-out-mood, but if not we'll have to strike some kind of balance.

And today, after breakfast but before lunch, we discussed the distinct possibility that I may be moving to Virginia this summer. I told him, "I hope you take what I'm about to say as a compliment: If it weren't for you, I'd be bouncing off the walls and jumping for joy about grad school. I finally fall in love, and now I may have to leave. I know we're not in a place where I can plan my future around us, and it sucks that I have to decide now whether I will leave you then."

"Yeah," he said with a laugh, "No pressure. If it weren't for me, you'd be all, 'See ya', suckers, I'm goin' to Virginia!'" But then he got serious: "Look, I'm only going to say this once. Don't make any decisions you'll regret for me."

"I won't," I replied, "That wouldn't be fair to either of us."

Then he admitted that he'd resigned himself to this when I told him I was looking into it, months and months ago (October or November) when we wandered through the Columbia University campus. He resigned himself to it, but suggested I apply to some schools in the city. Tom let himself fall for me, knowing that I might be leaving. I am so upset right now that none of the NY schools seem to be working out (there's still a little hope for Brooklyn College, but it's a longshot due to some paperwork they lost. Do I want to attend a school that looses such important paperwork?)

At this moment, it looks like I'm going to accept the TA position at Old Dominion. I'll keep looking into Brooklyn College and I'll also do some job hunting. Maybe there's some career I could love, but just never considered. And in the mean time, Tom and I are just enjoying what we have together for as long as we have it.

It's like what I learned from Noah, my nephew, who was born two months early and lived only a month. A part of me kept sending out this warning: "You may loose him. Don't get too attached." But it was impossible. You couldn't see and touch and talk to that baby, beautiful and as small as my hand, without falling in love with him.

You can't withhold love just because things might not work out. If everyone did that, we'd have a cold world full of people hiding behind armor. You have to love as much as you can while you can. You have to risk breaking your heart. Even knowing that I may be breaking my own heart slowly, being with him makes me feel more peaceful and happy than I've felt for so long. Tonight, as he drove me home, I held his hand for miles. My only thought was how nice it felt, the sun on my face and his hand in mine.

Erin Go Bragh! Also, grad school drama!

Saturday, Saint Patrick's Day, Tom and I decided to join his friends at a pub to celebrate. There were beers and darts and complimentary cornbeef, cabbage, potatoes and rye bread. YUM! Tom and Becker were not triumphant at darts, unfortunately. In fact, the winner was unclear because James managed to shoot one of his darts INTO a dart that was already wedged into the bullseye. Dom maintained it doesn't count if the dart doesn't touch the board. Others maintained that they were tired of playing darts, and the shot was so cool they should let it count.

After that, Tom and I stopped at a bodega where I bought chips and cookies. Then we met back up with Tom's friends at another bar where we drank two buckets of beer (each bucket containing six little bottles of beer). Then we moved on to the Carriage House for many fun hours of Karaoke. I stuck to being a backup singer and dancer, partly because I was tired and out-of-voice and partly because Tom's friends were all burning up the mic like rock stars! I was intimidated.

Tom and I schlepped home to bed, then just managed to drag ourselves out of bed in time to get ready for Irish breakfast (green pancakes, green eggs, potatoes, bacon and soda bread) at his friends' place. En masse I would describe Tom's friends as fun, generous people who can sing, dance, throw a great party and cook some delicious food.

We went to the Brooklyn St.Patrick's Day parade. It was cute: mostly a few troupes of bagpipers, glockenspeilers (I have no idea how to spell that), Irish step dancing kids, boyscouts and firefighters. What they were missing? Candy! At parades in Iowa, they throw candy. Okay, some killjoys are trying to quash the tradition because they're afraid kids will run into the street and get hit while trying to retrieve the candy, but has that ever happened? And if so, where were the kid's parents? Where was the kid's common sense? You get the candy on the sidewalk. Going for the candy that lands in the street isn't just dangerous. It's greedy! Anywho, NYC parades should add the flinging of Tootsie Rolls. At least there were horses. Midwestern parades always include horses. After the parade, we went back to the apartment for and chocolate Guiness cake. You wouldn't think chocolate and beer would be a yummy combination, but it surely is.

We went back to the apartment for a little indoor picnic while watching Simpsons and Arrested Development. Late that night, I got home only to find I had been rejected by my second choice college (Hunter). Wah!

Monday was uneventful. So was Tuesday, although that night I met up with Tom at La Paloma for my favorite burritos. Then we went to Valhalla for drinks and met up with Tori for the Jolly Ship Whizbang, a puppet pirate rock opera. It was awesome. A friend of Tom's is in the band.

Wednesday, my assistant principle told me a lesson of mine she had observed was unsatisfactory. That rating was unfounded, as her largest point of contention was with an element of the lesson she'd approved durinig the preobservation meeting. I'm filing a grievance. I'm tired of playing nice. At the time, though, it was a real blow. First I'd gotten rejected by my two best chances at leaving my crappy job to pursue my dream. Then my boss went after me. Well, when you're at the bottom, there's nowhere to go but up, right?

Which brings us to today. It was a horrid day of teaching. When my A.P. was giving an observation next door, my class (804) got so loud she had to come over to ask them to be quiet. It was humiliating, but I found out the teacher who had them before me and the teacher who got them after me all had to call the deans to help because the class was being so nuts. But I got home and...skinny envelope.

There was a skinny envelope from Old Dominion. I opened it and discovered...they were pleased to offer me admission, a $10,000 teaching assistantship and a partial tuition grant. Wow! Apparently, when it comes to grad school, the skinny envelope is not the kiss of death. So my poetry doesn't suck after all! (I think my stuff is a little to rural to suit NYC colleges' tastes.) A school does want me! But could I really leave my life, my friends, New York, to go to college in Virginia? I know I want to go for my MFA, but I'm tired of starting my life over. I guess I just have to hope Brooklyn college accepts me, makes me a better offer and I like the place.

Update!

Except for a cryptic "Say Anything" quote, I haven't posted in 16 days, so I thought I'd bring things up to speed. I did indeed end up going out on March 3 with my friends at Niagra in the Village. We had a nice time chatting. I think I cleaned my room on March 4 (exciting, right?). I worked all week, though I have no memory of it at all. I guessing it was miserable and the children were naughty. It's a pretty safe bet at this point.

On March 9, I'm pretty sure I met up with my friends for Thai food. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure Tom spent the night that night and Saturday night. Huh. On Sunday, March 11, I do know for sure that we walked in the sun and got brunch at Melba's. It was amazing food with the thickest-cut bacon and lightest waffles I've ever had. You know what's weird? Entire weeks of my life have apparently been erased from my memory, but waffles remain.

Monday and Tuesday (March 12 & 13) are also part of the blur. Wednesday I had dinner with Tom. We walked around in snowy Brooklyn. Then we had a fancy dinner. During a particularly contentious theological debate, I ended up telling Tom I love him. He responded, "Thanks, but I don't know what to say," which was rather upsetting and spawned the Cusack quotation. Well, he also said that he didn't want me to think he wasn't taking our relationship seriously, and if he he wasn't we wouldn't still be dating. Okay. Then we went for cheesecake, which was delicious despite the circumstances.

I spent the next day pretty miserable. I tried a little retail therapy, buying two cute dresses and H&M and then spending the last of my Teacher's Choice money at Staples (in NYC they give us $225 to spend on school supplies. Actually, I've long since spent it, but I misplaced some receipts, so I was re-spending my Teacher's Choice cash. Honestly, it just puts a dent in what we all end up spending. Anyway...) That cheered me up a bit. Then Tom and I had an awkward phone conversation. I got very little sleep that night. Friday was awful (horrid children and administrators.) I got home and found my top-choice college (Sarah Lawrence) had rejected my application.

We all trudged through the snow to meet at El Cantinero in the Village. I was pretty darn miserable by that point. Madrid left us after dinner, but Laura, Tom and I moved on to Lit Lounge where Who By Fire (Laura's boyfriend Ryan's band) was playing. Riza and Pete were there, too. The band had a tough show with technical difficulties, but we still had fun. I doled out strawberries that I'd brought with me (they would have gone bad if I'd left them in the fridge all weekend).

Tom and I went to Brooklyn and fell, exhausted, into bed. "Hey, Erin," Tom said, "You know I love you, right?" A million pounds slid off my shoulders, and I kissed him. Moments later, I said to him, "You know you scared the shit out of me, right?" "I'm sorry," he replied. "I don't know why I didn't say it sooner. It's just...I didn't expect you to say it when you did. It was...it wasn't on the tip of my tongue. It was caught in the back of my throat. Then you were so upset. I wanted to say it, but I didn't want you to think I was just saying it to..." "Make me feel better?" "Exactly."

Later we were having some silly conversation about how different people perceive things differently. For example, once I thought I smelled something sweet when he thought he smelled trash. "I can't believe I love someone who likes the smell of garbage." I don't actually like the smell of garbage, but I do like him working love into casual conversation. The freak-out? It is over.

Say Anything...

"I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen," Lloyd said.

Oh, Lloyd Dobler, I am feeling your pain...

right...

now.

Back to my NYC life

Friday, February 23, I flew home, arriving an hour late. Luckily, I'd called to complain to Tom. He'd been planning to surprise me at the airport, and would have been pretty frustrated if he's waited all that time. I didn't know how long my delay was going to be, so I told him I'd call when I got home. He came to visit me in the city. We ordered in some yummy Chinese food.

After a couple days of my normal diet and walking aroung the city, I felt better than I had when I first got home. As mentioned in my last post, Grandma stuffed me with restaurant food. I think lack of exercise on vacation threw me off, too. I'm used to walking a lot, quite quickly. In Arizona, I didn't walk much, and when I did, it usually had to be at a pace my grandfather could match while toting his oxygen tank. That said, it was hard to see my grandfather (who had been very active, even building houses for Habitat for Humanity just a few years ago) so run down. On the other hand, he was not nearly as bad as I'd feared. The worst part was how he doesn't like to leave the house much because he gets tired. He was a farmer; he's not meant to sit around indoors.

Tom and I hung out a lot over the weekend. Then on Monday, it was a pretty snow storm and going back to school. The less said about the whole teaching thing, the better. I don't remember anyone doing anything cute, although my 703 students did write some great poetry. Wednesday I had to leave work a little early to pick up a transcript from Fordham and take it the Brooklyn to file for a salary differential (a.k.a. a raise) for graduating. My school was annoying about it , but it was worth the hassle.

Even though the snow had just melted the day before, it felt like spring! I never realize how much winter's lack of light depresses me until spring comes and I'm just so happy! Tom met me when he got off work and commented on my euphoria.

"Remember, I warned you once: 'If you know me in the spring, you'll see. I'll be like a whole new person.' I hope you like happy, springtime me."

"Me, too. I guess we'll find out," he teased. "Can you imagine? 'Oh, I miss depressed Erin.'" We laughed. Then we went and had fish and chips and split a fried Snickers bar. (I know, that's as crazy as anything I ate on vacation!)

Thurday I went to the dentist. She wants to fix (for free) something she doesn't like about a filling she gave me last year, and she doesn't see and cavities (Yay!) but she does she a spot that concerns her. (Boo.) Also, I have this tooth that I got a root canal for several years ago. It bothers me off and on because they didn't fill the ... canal, I guess?...all the way. Besides, it doesn't fit flush to my gum. If the tooth doesn't bother me, I should leave it alone, but what if it bothers me after I quit teaching and lose my nifty insurance? With the nifty insurance it will cost at least $100, and my dentist says the crowns my insurance co. recommends aren't that good, so I should chip in $350 for better ones. Ouch. That may hurt more than the tooth ache ever has. On the other hand, I don't want an ugly, cheap crown that I'll just have to replace AGAIN! I have no idea what to do. Oh, well.

Then I went to the doctor. Warning: too much information may follow! To avoid it, skip to the next paragraph. I have another urinary tract infection. I've had five this year, and the doctor says if I get one more, I have to go to a urologist. Sheesh! He also gave some prevention advice, the most interesting of which is that my boyfriend has to wash up before he can touch me. Hee! Now I have this image in my head of him scrubbing up like a surgeon before we go to bet, entering the room with his hands in the air, purposely not touching anything.

Last night, I was on my own. Tom's chaperoning his school's senior trip, and all my girlfriends planned to snuggle with their honeys. I came home and watched Stranger Than Fiction with Rick. It's a quirky movie, and we enjoyed it. We don't often hang out, but it was kind of nice.

I feel like I've been lazy today, but so far I've finished reading John Irving's "A Prayer for Owen Meany," watched "Citizen Kane" (which I've been meaning to do for years), checked my e-mail, researched college financial aid, had a conversation with Tom and made an appointment to go to H&R Block for help with my taxes. And now I'm updating my blog! Not bad. Tonight I may meet up with my friends in The Village. Good luck to you all on a productive and/or happy weekend.

My Arizona Vacation

First of all, let me say it was my pleasure to go visit my grandparents, Keith and Carm in Arizona. I only saw them for a day in July and it's been years since we got to spend much time together. It looks like we may miss each other in Iowa this spring, too. Anyway, I'm glad I got to go spend time with them.

On vacation, I was stuffed to the gills! During my stay, we ate Subway sandwiches, Dominos pizza and bread sticks, Wild Flower sandwiches, Cold Stone Creamery ice cream, IHoP Cinnastacks breakfast, hamburger soup, grilled cheese sandwhiches, a scrumptious carmel apple and a lemon meringue pie. All that in about four days! I think there was more restaurant food than usual because Grandma wanted to spend less time cooking and more time with me, which is sweet. It was delicious, but my tummy was left a bit dazed.

Grandma (who prefers to give her visitors vacations so exhausting they need another vacation when they get home) kept apologizing for the lack of excitement, even though she and grandpa took me on a perfectly nice trip to Jerome and Sedona. You know how nice it was. You've seen the pictures.

As for me, I was happy just to spend time with them. Grandpa and I made nightlights, which he sells as an American Legion fundraiser. We explored the Internet together. I interviewed both of them about their grandparents, parents, childhoods, courtship and the early years of their marriage. I really enjoyed that. In the past when I tried, grandpa wasn't in the mood, and as he put it, "You about have to strap your grandmother down to get her to sit still long enough." But this time it went brilliantly. I may (with their permission) post some things from the interviews once I get them typed up, organized and nicely written.

Friday my aunt Sandy was supposed to drive me to the airport, but could not due to illness, a flight delay and an offered bump. (She had coincidentally been visiting Iowa while I was visiting Arizona.) We all encouraged her to take the bump (plus vouchers to come visit me in NYC) and get a good night's sleep. The next morning, we were up by 4:15 to get me ready and at a grocery store parking lot in time to catch the 5:15 shuttle from Prescott (pronounced Preskitt) Valley, or "PV", to Phoenix. Just as we got to Sky Harbor airport, the sun was begining to rise behind the distant mountains and closer palm trees. Then I flew away home, thinking about Grandma's promises of all the things we'll do on my next visit.