Harlem Snowflake

A Final New York To Do List

2007-08-22T11:20:00.001-04:00

Just came back from a run and I am stinky and sweaty. Why, then, am I sitting here starting to write a post? Not sure. Maybe just to ensure that I come back and finish it.

Work is as stressful as ever. My role continues to be vague and it's frustrating. I really won't write about work here, because you never know who's reading. In fact, I won't write about the kids I work with anymore either. Just not worth it. No one is reading this anyway, so it doesn't really matter, but in case someone who used to read pops on I'm just going to leave it. But let it be said that one of the main things that I'm dealing (battling?) with right now is feeling respected at work. It sucks because when you put so so much of yourself into your job and don't feel the appropriate respect being returned, it is really demoralizing. That is how I've felt: demoralized. Amazing how I've let my dumb-ass job affect my self-esteem.

J and I are going to his friend A's country house in the Poconos this weekend to celebrate his birthday. I'm so excited to get out of the city. I'm actually ALWAYS excited to get out of the city - what does that say about me? J and I have actually been talking about moving lately. I'm done w/ grad school in Dec 2008, so we could move as early as Jan of 2009. I have to say it's SO exciting to think about, but also depressing b/c it's so far away. There's a chance that J may be able to transfer then - possibly to Seattle! I think I would really love Seattle. Of course my family would be mad that I'm not moving home to be closer to them, but I think they would be happy I wasn't in NYC anymore, just b/c it's such a stressful life.

Amusingly, while I was immediately psyched about it, I was also immediately wistful about living here - and I"m still here! I started thinking about the things about New York that I would miss, the things I never did, the things that will change while I'm gone and when I come back I'll feel clueless about... So I have decided I should really dedicate the next year to go places and see the things so that I leave no stone unturned. And my job is the perfect environment to get that done. So instead of thinking of the next year with dread, I'm going to think of it as an adventure.

My next post will be the beginning of my list of things I'm hoping to do/see/try.

Getting over other people, getting on with me.

2007-08-16T18:25:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling really angsty and restless tonight. Not the best work day, one of my girls completely stopped speaking to me for four hours, b ecause I wouldn't take her to the Simpson's movie. Arg. Then I came home and it's hot and sweaty-humid and the back yard stinks cuz my neighbor always lets her little dogs out there to pee and poop. When I go back to chill with a beer and magazine, up wafts the stink of stale dog pee. Nice. She is a lovely neighbor and I love her, but damn! Girl can't even chill with a beer. Also, the flies are SO out of control... Horrible.

Well, I come in and read SELF magazine, which is all about living your best life, being fit, healthy and a woman of substance. I actually really like the magazine, to be honest. I'm reading from these nine authors about how they finally stopped caring what others thought and started having self-confidence in themselves. I realize as I'm reading that this is one of my major problems, personally, professionally, spiritually - in every realm, really. I am NOT living my life on my own terms, but on the terms of accumulated expectation, guilt, "should" and "supposed to," of ideals and imaginings, of could bes and would bes and not just on what straight-up ol' me thinks. The person that wanders out into the world every day is some % me, but mostly a % of what the world has to say, or my interpretation of what I should be in the world's eyes, all layered with a healthy dose of feeling like shit about myself for not being good enough at the made-up version of me that I have created. How complicated can that get?

I wonder sometimes if I lived in a research pod - one of those underground experiments where you have no clue what time or day it is, with no clues to the external world at all other than some random supply of food - what would I really be like? Who would I be without the influence of others?

Recently I cut my hair, which was about boob-length, to about neck-length. Roughly 3-4 inches. I thought about what my girls, their families and my co-workers would say, to the point that in advance I was rolling my eyes and coming up with come-backs. I think what is most relevant is that I got it cut anyway, but so much thinking went into it! Now, to my own credit, some of that was self-protective, as inevitably I did hear the comments (from child and adult alike) "Oh, why did you cut your hair?!?!" incredulous that I would ever release a few locks of blond hair from my head. But I did take it in stride and tried to make it a teachable moment about the wide range of beauty that exists in the world, and that long hair is not the only option. However, the point is that I still let these little comments get to me, niggling, wiggling words that make me a bit less secure. A comment from a man on the street can affect my sense of self. A sideways look from a co-worker makes me question if I said something that she didn't like or if my boss thinks I'm inept.

Then when it's time for me to just be me - at home, alone, in my house - I sit and feel frozen. I feel frozen in my insecurities to even proceed and do the things I love. What do I love anymore? What am I even good at? I don't know, really. In my mind, I'm a good writer, but I don't really even believe that. I'm not published and I can't even keep up with a stupid blog like this one. I can't seem to finish my novel, which possibly is a piece of shit that will get rejected anyway. I like to sew and design things, but I never do. I love photography and have an affinity for drawing, but don't really do either too often. I used to consider myself a dancer, and now I just use my body (running, push-ups) to keep it from getting out of shape, not to express myself.

I know that this should result in some kind of epiphany - like in the women's mags the writer always comes up with some great answer, some life change that made her turn things around and start re-shaping her own life. But I'm not sure I know how to do that. I'm not sure what that looks like from here, in my little red office, sitting in a tank top and underwear, sweating in the August humidity, no dinner in sight but another beer sounding real good.... I'm so imperfect, lazy, ambitious, exhausted, distracted and confused - how do I become what I'm supposed to be without using others around me to get there? How do I listen to only myself and then actually...act? How does change really happen?

I don't really have any answers, obviously I'm a 30-year-old mess. I guess what comes next is all on me, and that's what scares me the most.

Fuckwits under scaffolding

2007-08-09T00:43:00.000-04:00

So I got a new haircut and only one person told me they liked it. I mean, I know that what's important is that I like it, and secondarily that J likes it, but I saw a whole bunch of people today, all of whom see me regularly, and only one person commented that they liked it. The others just acted like they didn't notice. Which perhaps they didn't, but I think that's a long shot. Plus the second of my girls to see it made the face accompanied by the ever-predictable "Did you cut your hair? (*nose wrinkle) Why did you cut it?" and then I sigh and have to try to explain that long hair is not the only style on earth, just like skinny girls aren't the only people to be considered pretty.

It's funny, in the hood long hair is like THE option - if you have hair that can be long, you do, and there's really no other consideration at all. Why would you cut your hair? Nevermind if you rock a shorter do, you grow and keep it as long as possible. I'm aware of all the societal and cultural implications behind why people of color have so many issues with hair. I get it. I really get it. I get it more than probably 99% of white people. I understand it intellectually, but I wish that it was less ingrained in these girls now that it's 2007. but it's still being perpetuated by the very people that should know better - the mothers, aunts, grandmothers, sisters, cousins and friends of the family that talk about "good" and "bad" hair, etc. Blah blah blah. I'm just annoyed because in truth, I really think it's a cut haircut and that's all that matters, but it sucks that people only see length and not anything else.

Also, coming out of TA's building today, one of the ubiquitous young-man-who-has-no-job-and-leans-on-the-scaffolding hollers to me, "Damn, you got some BIG quadriceps!!!!!"

Sweet. Fuck. You.

And you got some fucking nerve with your no-job ass, probably didn't graduate from high school, dime-bag selling self commenting on my body parts. I wanted to say really mean, personal things to him. I didn't even glance, flinch or acknowledge that I heard him. But I did and it pissed me off. And it hurt my feelings, because of all the body parts I hate the most, and have my entire life, it's my huge ass thighs. So gee thanks, fucking loser man, for pointing them out to me. I look down at them everyday. Maybe next time I'll point out how your belt is around your thighs and your ass is hanging out. But wait- you already knew that.

Today not the best physical self-esteem day. And it was fucking hot as hell. The storm WAS killer this morning as all the subways throughout the city were flooded and there was general chaos in the tri-state area. Came home from work and cleaned the kitchen and back hallway. Re-potted my plants and went through bags of clothes to give away. It was really hot, like dripping sweat all over the place, but it felt good to de-clutter.

Next: How do I create the life I want? I think I know what it is, but how do I get there from here?

Horrible Sleep!

2007-08-08T09:41:00.000-04:00

May I just say that this morning I'm feeling almost hungover from lack of sleep? Between a late night talking with about our sex life, and this killer storm this morning I got NO sleep. Ugh. Paperwork due today and it's 82 degrees and 110 degrees with humidity. This is a day where I wish I lived in a comfortable suburban home with air conditioning, where I could just shut the doors, sit inside and watch tv at my cool computer all night long.

This blog is so lame.

Haircut and Coney Island

2007-08-07T00:23:00.000-04:00

I got a haircut today. Went to Bumble and Bumble for their FREE hair consultation (they like to hand out ads with cute cartoons of cute-haired people who you can look like.....IN OCTOBER!!!) but the delay in appointments led me to my usual salon on 72nd Street, Scott J Salon, and got a great new cut! Short. Er than before anyway.

What else is new? Well a lot actually. I was actually considering quitting this blog (as if that wasn't obv ious by my utter lack of attention to it). Not that anyone reads it, but a few people used to and now I'm feeling all self-censorious. (?) So.

Yesterday me and J went to Coney Island, which is truly one of the best, most fabulous places in the whole wide world. I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE it. A link to a store where I like to go and buy t-shirts: Lola Staar!!!!!! The best parts:

1.) the randomness of the beach - ganstas w/ their girlfriends, old russian grandmas, young ukraine boys all tall and blonde, hipsters laughing at themselves laughing at everyone, little kids of every variety....and an astonishing lack of TOURISTS!

2.) beach wind

3.) the fake palm tree that sprays water into the air

4.) playing frisbee

5.) Nathan's - corndogs, hotdogs, fries, fish, shrimp, beer, lemonade!!!!

6.) random man-boys walking around with boomboxes playing random music (how many size D batteries does that take? I wanna ask)

7.) Shoot the Freak - need I say more?

8.) trashed women wearing sneakers, a beach towel-skirt and a too-small bikini top telling a man who claims to be Puerto Rican that he needs to shake it...

9.) teenagers spending too much money to win shit for their girlfriends

10.) the machismo of the men punching the bag over and over again (or throwing the ball over and over again) in front of their friends, waiting for the light to land on the studliest picture....

11.) THE CYCLONE!!!!!

12.) THE BREAKDANCE!!!!!

13.) ice cream

14.) funnel cake

15.) photo booths!

16.) barefoot little kids

17.) exhausted camraderie on the train back home to wherever (but you know it's far from here if you're even ON the train...)

18.) the smell of your skin when you get home!

This Post Sucks. (warning)

2007-04-13T13:44:00.000-04:00

Feeling low today. And a lot lately. I'm worried I'm slipping a bit. There are days of normalcy, of course, but lately with the job search and the pressure, I'm just feeling shitty about myself. Also, turning 30, haven't published anything, writing seems to be going nowhere...sigh.

Haven't heard from the job I applied to on Monday, though I have no expectations there. Just spoke by phone to another hopeful position at a major nonprofit here in Harlem, one with several sites and lots of jobs, and the Director was like, "yeah, do you have your MSW yet?" I said no, that I had only one year left and needed supervision... she was like "Yeah...see we don't have anyone here to supervise, so that's no really an option..." I tried to get my foot in the door by saying "could I at least come to see you in person?" and she just hemmed and hawed and it was hella awkward. I didn't want to have that conversation over the phone, I wanted to have an actual meeting, whre she could see and speak to me face-to-face, but she just jumped right into the questions by phone (I originally just called to get her correct email address, as the one I had was wrong...) I wanted to say that perhaps someone else in the nonprofit outside of that site could supervise me, but as expected, why would a new employer who doesn't even know me want to go to all that work? They don't even know me, nor have I been hired, and now I'm asking them to go out of their way in all these ways...ugh. It fucking sucks.

I am genuinely trying to be positive, but this situation fucking sucks. I am SO angry at my boss for putting me in this situation it makes me so fucking livid and I feel almost unable to do my job I am so angry. I know I should focus on the kids, but frankly, I'm sick of that. I'm sick of focusing on kids and families I have been busting my ass for for three years, and they do the same shit, make the same pathetic choices and nothing changes. The kids still don't do their homework, still throw tantrums and fits all the time over nothing, still don't get it. Their mothers are still actively trying to get pregnant even though they have no jobs or real futures, still smoke pot ten times a day, still live in filth, still treat their kids like shit...nothing feels any different. So excuse me if I"m not so motivated to go to work. (I know, I know, I just described the entire FIELD of social work - endless work with little change and no pay...)

I just need to vent. I feel so frustrated and trapped right now. I just wish I already had this fucking MSW so that my options would be wider. Instead I have to find someone willing to hire me without one, give me a supervisor and let me leave for school one day a week. And they are willing to pay me, too. Chump change, albeit, I have to get a fucking pay check. someone suggested I go to the program full time, but that would just mean the school places me somewhere, and I "intern" aka: I work for them for free, and I pay the school for the privilege of doing so. Oh, and I take out $30K in loans to live for the year. Um, no thanks. Sounds like hell.

Well, there was my horribly negative rant for the day. It's my birthday weekend and I'm totally NOT excited. I hate turning 30. I hate the idea of it. I hate the reality of it. I hate the state my life is in right now. Several of my close friends are out of town and I'm totally going to miss them at the party. I feel like an ungrateful lump right now, but that's how I feel. I just need to feel good about something, and I just feel all this miserable pressure. I would like to just NOT have to work for about a year. How would that be? Chillin, sleeping in, cooking, reading, writing, getting a tan, traveling...maybe I shoudl play lotto today.

(I did find a job that I think I'd love and be totally qualified for, but there is no one w/ an MSW listed on their staff, and I doubt there is anyone there to supervise me...I''ll obviously apply anyway, but I feel like it's one more disappointment in-waiting.)

This post sucks.

Back for now...

2007-04-09T20:45:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in so long! I don't think I have much of a following though, so I'm not concerned :) I have spent more time at my desk lately, computing for various projects, which means I have NO excuse not to blog! So here I am.

Generally speaking though, my blog needs some serious updating. I have to get the energy to dig into HTML and edit some things. I'll get there. I think a first post in 2.5 months is a good start.

What's new? Well... i have to find a new job, which stinks. It wouldn't stink if it was just that I generally needed a new job, but more specifically I need a job that fits within Hunter's parameters so that I can graduate on time. When I signed up for this program, my boss signed a piece of paper saying the organization would "sponsor" me, so-to-speak, for my two year program. THey have effectively done so for this first year, but are now backing out of doing so for the second year. This sucks because, a)I would have perhaps chosen a different program, and b) they said they would! Also, c) now I have to find a new job that will both hire me, AND supervise me as a student. Also, this means that d) it will be harder for me to find a job, b/c it isn't just "hire me, I'm great," but "hire me, I'm great, here is my list of requirement from Hunter, do you fill them?" Sigh.

I have found two jobs that I am in the process of applying to, and we shall see what occurs. Therer was another entire job fiasco, in which I interviewed three times for a position, then did not get it. AND the worst part is that they WERE going to fulfill Hunter's requirements. Assholes. I don't know, perhaps I fucked it up somehow, I must have. They said it was about their budgets, and to get back to them next year when I have my degree, blah blah blah, but it stung something fierce. Now I'm over it (except sometimes at night, I look at the wall and feel like a loser, but I won't dwell on that image).

Keep moving forward, right? So for now there are two jobs on my radar, neither of which is likely to fulfill the reqs, but both seem like cool positions. I shall attempt to remain up-to-date here. For now I'm just proud of myself for posting again!

Circle of Life

2007-01-31T09:10:00.000-05:00

My father passed away on January 16th. He had a heart attack in his bed in his apartment. We didn't find out until Thursday, which means he was there for two days, just lying there.

I am just barely back in New York from Minneapolis for the arrangments and memorial. I don't really even know how to write about this experience. I am not motivated to be part of my life here and after being surrounded so intensely by my family for ten days,in fact, I wonder what I"m doing here at all when they all live there. I'm back here thinking, you know I can help people in MN as much as I can here, and there I have family who love me and want me close. Here I could go weeks without so much as a social date. Sure, there are friends, but not the kind that I talk to daily...

I just have to get back into my groove, I know. My relationship with my father was complicated and difficult, but if anything that makes dealing with this even harder. He was only 57.

Vacation...Oh Where Art Thou?

2006-12-19T23:35:00.000-05:00

I am counting down the hourss until I am no longer working....Technically at this point it's about 18 hours....that feels long, but I think I can get there from here.

My cat is locked in the bathroom and whining about it, but he knocked a bunch of shit on my desk down, and that's where I have to send him after such a thing occurs...

I am a little tipsy from a random holiday event I attended this evening - one of J's friend's mom's cookie-decorating party. In this apartment complex on 100th/CPW that I pass ALL the time and have never been in before. It was nice. I got talking to this really interesting woman who is a Unitarian Universalist minister who used to live on my block in the early 90s! We got to chatting about Harlem and it's bid'ness....she was very interesting. then i came home w/ a bag full of cookies I likely won't eat and a wine/cheese buzz. J is at his work party this eve.

I'm listening to Gladys Knight - she's also a Mo! - I met her this summer at a concert at the church. She was SO down to earth and kind and interesting. My mom (of course) sent me her two recent cds in the mail. They are really good. She iss amazing. I just wish I felt more comfortable being a Mo. I just don't. But anyway...I'm off to bed with my book....

I will blog from vacation on the East coast...

Pirate Wedding

2006-12-11T23:05:00.000-05:00

The wedding went well. I wore a standard black dress, that is made out of jersey and holds me in nowhere, which means that I have to suck in all my parts all night long. I refused to wear tights or nylons because I think they are innately disgusting...so I was bare-legged. It was about 5 degrees in Milwaukee this weekend, and I realized that NYC has totally babyfied me, weather-wise. What the hell? I grew up in this kind of weather and I was a crying baby about it. Shit.

The rabbi was weird and tried to make odd jokes throughout the entire wedding, which made me cringe a lot, but everyone seemd happy and not at all scandalized so goody goody.

There was drama on the flight in, in which American basically fucked up all day long and first cancelled our flight, then delayed the flight we were put on twice. When we finally landed, we had exactly ten minutes to get our asses to the connection in Chicago to Milwaukee, and the American flight attendant/counter guy REFUSES TO CALL THEM AT THE GATE. I beg him, as I can see fumes coming out of J's orifices, and he cuts me off by sort of pinching his fingers togethger in the air like he's literally cutting me off. WHAT THE FUCK? I almost punched him. Instead I asked for his supervisor. Some time later I was able to finagle (is that a word) a rental car to Milwaukee, as their options would have gotten us there too late. So it was an adventure, however one in which I ultimately came out feeling like the negotiating champion of the world. Not like it was North Korea or Iran or anything, but we didn't have to pay for it and there was an apology in it from the sup too!~

Now, here's the weird part of the weekend...I woke up early on Sunday morning 5am-ish, with searing pain in my left eye. Then again at 8am and couldn't go back to sleep b/c of it. Basically felt like a small piece of glass was attached to the underside of my eyelid and scratching my eyeball every time I blinked. Or didn't blink. I was a wreck the entire day throughout the many airport/transportation systems. Finally I asked J's mom waht to do (she's a nurse) and I ended up sleeping with an eye patch on! J called me his Pirate Bride...awwww.... (see photo) Today feels a little better but not totally.

Also, men were looking at me on the way there (sans eye drama). It was weird. They were like, middle-aged white businessmen. Totally the demographic that I feel is the least interested in looking at me, traditionally. It was really odd. And although J was there, it didn't seem to matter.

Drunky. A little bity.

2006-12-07T20:17:00.000-05:00

okay, so I"m a little bit drunk. had a little holiday gathering at one of our board member's houses. it was full of wine and meatballs. for reals.

I schmoozed with the two board members present as much as I could because I want them to think I'm good at what I do, so that come january, when I'm pleading my case for why they should let me stay in the fall for more time, with a different title, they will be like, "golly gee, I like that there girl, I think I'll find some money to keep her around for a bit longer..." that's an oversimplification of the situation, but whatever. that was (and is) my mindset over the meatbaslls and red wine.

then on the way home I ran into Sticks - the neighborhood dealer who I think is no longer a dealer who helped me get rid of the crackhead who was harassing me in my building, and then who I helped get a job....this is completely complicated, but basicaslly there used to be a crazy crackhead whose crackhead friends were harasssing me and J, and Sticks is thiss guy on the corner who I would see all the time during work, who I would say hello to, and one day explained about hte agency, b/c he thought DC was my daughter (and amusingly, she looks like a child of me and J would look, but that's neither here nor there)...anyway, we became acquaints, and then the crackhead was bothering me, and one day I told Sticks, and he was like "I''ll take care of it" and within 24 hours the crackhead was at my doorstep apologizing, sayign that Sticks said he would throw him in the trash and ask questions later. HilARious. I can't stresss this enough. Then I told Sticks I owed him cookies for helping me out (because after that we were never harassed again) and I made him brownies that were good and all his friends on the corner were jealous.

Then this summer I run into Sticks and he asks me for help with his resume, and I type it up asnd then he gets a job.

So tonight I run into Sticks in my drunken (slightly) state and he is telling me they are looking for a social worker at the place where I helped him with the resume, where he now works, and I'm thinking, holy fucking shit do thingss come full circle.

Now I'm off to do laundry.

Regarding my last post - so far so good. Ultimately my organization did not have to put itself (read: ME) on the line, and my boss all but threatened to sue the social worker at the sschool, who should have made the phone call in the first place. She DID make the call on Monday, and when I spoke to the mother, she was under the impression that, get this, the crackhead in their building called them in in retaliation for something or other! I mean, people, it does not get any better (or more complicated, painful and bizarre) than this.

Now, what the fuck do I wear to this wedding tomorrow? I casn tell you, my thighs are NOT too pretty thesse days. And most of my dresses are made for sunny days in mid-July, not chilly ones in mid-Dec in Milwaukie, WI.

Chaos Reigns Supreme

2006-12-06T12:51:00.000-05:00

This job is incredibly hard. I have been gone for awhile, because work has been out of control lately. I should have taken it here to get it off my chest, but I just couldn't.

In the last six weeks two of the kids I work with have been reported to ACS, which is usually a disaster. One has only happened in the last two days, and the other the family is very angry with me and no longer allows me to see the child. Thiss is incredibly painful for me and the child. I try to peek in on her at school, but this isn't really allowed and I don't want it to be harder for her emotionally (why doesn't she see me anymore? why can't I tell mom I see her at school? why can't I see her at school? etc...too hard for a little kid to understand).

I undersstand very clearly why the burnout rate for social workers is so high. Ethically, emotionally, even physically, this job iss the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I am so attached to the girls I work with, and I can't imagine harm coming to them. I have to take action when necessary by law and ethics, but on the other hand, this has to be weighed against the factors of reality in which 9 times out of 10 ACS doesn't do their job right. Also, I live in the community where these families live, so I really have to think about my safety. Thiss may seem dramatic, but it's a reality for me, when I pass the corner where one entire building/family lives and if they want to fuck me up, well, they can make my life hell. this is rambling, I know,k but I don't care. I am trying my best to keep things in my life in order without having some kind of breakdown, but I feel damn close to not making it.

And on top of this, I have a final (though not a hard one I don't think) to finish by tonight, a kid to pick up, five loads of laundry, Christmas shopping (no money), a $1300 bill for next semester due on jan 4 and NO clue how to get the money and a wedding in Milwaukee this weekend. Fuck.
.

Bootleg bootlegs (sigh)

2006-11-16T22:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, all I have to say is, my fucking bootleg was BOOTLEG and J wouldn't let me keep watching Borat b/c the bootleg version was so shitty I was missing all the jokes. The screen was flickering,a nd the guy had problems focusing at first. Then when he finally got it under control, he focused in on the screen too narrowly, and cut off the bottom of the screen, including subtitles! What the fuck, like I speak Kazahkstani!

Fucking bootleg DVD! That's a total waste of $5! I should have bought a Star and US Weekly magaine instead.

This is why a girl has to find a good bootlegger to supply her with DVDs, not a stranger on Frederick Douglass...motherfucker.

So I have this DVD, if anyone wants it....

A Girl Buys A Bootleg and a Bit of Perspective Goes a Long Way

2006-11-15T23:57:00.000-05:00

Today, I had a sort of personal epiphany. After several months - and then more intensely in the last few days - of weird work stress in which I feel undervalued and underappreciated, I reached an odd (for me) sort of zen about things. I think it helped that I was reading this book, by Rafe Esquith called There Are No Shortcuts. A great book by an experienced, veteran teacher who doesn't take bullshit from the "system." He describes the inane, archaic rules that keep real people from truly teaching children, the fucked up administrators that harbor these rules over the actual act of teaching, and the ways he has chosen (and been forced) to get around their bullshit for the betterment of the kids. All that being said, I was inspired.

First of all, he reminded me that, like when I was teaching, the important thing is to focus on the kids, on what they need to gain and learn - NOT on me. Keeping the focus on the kids I work with keeps things in perspective, and provides joy when I actually see one of them grow, change or see something anew.

Secondly, his examples of disrespect and crazy displays of authoritarianism reminded me that a) my situation isn't that bad, and when I was teaching I went through much, much worse and came out fine, and b) there are ways to get around everything (though probably w/o the extra money I'd hope to get.)

That being said, today instead of walking around with a hard pit of anger that kept pushing tears to my eyes whenever I was around my co-workers or remembered what my boss had said to me, I felt light almost. I focused on TT and her needs and thought about the programs and possibilities I needed to introduce to her. Granted, this was just one day, and in all likelihood I will get really pissed off again, feel demoralized and undervalued and want to cry again, but hopefully I'll remember a little bit of how I feel today.

So I made a list of what I need and want to do for each girl - outcome goals that were concrete and measurable. Now I have to come up with some action items to achieve them. Of course, on a good day when I'm not feeling overwhelmed with my Depression Beast, this is easy to write, feels manageable to do. Hopefully I can keep The Beast at bay this winter, unlike last. I feel hopeful so far, I do. Maybe I can even find a therapist who doesn't totally suck. How is that for positive thinking?

Also, J is back. Monday night was lovely.

Oh, and I bought Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Khazakhstan ON BOOTLEG! My first bootleg DVD. I know, you wouldn't believe I live in Harlem. Hopefully it won't have heads and people sneezing in the foreground...I'll report back.

Feminism and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders

2006-11-13T00:31:00.000-05:00

Supposedly I was back, then I disappeared again. That's the problem with me, I'm such a fucking procrastinator. But thanks to those who noticed :)

J has been gone for about five days now in Dallas for work, and I have to admit, I'm totally pathetically lonely. The pathetic part about it is that when he is here, half the time we aren't in the same room as each other, and I complain that we don't really truly "hang out," but at least we are both home. Or even if we aren't, we will be soon. This apartment just seems massive, endlessly dirty (though it's much much worse when he's home, naturally b/c he's a boy, and boys are endlessly dirty and don't realize it. somehow...) and empty and boring. I wander from room to room sort of picking things up and putting them down thinking that I don't really want to do that thing in the first place, it's lame. Or, as I"ve been saying lately by influence of a co-worker: lam-ay. LIke the fabric. He comes back tomorrow, which is great. There should be some good sex there, hopefully. I shaved my whole goddam body, in any case!

Tonight I started reading The Beauty Myth, by Naomi Wolf, which is all about the subjugation of the female body image through mass media in the aftermath of the shift from women in the domestic sector to women in the workplace. Basically (so far, anyway) the thesis is that in the olden days, women were controlled by this image of the Model Housewife and Mother, and once this myth was sort of wrenched out of being, the shift went completely towards this hyper-emphasis on appearance as a means of control. Which is not to say two things: 1) that it is some mass conspiracy, or 2) that women's appearance hasn't always been a massive locus of control for society. Just to say that since it's no longer so gasp-worthy that you work out of hte home, now it's more gasp-worthy that you wear larger than a size 8, etc. (which is funny, b/c we are the fattest country in the world.) Anorexia/bulimia/disordered eating are at the highest levels they ever have been, and the standard size of models and images in magazines/tv are lower than they have ever been in the past. Also, with the advancement of technology, we see more of these images bombarding us every day....

Anyway, I didn't mean to rant, it's just a very interesting book so far. Then I went and watched "Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Squad" on CMT (which I think stands for Country Music Television, but I"m not sure b/c I just Tivo this one show and never watch the channel for any other reason. I've somehow never even seen a single video! shame...) which is totally addicting and horrible. It's that kind of grotesque attraction like a car wreck - why do we want to see dead people on the side of the road? The show is vaguely about actual cheerleading/dancing skills (and yes, I do know about both of those....I will admit it) and also hugely about appearance. The girls have been scrutinized for their weight for months, and the last three people cut were due to "weight concerns" on people who are seriously totally normal if not downright hot-looking. They had to endure makeovers, photo shoots (basically in tassled underwear) and constant criticism about the way they talk, look and stand. And the women just smile and nod like they are eating a chocolate and say "Yes ma'am." It's totally bizarre. Like, they totally fucking drank the cool-aid.

I don't have any concise witty analysis at this point comparing the two, other than, what. the. fuck. The Beauty Myth makes me feel dumb, and the DCC show makes me want to do a LOT more sit-ups.

**

I left something in the living room and went to go get it in the dark and kicked the treadmill really hard with my right middle toe and I swear to god I broke it. I have a bag of frozen chocolate chips tied around my foot right now to keep the swelling down.

***

I am trying to do more personal writing these days, and that has kept me from doing entries here. I am trying to do this thing called Nanowrimo, which is National Novel Writing Month, and while I know that even admitting it here makes me feel lam-ay, I don't care. Last year I tried it and did okay, I didn't finish the novel, but I did pretty well on it and I'm still working on it, but this year I'm writing something completely new. At first I was very excited about it, and now I just think what i'm writing sucks. Ain't that a bitch. I'm going to try and not care (which is impossible for a writer) and just keep writing so that I can actually say I did it this year, but work is time consuming

(and stressful - there are all these office politics I haven't written about here, and will someday, but I have an irrational fear that it may be read by the wrong someone and it's just not a good idea to put it out there, you know? I mean, goodness knows there are only a handful of people reading this, and none are likely to notify my boss, but it's the internet and you just never know what could happen someday or somehow... but needless to say, there has been bullshit for the first time in years, and I guess after all this time it was stored up or something, I don't know.)

and when I come home I feel like, not a writer or something. I think I should use the blog to get this off my chest perhaps.

Also, I have worked out intensely for the last month - cardio and weights - and I gained two pounds. I know that is not the end of the world, but when you want to tone and lose and instead you looke the same and gain, this is not good. NOT good.

Tomorrow I have dinner with J (who is coming back finally, yea!) and my STEP-FATHER who is in town for work. He invited someone from his job who he is here to see and keeps going on to me about how much I'll like her, but to be honest I think he just doesn't want to have dinner with me alone. He can't talk to me on the phone for more than three minutes w/o getting off so I don't know how we'd struggle through dinner together. Ahhhh, family. So full of shit and love at the same time.

Post-Halloween, Post-Paper Stupor

2006-11-01T14:57:00.000-05:00

Well, I finished both my 12 page papers after staying up until about 2:30am and getting up at 8am.

Here was my yesterday:

Wake up early, work on paper.
Make work and freelance-related phone calls/emails.
Bake 24 cupcakes and deliver to DC's class for birthday.
Went to second school to prep a TT to speak at fundraising event tomorrow night.
Go to the Bronx (an hour trip each way) to assist teach a AM's 7th grade English class.
B ack to Manhattan, meet AB and DC and others to trick or treat in the suburbs for hours.
Return home by 9pm
Waste an hour reading a book with which I'm totally obsessed. - Taming the Beast by Emily Maguire - a totally sexy, Lolita-inspired novel I can't. Put. Down.
Start paper at 10pm. Finish at 2am.
Start second paper at 2am. Go to sleep....?

Today I have finished both papers.
Awoke early. Too early. (we know I'm not a morning person, now don't we?)
Ran 5.5 miles.
Ate breakfast and an Almond Joy (they've got nuts!)
Took bubble bath.
(Finished book?)

Tonight I have a fundraiser at which I am speaking with TT.
Tomorrow am I have phone meeting with freelance author.
Then staff meeting at 11 am, for which many pages of paperwork are still due.

I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL THURSDAY NIGHT.

Then I get to drink beer, watch Grey's Anatomy and Ugly Betty and stop thinking about how to fix, change or adapt to the world.

Charter School Rejection!@!@#$%^$%^

2006-09-18T12:32:00.000-04:00

I am SO frustrated. One of my girls who goes to the shitty school where they watch movies like "Saw 2" in band class, where the teachers are racist and girls are caught giving blow jobs in the stairwells - this girl I was trying very hard to get into this great charter school all of last winter-spring. That school (KIPP in the Bronx) never got back to me after we submitted her information. (How f-ing professional!) So I found another charter school, in Harlem, close enough that she could take the train to it. We went asnd interviewed and she took a math and reading exam for placement. They just called me to let me know that she placed sso low they can't admit her to the school. She is in 7th grade, and her reading ranked at a 5th grade level and her math just below that. ARGGGGG!!! I am so ANGRY!

I just want to start my own little school, get some kind of charter for our program and work with the kids that we work with to get them off the ground. This is just maddening. So the schools have totally fucking failed this kid form the time she was 5. Now she's behind, and she gets sort of punished for it by begin left out of hte only chance she has to actually learn and get ahead. I HATE this system. Seriously, I am just livid. I understand where the charter school is coming from b/c in order to keep their charter they have to keep their scores up, and they are only required to have open enrollment int he 5th grade. And honestly, we spoke about entering her as a 5th grader since that's where her skills are, but there aren't any more slots left. This just makes my blood boil. So now she's stuck continuing to underperform in a horrible school. Arg. I just want to punch something. And then she will graduate as an 8th grader maybe at a 6th grade level - MAYBE.

And this girl wants to be a marine biologist.

WHAT can I do here? This is totally fucking pervasive.

First Day of School. Again.

2006-09-05T10:40:00.000-04:00

Today is the first day of school for all my girls and I'm still at home. Ack! I need to get my ass out the door. I feel like that's my general mantra every day of life though. I still haven't paid for grad school. I think we are just going to pay rent really late and suck it out of those funds. I was rejected for a bunch of loans. This is a sure example of financial loser-dom, I think. I mean, student loans? Who the hell can't get one of those? Well, that would be me.

Already this morning I got five calls for work, and that was in my bed before I had even woken up...Here we go....

I DID have a really good talk with my boss about my future at the organization, which was frankly looking a bit dodgy. I will have to expound upon that more later. For now, I would like to leave for the record my First-Day-of-School apprehension...I guess technically my first day was last Wednesday, but grad school doesn't make me nervous like entering public schools does. Generally speaking those don't either, seeing as I spend half my working day in them, but today I"m feeling those "what should I wear, what will they think of me" jitters. My job is VERY dependent on teachers giving me full access to their classroom/the girl, as well as sschools in general understanding and acquiescing to the work that we do...so there's always a small worry that somehow it won't go well on Day 1. Or Day 2. Or Day 172. In the NYC public sschools there's always the potential for madness...

So I'm off. Hair done. Makeup on. Bag not packed, but will be. Maybe I should listen to some inspirational music to get me off on the right foot. I want to talk to each of my girls about having goals for the year and staying focused on achievement, learning and self-esteem. Would help if I had that planned, wouldn't it?

We have no dish soap or toilet paper. There are dirty dishes everywhere, and we are using paper towels in the bathroom (I know). This is the kind of life we lead.

First Day of School: New Books, New Blues

2006-08-31T00:29:00.000-04:00

Today I went to my two classes. I was able to "register" for them online again, even though I haven't paid yet. But when I got to class, neither prof had me on their list. I probably did it too late to make their roster. Or the fact that I haven't actually paid anyone anything may have kept me off the list...sigh.

One class the prof is totally my kind of guy - funny, smart and laid-back but not lazy. I like him. The other guy seems a little bit more stiff. The funny thing is, we have heard the word "Race" and "diversity" about eight million times in the last two days (orientation - whew!) and both my profs are white, Jewish males...huh.

I am going to have a LOT of reading to do. Also, my books so far have come to: $205.80 and I still have more to buy! What the fuck. I hate this part of school - it's such a racket, as my mom would say. They know we have to buy the damn hardcover, twenty pound textbook that some prof at the school is getting rich off of for writing one article...so annoying. And here we are spending our month's grocery money on it. So irritating. All I'm saying is, there better be some serious pearls of wisdom up in that piece.

I just got rejected from three online banks for loans. Sweet. I had a little mini-breakdown earlier today about money. I am always SO fucking poor, and I"m sick of saying that. I feel like it's my life's mantra, and it's no one's fault but my own. My credit is crap and I live paycheck to paycheck and I can't even get a small student loan...I have no idea how I'm going to do this, but I have essentially (according to the website) until 9/13 to get everything paid off. I think. I could spend half the rent money for September... my slumlord won't notice, will he? (In fact, I know he will, as we are practically paying the entire mortgage on this entire brownstone...)

I'm trying to stay calm and focused and remember that I live a privileged life in so many ways. It's so hard when things feel so complicated all the time. I don't know why my life always feels so complicated, but it's something I would like to remedy. I think part of it is that I"m never satisfied with where I am at this moment, I'm always striving for the next. That's a serious problem, as my friend C can attest to. I will have to ask her for some of her newfound wisdom. Feel free to give me advice, I have no clue what I'm doing these days.

Also, school starts for my girls next Tuesday, and it feels like it starts for me too, even though technically that was today. But mentally, my schedule is about to get HELLA HECTIC again...Can't it just always be summer?

Fleas

2006-08-30T09:52:00.000-04:00

Oh, and something in our house is biting us. And we think it might be fleas. The shitty thing about this, is that the ONLY time any of our cats has had exposure to the outside world is at the vet when he got his stitches off last Thursday. All weekend Jerome and I kept getting bit, but we couldn't see anything biting us. I kid you not, I have 15 BITES ON MY LEFT ARM AND COUNTING... Now, I was freaking out about this on Sunday, Monday was bad but not awful, and yesterday I was new-bite-free. But this morning I come to the computer and I have three new bites on my ankle! What the fuck!? I havev to go buy Frontline, as if I don't have enough random shit on my list of things to do. I feel like this is SO New York...(of course talking to people, we were offerred about six other infestation options, so it could be something else much creepier than fleas).

Not feeling so good about work/life. I will go to the bursar and talk to them, though as it's a NYC public school, they aren't so motivated to help students, especially those without money. I'll see what happens. As for work itself. I am VERY behind in my paperwork, and that's what I get to do this morning before I start classes tonight.

Now I'm going to get my ass on the treadmill to burn off some of this angst.

Maybe I should quit everything and try to make a documentary about my girls? THat would be amazing. Except I don't know anything about film-making, of course. (details, details)

Who Am I And How Do I Pay For Graduate School?

2006-08-29T22:04:00.000-04:00

I am a total mess, by the way. That's one major reason I haven't written in so long. I think about my blog and it reminds me that I haven't recorded why I'm a mess, and then I feel guilty and overwhelmed by the idea of summing it all up in one tragic entry of messiness. Ugh.

I don't know what I want to be or do with my life. I know this is the plight of all humankind, blah blah, blah, but right now it is specifically my plight, and it is very uncharacteristically ME. I hate it. I always know what I want, and where I"m going, and what the plans are. There are ALWAYS at least ten goals in sight, something for me to continually be working on. And it can't be just at random, it is supposed to be in some kind of best-case scenario plan. Meaning, I had my entire high school class plan sscheduled at the beginning of freshman year, while most other ninth-graders were still figuring out where their lockers were. I knew what I had to do to double major in two of the most credit-intensive subjects at my university. I. Like. To. Know. What's. Next.

And right now I don't.

My three-year commitment to my job is up in March, and I don't know if I'm going to get a promotion or what. I don't even know if the promotion available is the one that I even want at this point. I thought I wanted it, but that's most likely because it was what. came. next. you know? And the more I try to really think about my life and my needs and future, I'm just not sure. I'm not sure about this job. I'm not surea bout another job in its stead either.

AND AFTER ALL THAT DRAMA, I'M NOT EVEN SURE ABOUT GRADUATE SCHOOL EITHER!

ARG!

Maybe I shouldn't be getting an MSW, but an MPA or something more policy/gov't related. Maybe I should be doing my writing, which is what I've wanted to do since I was eight (along with save the world, which I'm finding to be pretty damn exhausting and not altogether effective). So what do I do? I'm a mess.

I want to write, do something creative with design/visuals and social-work related to youth and their families. Can't I get paid to do this? I don't know. I think this means that I am among the millions of goey-eyed women who wish they could make a dent in the muddy mess that is humanity. What makes me any different than everyone else who wants to get paid to express themselves or help others? Aren't those the two most self-serving jobs ever? Fuck it if it is, I don't care. I just wish I could figure out what is the right path.

Also, my classes start tomorrow, and I was informed today that I was dropped from my classes (that I registered for online) because I haven't paid yet. But I couldn't pay til I printed the bill at the student center. But when I went to get the bill I couldn't get it b/c I hadn't paid...um, hello? Does it take a graduate degree to pay for graduate school? And now I have two classes that start tomorrow and I'm not registered for either of them. And by the way, I don't have the money to pay for them. I do not know how I can come up with $900 by tomorrow afternoon. But that's the plan right now. Remember how I wanted to become a professional escort to make extra money? I'm thinking it's time to follow up on that plan.

Finishing the Crossword Puzzle

2006-08-04T22:18:00.000-04:00

I'm having a sleepover with MD and DC. Usually I have a great time and it's my perfect chance to release my inner 8-year-old. Tonight I'm just kinda down, I guess. Down isn't quite it. More like melancholy. J has been out of town for three days and will be gone for another two. :( I cleaned the entire apartment today. Well, almost all. Again, usually this would fill me with a sense of accomplishment, but today I just feel kind of like a space waster. I kept telling myself if I was feeling down I should just do the thing that I most felt like doing and was subconsciously denying myself. For example, when I am working on a crossword puzzle on the train, and really getting into it, and then my stop comes. Even though I'm more than happy to be home and ending whatever long day I've had, I also feel this subtle disappointment that I don't get to keep sitting there, with no responsibility whatsoever other than being a mindless traveller, doing this crossword. Or if I'm in the middle of a great book, usually I only read on the train/bus or right before bed, b/c there are so many other obligations buzzing about my head. Or if I really want to be on the computer. Or there's some show I am itching to watch, etc. Point being, there's usually something I secretly wish I was doing, especially when the alternative is cleaning. But honestly I couldn't think of anything today. I was jusst sort of dispassionately cleaning, trying to put things in order, pass the time til the sleepover. Which is here now, and I am being a bad Friend by being on the computer right this very moment. I am now going to go play Cranium, but I know that secretly in the back of my head I wish I was reading a book in my bed, quietly. Thing is, if I was just doing that and nothing else, I'd feel lame and lonely anyway. So what's the deal? How come my insides are never satisfied?

:(

2006-08-02T18:07:00.000-04:00

Doodle Disaster and too much hot.

2006-08-02T11:32:00.000-04:00

It's sicko hot. Really, really hot. It's already 95 degrees with a heat index of 103. I am sitting in a tank top and underwear and I'm dripping. I'm not even moving. Just dripping. Sick.

I'm taking TA to the pool and hoping I don't totally fry. So far I've been good by carrying spray sunblock in my purse at all times and squirting at random.

My air conditioner is a piece of shit.

Also, yesterday was a very traumatic day, as the Doodle's ear became really infected on Monday night and got all swollen and puffy-gross. I took him to the vet yesterday morning, and they tried to do just the basic exam and he totally freaked out, in typical Doodle-style. He was like a wild animal. There were two vet assistants trying to get a towel over him, calm him down, etc and he was insane - howling and screaming like a PERSON and you could hear it through the entire clinic. He was lashing out at them, and they were amazed at how smart he was b/c all the tricks they usually use to get a cat in a carrier or to calm down weren't working - he was going after their arms when they tried to cover him with the towel. He was like, I see where that towel is coming from! It was awful. I seriously thought he was going to hurt them. I almost cried. I can see how mothers get so upset when their kids get sick or hurt, b/c this was horrible. He ended up cornered on the floor of the exam room, behind a cabinet and a garbage can, trying to bite/scratch them. They were both wearing those leather gloves that zoo-trainers wear when they work with hawks. Seriously. He was attacking their arms through the gloves! I felt like such an weak cat-mother, standing in the corner of the room, trying not to cry. Pathetic. It was awful.

Finally they got him back into his carrier and the vet told me they would have to sedate him in order to do the procedure on his ear. She made up an estimate, and that was the second time I almost cried - $992!!!!!!!! They had to give him gas to calm him down, then do IV's and monitor blood and levels of this and that, do the little surgery on the ear, do stitches, give him a bunch of shots and then let him wake up. I just felt like I got punched in the stomach - I don't have that money. I don't have that money in cash or in credit or in my imagination. So I had to get this emergency carecredit card, which is for vet emergencies, and I got a $1000 limit. Great, more debt. Shit. So I didn't cry again, but almost did.

Just as I'm about to get the final run-down on what's gonna happen, this couple comes in with a giant silver husky dog who's bleeding, the man has the dog on his shoulder and there's blood all over his shirt, the woman is holding her hand b/c the dog bit her (after she accidentally slammed his paw in the door, which is why he was bleeding). She was crying, I tried to soothe her (which helped me not cry myself) and the whole thing was a mess. There was blood on the floor, a crying lady and a vet asst. trying to explain this list of terms like "CBC Differential" "Pulse Oximeter Surgical Monitoring" and "FPV RTC Vaccination." Um, um, ARRRGGGG!

On top of all this it's like 95 degrees and I still have to work all day....

When I came back at 6:30 to get him, he was in his carrier with a white plastic cone around his head, and he was lashing out at me through the carrier. I was so jumpy I jumped back when he lurched at me and knocked down a bunch of brooms and mops in the corner, which made a bunch of noise and made me jump and him lurch again. What a mess. I was so shaken by the entire thing - my cat turning into a wild animal, screaming bloody murder, trying to attack others AND me, a final bill of F $1135, and the damn heat I almost cried again. I know, I must seem like a mess. But I got him into the cab and tried talking quietly to him and he calmed down.

Now he's at home and sort of generally groggily lazing about with a plastic cone on his head in the bedroom. I have to attempt to keep the cats separated, which makes me feel bad b/c only one room has AC, and who do I let in it? (last night I switched and let Fonzi in for a few minutes, while Doodle peed). I feel like a freak. At least I'll be ready for fighting two-year-olds. I will post a photo of the Doodle when I can.

Now I'm off to the public pool, where I hope not to turn very, very red. J was commenting last night on how "tan" I am...hehe. It's all relative, right?

Went For A Run=Turned Red.

2006-07-31T11:57:00.000-04:00

Okay, they (my computer) say it's only 81 degrees outside. Puh-shaw. I just went for a run. It is MUCH hotter than that. Now, I know this was a moderately insane thing to do - in the middle of this much obsessed-about heat wave go for a run. But I felt the need to really, really, really sweat. So I did. I did what I call my half loop in the park. I leave my house at 119th St, run down 7th to the park, go up the killer hill (hoping that the big rock overhang doesn't choose this exact moment to fall, crushing me to a bloody pulp while the fanatic bikers zoom by thinking "she should've worn a helmet...") then down the big hill, past the baseball fields, then I turn in at the drinking fountain and take this weird hill up to the reservoir. I run around the reservoir until I get to the east side little promenade thingy, then I go onto the road going north, run past a playground, around a bunch of little curves, the baseball fields again on my left, soccer dustbowl on my right, then FINALLY down the huge hill/curve past the swimming pool (which by this point I always want to scale the fence and jump into) and then I make bargains with myself as to where I'll stop...all the way to the road? the first stoplight? all the way back home?

Then I walk from 110th back to 119th for my cooldown, passing several projects where the men make all sorts of comments, like today "Do you want me to rub your shoulders?" as I stretched them out; "Come over here, I like my girls sweaty!" um, sure thing; "You look beautiful!" what part?; "Ain't you hot?" yes, actually; and lots stares. Like, no one they know exercises or something. OR perhaps they are thinking (rightly so) that I am insane for running at 11:30am in a heat wave. hehe. Also the fact that my face turns the most unnatural beet red, even from average exertion, and I look like I might explode. People i pass on the street have regularly asked me if I'm okay, and I have to assure them that I just turn red. (Reminds me of that poem:

When I'm born I'm black.
When I'm cold I'm black.
When I'm in the sun I'm black.
When I'm sick I'm black.
When I die I'm black.

When you're born you're white.
When you're cold you're blue.
When you're in the sun you're red.
When you're sick you're green.
When you die you're purple

and you call me colored?

Welcome Home! The Living Room Is A Different Color

2006-07-10T18:34:00.000-04:00

J has been in Amsterdam too long and I am lonely. He is supposed to get home sometime today, and I don't know when! So naturally, because I can't control the majority of my impulses (except, thank god, the ones to punch bad parents and spend $500 on jeans) I decide to do something to welcome him home.

Yesterday was a busy day - went to my good friend C's baby's blessing at church in the morning. First baby I've ever felt any personal attachment to, so I gotta be present. Went to her house for brunch (yum!) and then played hookie on my church to go....paint shopping!

This a weird thing of mine - I really like to paint. My high school summer job every year was to paint houses - interior and exterior (like up on the ladder on the second floor). So I'm very into painting my apartments and have painted all of mine in New York City, along with several friends' places. I love paint. I vascillate wildly about my feelings on shades and glazes and techniques. I would really in another life like to work for an actual professional and learn more tricks. Right now I'm like an obsessed amateur who longs to play with the Big Dogs. Anyway, I spent two hours at Janovic and bought some beautiful sage green paint (woodland sprig, I think) and went home and immediately traded church clothes for an old pair of boxer shorts and a bra. I painted until about 11pm and then watched "The 760-pound Man" on TLC. Which honestly gives a person some perspective, ya know? I mean, hello? I can walk. WTF.

I'm not done yet, but it looks good. I will post a photo. The color I am painting it is the green, not the purple, which I did when I first moved in. The white-ish trim is part of the original fanciful brownstone detailing, which has been upkept for shit, and I will have that last because it's the most complicated and time consuming. But there are all these "picture frames" around the room, and I wanted to paint everything that wasn't in a frame or the frame itself a unifying color. I don't know if this makes sense, but whatever. You can tell what kind of oddball relationship I am when I'm painting a living room as a welcome home present. No lingerie, just paint-splattered arms and legs. Ah well...To be continued....

Back from the Beehive

2006-07-07T22:13:00.000-04:00

Back from the Beehive State. A good trip all around. Got to see the gramps, my best friend from childhood, a good friend who left NYC to return to her homestate, and a ton of aunts/uncles/cousins.

I have to say, my relationship with Utah is a very conflicted one. Having gone there every summer for our "vacation" (aka: family reunion)as a child, I am discovering that it's a whole nuther game to go there as an adult. (Especially with control over my own car. What a difference.) Growing up, Utah represented this half-fun, half-irritating event in which we would pack up our mini-wagon and drive across country. Playing car games, eating junk food and arguing, we would watch the rolling fields of Iowa turn into the flatlands of Nebraska, then slowly the mountains rise up crossing Colorado into the brown desert of Utah. I remember we had this pack of cards with all the states on them, each card a different state picture, capitol and all kinds of important info like Wisconsin's main agricultural product (soy beans) and West Virginia's main industry (mining). I tried to memorize as many as I could and this paid off in fourth grade when I won a geography contest by filling in a blank map of the U.S. faster than anyone else in the class.

I spent a lot of time looking out the windows as we passed what seemed like arbitrary chunks of land divided and protected by sagging loops of barbed wire fence that went on for mile after empty mile. There was nothing behind the fence to hold in, and as far as I could see no one clamoring to get in, so why all the fuss? There were also a lot of dirt roads to watch. Usually the road mimicked the paved one we took, and wove up and down the mountains and hills and valleys next to our car. That road always looked so much more interesting than the Interstate we were taking. They would wind in and then curve away with the interruption of a stream and then reappear and then finally disappear at a right angle to our road, off towards a farmhouse, or just off. I remember asking over and over again, what if we just took that road instead? Or that one? Where do you think that one goes? And of course my mom had no clue and was much more concerned about going the speed limit, paying for gas, that kind of thing. There was a lot of imagination wrapped up in those wandering dirt roads and when I see them to this day I feel like there's something at the end worth wrapping up in acres of barbed wire and I want to know what it is.

There's a different pace on a road trip, particularly on a road trip to the West, through the Middle. Magazines take forever to read and become like little Bibles. The choice of candy, chips and drink at the store becomes of utmost importance because we won't be stopping for three more hours. Rest stops become little havens where you suddenly find yourself talking to Betty from Kearney, Nebraska about how that second stop back on I-80 after the third exit was so much cleaner and had automatic soap dispensers and marigolds by the vending machines. Truck drivers cease to be traffic enemies as they shield you from wind shears and make the cross-country commute a bit gentler. Also they were always willing to honk their horn if you made the pull-pull signal with your arm out the window. (Thank god I never got any Thelma&Louise-style tongue-waggling.)

Sometimes we would just fly. Which was way more exciting, but accrued many fewer memories. The airport back then was so open, and everyone had family seeing them off or meeting them at the gates.My mother would begin to panic at least four hours before we were schduled to leave, as something major was inevitably lost or forgotten and we would frantically scramble through the house searching and making-do, until one of us would point out that Utah was not another country and we could buy or borrow whatever it was when got there. Our best-neighbor-friend Patty often drove us to the airport, waving goodbye to us at the gate like we might change our minds and decide not to come back. Growing up I was never nervous to fly because my mom played a game with me to see if I could tell her when each of the wheels left the ground. Then we would look for landmarks out the window. Then we played travel games. It wasn't until much later, when a national disaster, a midnight aerial thunderstorm and some untimely anxiety caused me to detest flying that I remembered how easy it was for my mom to distract me as a child.

To me Utah was almost like another country. It was as foreign as my childhood had ever experienced. The geography is different: Minnesota is flat and humid. Utah is mountainous and dry. I was always fascinated by the snow on top of the mountains in the middle of August, 90+ degree heat. My grandparents had apple trees in their backyard, and a real mountain stream. My cousins' backyards held horses, trampolines (true Utahns), and RVs. My backyard was about 200 square feet and flanked by a garage behind which prostitutes used to congregate.

Of course it wasn't just the topography, that made it feel foreign. My cousins were super religious and entirely foreign to me in so many ways. The way they dressed, for example. My closest cousin wore completely matching outfits all the time that her mother had sewn for her. Lots of skirts with layers and lace, matching vests and jumpers, dresses with bows. Her hair was always perfectly curled and very, very blond, white blond. I was like a messy immigrant who had never seen a curling iron and only wore cut-offs and tank tops. My cousin never wore a tank top, ever, and my hair refused to hold any curl (still does unless it's chemical in nature), and my mom didn't have time to sew my clothes. That's what Sears and JCPenney were for. (Refuse to enter JCP to this day, thank you very much.)

More than just in appearance, there was a fundamental difference in the way my brother and I thought about and approached the world than our Western relatives. My cousin's dad was The Boss and his kids didn't ever question him. The slightest normal kid gripe like, aw do I have to eat those peas? or c'mon, can't I stay a few more minutes? would have been an insult and resulted in ten minutes in a corner. I thought he was mean and condescending and just basically ruined any sort of fun we were having. He was "strict." There were lots of rules, like: only one toy out at a time, family prayer (a must before anyone went to sleep, on our knees in the living room), double wiping (every surface of the kitchen had to be thoroughly wiped, twice) and no one was allowed the hint of disagreement with anything he said in general (this was called "sass" and meant you were put on time out or if you were me, sent away). None of things in itself is at all out of the realm of good parenting and general cleanliness, but I remember feeling generally on edge whenever I was near him. Nothing felt relaxed. I didn't know if I was going to accidentally forget a rule or sass unwittingly or be too loud. That was a big one for me - the ongoing chastisement for yet again being "too loud." (One reason why NY is a good place for me to be. I rarely get that sentiment here.) And it wasn't just one uncle. I mean, my grandparents had ten kids, and they all got married, resulting in 18 aunts/uncles on my mom's side alone. So essentially this discomfort and general ass-clenching experience was repeated in various forms 18 times.

My brother and I were from "back East," which I think was the terminology for "heathen" to my family. No, I'm kidding. But it was true that my mom was the only single parent in her entire family. The only one to get divorced and not get remarried in five minutes and start having more kids. And she chose to stay in Minnesota (you know, way back East). All of this seemed to add up, in my perceptive kid-brain, to us being labeled as the cousins that needed reformation, to be pitied, who didn't know better than to immediately change out of church clothes into jeans and flipflops. Of course, thank goodness we were still Mormon, because I don't know what kind of shit would have gone down if they thought they had to convert us in religion as well as spirit. I guess that's sort of it - it was like we were too rough, too wild, too loud, too outspoken, too opinionated, too smart for our own good. And the older (and smarter) I got, the more annoyed I was by their culture, and the more I realized how different my life really was than theirs.

My older brother had no problem challenging any adult on any preordained idea they held to be true and he didn't. He gave them shit for being sexist, getting married young, having tons of kids, voting Republican, hunting and just generally being from a small town in the West. They in turn gave him shit for being a vegan (or rather, a "Vulcan" as one uncle seemed to confuse him with Spock), having long hair, wearing two earrings, cursing, being lazy and not having any manual labor skills whatsoever.

Me? I just hated that as a girl I was expected to be pretty all the time, and nice, and get really excited about getting married. I didn't give two shits about getting married - not to the "right" boy, or in the "right" place, or generally at all. Who thinks about getting married when they are 12, 15, 18 years old? Well, I guess my cousins. And their friends. And their friends' friends. I still remember meeting one of my cousins' friends who lamented her "Old Maid" status at 19, because all her friends were engaged and she wasn't. (I later learned this girl got engaged four weeks later to a boy she met two weeks earlier, and was so "homesick" for her family she had to leave her honeymoon early. Um, can we say disturbed?) Also, I kept asking, why isn't anyone concerned about going to college after high school? That one threw me too. I mean, I grew up with kids from single parent homes in poor neighborhoods with more drive than these kids who looked like an all-American postcard. But beauty school and a Mrs. seemed to be the serious long-term goals.

There was something there - in Utah - that I never found in other places. It was like all of a sudden I understood what all my neighborhood friends and classmates had been referring to my entire life - this thing called family. I mean, don't get me wrong, where I grew up our neighbors and church members were my extended family and I will write a whole different entry some day about why I think I'm the better for having literally been raised by my Village. But there was something different and special about suddenly being surrounded by people who have your eyes, your hair, your genetics. There was a weird love-bond that existed that made no sense to me, but that I respected. I would never have picked these people as my family - conservative, uneducated, unmotivated, happily ignorant, uptight. And there was no reason on earth these people would take me camping with them - a loud-mouthed, opinionated, Liberal (the worst!) with authority issues, unless they had to. And they had to because they loved me. And they loved me because I was family. There's really something to the whole family thing, something that can't be created or adopted because it just is.

As I've gotten older I have relaxed in my need to defend every last liberal value, every last here's-why-political-correctness-is-not-just-words argument...because I don't have to convince them, I don't even have to care a whole lot what political or life-leanings these people have. They are my family, and even if they commit murder and go to jail or tell themselves that Bush was fairly elected and is a god-fearing man (oh lord) I will continue to visit them and love them. I will not always get it, but I will at least show up to disagree.

Denial is a beautiful thing...

2006-06-28T10:58:00.000-04:00

I am currently in the process of trying SO HARD to get all my girls (and their cousins, sisters, etc) signed up for camp for the summer. And that's not just one camp, but usually an average of three. Sigh. You'd be amazed at how slow some of these parents are! I mean, shit people, get me the damn forms already! C'mon, get your shit together.

More to this is that the therapist sent a short evaluation to MD's teacher to establish a series of behaviors (disruptive, moves around, hostile, can't focus, etc) and the t. sent it back, essentially saying that MD is extremely hard to teach and manage, and the therapist said it's one of the most extreme evals she's ever seen. So the therapist called MDmom to talk to her about it, and MDmom totally freaked out, got completely defensive (uh, been there!) and basically said that the school and all the kids in it are bullying MD. Um, no. Her t. even agrees that if anything, every kid and the teacher herself, are scared of pissing MD off in any way. If anything MD is the bully in the equation. But guess who can't see past the end of her nose? That would be MDmom.

Yesterday I went to the therapy institute where I was supposed to meet w/ MDmom and her therapist. Guess who stood us up? Oh yea. SO annoying. It's like look: you have problems. You know you have problems. We know you have problems. Can we move forward from here and work towards some solutions? I mean, shit! This mom is a total disaster, and she basically refuses to accept the therapist as her therapist and wants to continue to use me in that role. I am NOT a therapist! I love talking to her and hearing her issues and doing what I can for her and MD, but her issues are so pervasive and deep-seated, I know I do now have what it takes to help her. I ran into MD at school yesterday and told her I would see her that afternoon at the Dr's and she goes, "My mom is not going to see that lady." All sorts of harsh, obviously as if she had heard her mother go on and on about it at home.

It makes me really mad, and makes me want to back away from helping her. I mean, you want to talk to me about your near-prostitution desperation, the fact that you can barely feed MD and yourself, you have no money or skills, a shitty job and you think your boyfriend might be cheating on you....but then two minutes later you want to act like everything's cool and you got it under control. But you don't. And you know it. And you know that I know it. So can we puh-lease do something positive instead of ruining this kid's life like yours was ruined by your mother? That's the thing the therapist keeps talking to me about in terms of trauma and poverty - the vast majority of the mothers she works with in poor neighborhoods have been traumtized by their parents as a kid, and they go on to repeat the exact same behaviors on their own children, reliving their own trauma through their own child. How fucked up is that? In the same breath that I"ve heard a woman complain bitterly about how her own mother was never there for her and was always off with different men, choosing other things than herself, that same mom will then disappear with a boyfriend for a week and no one knows where she is. Sweet.

Okay, there was my vent for the day/week. Now I"m off to grovel for camp forms.

Oh! And I leave for Salt Lake City tomorrow for a little mini-vacation! I know, it ain't Puerto Rico or Jamaica, but it's not NYC, and at least me and J are going together...more on that later.

Jon Stewart was my social studies teacher.

2006-06-26T20:16:00.000-04:00

Last night I dreamt that Jon Stewart was my social studies teacher and I had a big project due for his class that I totally forgot about until the day it was due. Which I learned b/c I showed up to class and my friend AA from work was there and asked if I was ready to present. Oops! So I wasn't ready. At all. I looked in my Trapper Keeper (what's up with THAT?) and had just a bunch of scattered notes from day he assigned the project...oh, now I remember...sort of. So them I'm thinking, oh, Mr. Stewart's so cool. I'll just make a joke out of it and he'll be fine about it. Cuz meanwhile I'm stressing about a math test.

So then Jon Stewart calls me up and I act all sheepish/laughy about it, but he totally calls me on it! He says, "Did you think just cuz I'm a funny guy that I'm not serious about your project? That you could just, make an excuse and get away with it?" Um, yea?

Then, I'm on the bus with a bunch of younger kids, and they are all telling me my hair is weird. I'm feeling really self-conscious, then I realize that I've just cut my hair myself for a "summer haircut." So my same friend sees me and tells me my hair is lopsided, and I should just be brave, go ahead and get it cut shorter, a bob above my shoulders... so I do get it cut. It looks good, I think? I can't find a mirror to see myself in, and I just keep feeling how short it is and thinking how long it will take to grow it long again.

So what's this all about? I think it's me trying to get all these billions of forms in for camps and whatnot for all these kids. Literally, I have physical forms, applications and paperwork coming out of my ears at night. And as usual, I feel behind. But whatev. Doing my best.

Also, random I know, but does this count as irony?

I don't like cartoons, I mean I am really not into cartoons, but b/c of my job it is the one kind of movie I see the most often. It's reimbursable, and the best thing to treat a kid to on a rainy day. It's a funny thing, I mean, I actually pay attention to what "family" movies are out now. And I've caught myself debating the "PG-13-ness" of a movie several times (for sex? swearing? content?). And one of my co-workers goes to an uber-Christian website to check out the content of all the movies out there. It includes every "suspect" scene, curse, innuendo or overdone bit of cleavage in every movie. I am not this bad yet. But getting there.

UES

2006-06-24T00:59:00.000-04:00

Coming home from visiting friends on the UES> a neighborhood that is increasingly confusing to me. When I first moved to nyc it represented all that I curled my lip at - frat boys w/ hats on backwards, girly-girls who say "like" a lot and are just, well, obvious in all the pathetic ways, rich white people, homogeneity (is that a word?). Anyway, now the weird thing is that, seven years later a bunch, most even, of my friends live there! Woa. When I'm visiting I think - wow, everything you could possibly need is within 2-3 blocks. Unlike Harlem, where there's more of a schlepp. But then again, everyone is, well, white and wearing J.Crew or Gap. Seriously, I walk around and feel like I could price out everyone's outfits, it's odd. Not a lot of individuality, at least in appearances. But for ease's sake, it's a nice neighborhood. And my friends live there, so there's obviously some good in it.

Anywho. As I was walking to my friend R's house tonight, it was muggy as hell and I was all sweaty and kevitzing (or whatever that yiddish word is) and passed this bar and there was this 20-something dude (in every sense of the word, dude) on the phone, hanging out the open window of the bar, wearing a hat on backwards, pastel polo shirt (sort of half-tucked in) and baggy chino shorts over loafers with no socks. For. Real. And he looked at me as I walked by. I couldn't help wondering what he could possibly have been thinking when I walked b y, as men like that literally never even see me. I'm sure I was like, some sort of trick of the eye or something. I almost laughed out loud. I don't know, jus something about the whole damn thing.

Then I went into Food Emporium and bought some food. Damn, they got some good-ass grocery stores on the UES. I've almost never been so compelled to grocery shop. Even the layout of the store just made me sort of think, "Oh, I haven't bought an artichoke in a while, but look how lovely and fresh this one is!" Spent $15 on fruit and hummus. Silly, I know, but that's the UES! Pretty and silly!

To Breed or Not to Breed

2006-06-16T09:58:00.000-04:00

Having a big BBQ for people from work today. I am always so clean-freak when I'm about to have people over in any quantity more than two. It's like, I want to be sure my place looks just "right" whatever that means. Mainly it means corraling J's clothes into one corner (usually the dirty clothes, cuz he's left them out for so long they are now covered in cat hair)... I don't mean to at all, but I collect a lot of junk. I think it stems from not having a lot of money growing up, and now, and I just think, "Well I might need to use this thing at some point, and I don't want to throw it away now and then just have to buy another one later on..." So there's lots of random shit in my apartment. Doesn't helpo that until the recent closet-building experience there was almost zero storage, in spite of having like 14 feet ceilings.

Been working more on the garden. I need to put up some photos. I will take some at the BBQ today and post them.

Work has been okay. Less stressful as it gets closer to summer. Also, I no longer have to drag three girls to dance in East Harlem three days a week, so my schedule is more my own. It's like, I made this huge effort to get these girls into lessons, to give both them and me structure, but then halfway through the year I totally regretted boxing my schedule in like that. But too late then! And I didn't want to be like their parents and just bail, b/c that's what they do when things get hard or inconvenient...Can there please be a test to be a parent? And I just don't understand why people keep having kids when they can't take care of the ones they have. I always remember this story I read in college about this judge in one of the Carolinas who sentenced this woman to having no more children, b/c she had eight and all of them were in foster care, but she just kept having them, and they kept getting taken away. OF course the civil rights people were all up in arms, and I think I was pretty shocked to hear it myself. Now I not only understand, but I agree. How dare you keep breeding (a word my bro uses) when you have no skills or resources to care for your kids? The thing that gets me, is that most of these kids don't get taken away and put in foster care, so they just get their life totally fucked up, living in abject poverty - poverty of self and spirit, along with physical goods. It's sick. And then the cycle just gets perpetuated, b/c these kids grow up so needy and fucked up, they develop chronic mental issues that never get dealt with, have nonexistent self-esteem or ability to feel ownership over their lives, and ultimately do the same shit themselves. (sigh)

It's hard to get off this topic b/c I see it all day long in my work and in the neighborhood where I live in general. And it's not about race, either. The same shit happens in white trash towns as ghetto hoods in the city. I guess that being said, it's more about class than anything. But my co-worker makes a good point: poverty is really, really hard - crushing even. But what about personal choice and responsibility? Do we just give people a pass for being poor? I don't think so. I think that's a racist/classist mentality. I think holding people responsible for their actions is the most equalizing action we as a society can take.

That's why I think gardening and my pets are such simple pleasures in my life: they are simple, loving (well, plants are sort of lovable), easy to grow and maintain, and give my life color and happiness.

Also, I woke up Wednesday with this big pain in the bottom of my heel. Not like a sting/bite pain, but like a deep bruise/ache. I used to get this in gymnastics when I tumbled too hard on my heels. But I have not been doing any tumbling passes lately. I haven't been able to walk on my left heel for two days! It's so weird and sucky. Can't wear flip-flops! Toes aren't too cute anyway.

Things w/ J are ups and downs. Had a nice night the other night for first time in a while. It's amazing what good sex does for your self-esteem. Sort of wakes it up a bit. His band broke up over the weekend, and this just adds to his already burgeoning issues. He is so wrapped up in his head lately, I feel like an after-thought a lot of the time. Sucks. Also, I keep seeing these little biracial babies/kids and for the first time in my life I'm sorta like "aw, I want one." Now, I don't really want to have one, nor is it any kind of reality in the forseeable future, but I have to admit it's starting to eke it's way into my consciousness. Is this the "biological clock?" God, I hope not. That's the cheesiest, most pukey-sexist concept to me. Ugh. For some reason it also reminds me of the 80s (?) What's with this bio-clock? I guess it's about the fact that women only have about a 20-year period to breed (natch, big bro) and men can go on and do it forever (thanks, Viagra). I mean, Rod Stewart is like 65 and just had another kid. What's his plan - wheelchair basketball?

Sleepless Night...

2006-06-13T02:22:00.000-04:00

I am having a sleepless night where I lay in bed and my mind just races. I am lying there thinking about

about work
about J
about kids
about the book review I have to write
about the novel I'm writing and three more I'd like to write
about exercising tomorrow morning
about the fact that I am supposed to wake up at 7:30 am which is DAMN early for me and at this rate I am pretty sure it ain't gonna happen
about Fonzi lying all stretched out along my leg and it's so cute cute cute and the Doodle doesn't let me do this he's all leave-me-alone on the corner of the bed
about my garden
about relaxing and how to do it
about not sleeping
about whether to get up and do something productive while I'm insomnia'd out or to just lie there hoping I fall asleep.

I'm up. Might as well catch up on some email or something.

Procrastination Means Paris Hilton's Boob Is In This Entry

2006-06-09T11:56:00.000-04:00

I am a blogging slacker. It makes me depressed with myself. I feel that I am a procrastinating loser.

Some thoughts of late:

1) Why do I pick at my forehead when there is virtually nothing to pick at, then there is when I'm done? Re-tarded.

2) Can't wait for school to be over for these kiddies. My life opens up. I get paid to take kids to the pool, the park, biking, the library (ohhh! the one on 115th/7th just opened after three years of being "under renovation." Um, would a library on 86th and Amsterdam be closed that long? I. Don't. Think. So. But it's open! Horrible librarians who let the kids run around and scream (literally), but better than nothing), my garden, the beach and even on camping trips!

3) Why can't my white ass tan? Seriously, why is the choice like fish-belly white or beet red? How come other people can get a glorious tan w/o being worried they will get cancer next week?

4) Got new haircut/style and I'm not so sure I like it. Sucks. Not in the go-home-and-cry kind of way. Just sort of like - Shrug, Enh, no-one-noticed-or-if-they-did-chose-not-to-say-anything kind of way.

5) Paris Hilton SINGS....(sort of) and for her sake, I hope that she gets hit by a car or gets some kind of serious Michael J. Fox-style disease b/c I just can't imagine a more vapid existence than hers. She is a waste of space on this earth. And I'm just thinking given how much attention she gets for being a rich slut, perhaps if she was a rich slut with some kind of problem or issue at least that issue would get some publicity.... Watching this video, I think it's particularly hilarious to watch the guy. First of all, I can practically hear the director screaming in the background, "Touch her like you want to fuck her now, not like you're scared to touch her!!! C'mon, jee-zuz, CUT! Look at Paris, not past her. You are supposed to be into her!" Also, there are several scenes where it's unclear - are they making out? Or is that guy watching ESPN over her shoulder? And also, it's pretty clear that she cannot lip synch for shit. I think she either forgot the words to her song or....nope, that's it. She forgot. Only reality going on here. Too busy tucking her boob back in. (On Superficial there's a photo of her boob falling out of that horrible suit. Don't click if you don't want to see her boob. Seriously.)

6) OH GOD IT HURTS!!! Her song is on the RADIO!!!! If I hear this in the grocery store while trying to buy food (painful all by itself) I might explode. Or anywhere on 125th Street. This is a woman who got busted calling black people n*****s and didn't even apologize....Oh god, can I get herpes through my ears?

7) My backyard looks good! Planted a bunch of marigolds and impatiens and last year's day lilies and hostas are back. Photos below are not mine, just googled them.
I started some seedlings of a different variety of marigolds and also zinnias (which is the pink flower - I can never format photos on blogger right...) I have never done seedlings before, and it's late in the season so we'll see if it works. Also, the packet says "keep moist" NOT "dump torrents of rain for one straight week."

8) Hate my thighs. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. I never used to understand why adults in the middle of a steaming hot summer didn't just wear shorts. So what if you are biggish? Just wear bigger shorts, me-thought. Now I see. You don't want your biggish-cellulite on display. Thank god it isn't hot yet. But it's coming...

9) I booked my trip to Salt Lake City for the beginning of July. Used a voucher I got last summer from Delta for getting bumped off a flight. J has a work trip so we're making a vaca out of it. I'll get to see my friend L who I adore and miss...she is my soul-sister. Married to a textbook abusive shit, but, head shake, she won't listen.

10) Neighborhood BBQ tonight. Invited by one of the gay couples on the street. I'm sure it will be the gentry on the block, so it will be interesting to meet everyone in one place, as opposed to in passing on the street. My street is so random - one brownstone to the next is the Old Guard dudes who are retired and drink Olde English in a paper bag on the corner every day all day, and then the professors/lawyers/designers who bought and reno'd their $1+ mill building and drive SUVs....so. weird. By nature of my skin color I'm assumed to be the latter (although not all the gentry on my block is white, if you are white must be gentry). But by nature of my bank account and job I'm so not. Anyway, whatever. If could own property I would, but I can't. So pllllbbbbbttttt.

11) I'm procrastinating work right now..........................

12) Is anyone in the world good at actually printing photos off their digital camera/computer? I mean, I have buckets of great photos, but they never get printed. They don't. I pretend it will happen, and it just doesn't. Don't know how to do it. Feel like there's a class I have to take or something....

13) I LOVE the new cee-lo + DJ Dangermouse (gnarls barkley) song. I want it on my ipod NOW NOW NOW.

Allergies, A Pregnancy Scare and A Trip to the ER

2006-05-31T14:20:00.000-04:00

My life has felt like such a whirl since I wrote last. First of all, I am sick, which sucks. I totally spent Memorial Day weekend sneezing, wheezing, coughing and feeling like I was in a total fog. At first I thought it was allergies. Now, let me digress for a moment about allergies:

I do not have allergies. I grew up in the Heartland. Where people eat corn, cheese, milk or mayo as a part of each meal. A place where there is lots of grass, trees and things that float in the air reseeding the earth in its plentiful regenerating cycle.

I did not sneeze.
My eyes were not all blinky.
I didn't feel like there was a Downy sheet in front of my face at all times.
My nasal passages did not throb with the throbbing of several small jackhammers in my face.

But. After living in this city for going on seven years, I think I'm developing them! WTF? This is totally unacceptable and confusing to me. So instead, I deny deny deny.I DO NOT HAVE ALLERGIES.

But this weekend said denial turned into actual sickness and I have this raging chest cold now. Can that come from allergies? (If said allergies were to hypothetically have developed?) Anyway, it sucks and I've been sweating part from the hot weather and part from fever and I feel all sorts of gross.

Now. Last Friday, after working hard all of last week seeing kids and getting hours in, I had my good friend and co-worker AA over to my house. Same person whose bachelorette party I attended, but last Fri was her fiance's party so she was at my place. She was complaining of feeling ill all week, and even very nauseous that night. So we were joking about her being pregnant and what a disaster that would be. We kick it all night, eat dinner, watch tv. About 12:30 we go to brush our teeth, we're in the bathroom and she says "I'm not feeling so good." I'm in the process of telling her to sit down, and SHE FAINTS. I REPEAT, SHE FAINTS.

I just see her body sort of arch backwards in a very abnormal way, a way that if one was joking would be very hard to rectify without injury, especially in my very tiny NYC bathroom, in which only one person can be in it at a time and if you fall down you would seriously hit the door, the sink and the tub in quick succession. So I say her name and she doesn't answer and I reach for her back and she's just like a ragdoll. I'm saying her name and she's just gone. Now luckily for everyone she is a tiny person and I'm a strong person, so this works in our favor. I sort of cradle her to the floor, her head is floppy like a baby's and I hold her neck and her eyes are all rolled into her head. Now I'm all frantic saying her name and I'm thinking like, "What the FUCK is going on here?" and I'm literally a split second from total hysterics (brain track going - Keep it together woman! Remember the First Aid!) Her face is like, my skin color, which if you know her and me, given that we are different races, is kind of disturbing. Finally after what feels like forever and is probably more like ten seconds (clock it though, that feels like a long time) she wakes up and is all confused. I put pillows under her leg, etc. Call 911 and they send the ambulance, we go to St. Luke's (they're like "Which hospital?" and AA is clueless about that cuz she doesn't live here, and I'm like Harlem Hospital - hell NO, North General, um, no. St. Luke's is the best option. Sadly, because it's more UWS than Harlem...just how it be.)

So we go in the ambulance sitting on the side in really tight seatbelts. Let me say that the EMTs were really odd. There were two, and one of them was a cheerful black guy with a mustache and thick glasses, who was really fascinated with my apartment and kept looking at the moldings and asking about the history of the place, while my friend is lying on the floor all sick! The other was this white girl with a very non-New York accent (I called it, she told me later she was from CO) In the amb. the guy actually slowed the amb and pointed out a car on the side of the road to the woman. I'm like, "Um, this is not a Car Tour, people!"

The hospital was full of a nasty motley crew of sickos. There were crackheads wandering around in all states of high. There was a man getting some sort of mucus sucked out or pumped in or something. Just imagine the sounds. There was a lady moaning for the "DOC-teer" over and over. There was an ancient white lady (I mean, WHITE) with hair like Don King (seriously, it was like a foot high from her head) who was screaming "I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO HOME!!! GET YOUR STINKING HANDS OFFA ME! I WANNA GO HOME!!!" I mean, I was laughing. There was also a guy in a wifebeater and a bloody bandage on his shoulder with blood across his face who had just been shot. I know, horrible. It was like a bad screenplay. My poor friend AA was afraid to lay on the bed. We assured her it was hygienic. Unfortunately for us all, AA noticed some dried blood drops on the floor. (head shake) She was like, "Um, you said this was the best hospital?" I assured her (??) it was the best of the three.

Turns out, after the EMTs, nurses, resident and Dr all suggest she may be pregnant, she is NOT in fact pregnant. She is just under a lot of stress and it's basically a fluke. Well, it was the scariest fucking fluke I've ever experienced. I don't ever want to look at one of my friends lying dead-like on my floor again. Not. Again.

So I'm thinking I mighta caught my cold at the ER.

Warning: Graphic Photos Ahead!! (okay, just one)

2006-05-23T15:02:00.000-04:00

Thanks for the kind and interesting words related to my last post. I feel so buouyed (sp?) by the knowledge that I'm not insane in my work. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed, and I just need to keep hearing it makes a difference it makes a difference it makes a difference.

On Saturday I picked up DC and brought her to a pancake breakfast one of my co-workers was throwing with one of his boys. Of course, DC didn't speak to anyone (the mutism problem), but that's totally par for the course. After dance class we went to pick up my personal heartbreaker AR, and her insane mom told me that she is planning to move to NC in July. Now, I know, I know, I know the likelihood of this actually happening, of her getting her shit together enough to make this happen is slim. But. The idea of her taking AR off into the country somewhere makes me literally ill. I was sort of like, "Oh, um, how great for you. Um, okay. Um, are you sure? Um, what if you left her here for awhile while you got settled?" Then she proceeds to go on and tell me all about how she doesn't trust anyone here to watch her child, she wouldn't really know that AR is being truly cared for. Right. Like that's what you're doing now? When you disappear onto the streets for days at a time? Right. Like how you yanked your child out of therapy? And how you tell her she's sitnky, ugly, fat and the wrong skin color? Right, that's why she's always hungry when I pick her up?

Anyway, my wonderful co-worker AA told me not to give it another thought, cuz it's so unlikely to happen, but I can't help it. And the school won't do anything, b/c they say they don't have enough proof. And if I call then I get yanked out of her life as the only normal person she knows, and ACS doesn't really do shit anyway, so she's back where she started but w/o me around. And her mom would probably hunt me down and gut me like a fish (since we live on the same block....)

Anyway, after that miserable conversation, I brought the girls to the office where they played in the backyard and ran around like normal girls. At one point they got into an altercation involving another boy and a hose. I sat them down on the couch and grilled them about their involvement. They lied and said they didn't touch the hose. I knew they were lying. They knew I knew they were lying. Eventually they both admitted they lied and did touch the hose. I gave them SO much praise for telling the truth. It was like a cloud moved and a beam from God shone down upon us right then and there. The TRUTH! I still gave them time-out on the couch for five minutes, but I said since they told the truth they could play a bit afterwards. I felt like such a mom. Then I took them to OF's birthday party. They played Pin the Tail on the Donkey like it was a Craps game in Las Vegas. There was a whole numbering system, the blindfold had to be regulation, the spins had to be just right....The winner got....a dollar. Awwwww.... I wish I could post the photos from the party, but I can't for privacy issues, of course. But they are gorgeous girls and sometimes just looking at them and knowing that they are so full-to-the-brim with potential makes me want to burst.

I went to a friend's bachelorette party on Saturday night. Wooooo, it was hilarious. I got a henna tattoo on my back, which I really like, surprisingly (never been much of a tattoo fan). We went to the Savage show, which is a strip show above the (in)famous Lucky Cheng's on the LES. My friend didn't want to be pointed out as the engaged one, so we pretended it was me...so I got a lap dance...oh lord. On the way out I took the great photo of several of the drag queens counting their money at a table in the back of the restaurant.

(I can't get the damn thing to rotate, so I'll have to fix that later.)

I slept in until noon yesterday, my day off. I slept until 10:30 am this morning and I'm working (a late day). I love sleep. It's like the world's best panacea to any and every problem. (And chocolate. And massages.)

I highly, highly recommend sleep. Highly. I think I sleep on average about ten hours a night. Kinda weird and lazy sounding, but just how it is. I don't know how the traders and banker people can make it with so little sleep. I'd be like "yah, I'll buy two of....of....those, those,zzzz....um bonds..zzzz..stocks.....zzzzz" Or truck drivers. Even just regular people who go to sleep at midnight and get up at like 6am for work. Is the whole world functioning on caffeine? My cats sleep all damn day. It's nuts.

Oh, and I just finished my second book review. How late am I? God, it's embarrassing....

Why I Forget My Drycleaning (A Rant)

2006-05-19T23:41:00.000-04:00

I cannot believe it has been so many days since I posted. Well, mainly that's cuz the Mom was in town.

We built a closet. That's right, a closet. It's massive and makes me feel like I am a gluttonous, materialistic clothes-fiend. Which I am. I can't get rid of anything that still fits me. It's kind of pathetic.

I will have to post photos of the closet when it isn't so late. I just got home from work, errands and seeing friends. What a day. Started at 10am and ends at 11:45pm. Sigh. I forget to do important things for myself all the time, like:

eat meals
carry tampons
take medicine
return phone calls
remember birthdays
pick up dry-cleaning
pay bills (like rent)
clean my cats' poop box
exercise
keep my receipts
return emails
write book reviews (still have one to write. so much for being early with it. sigh)

This makes me feel eternally lame. I didn't even MENTION the millions of things I am constantly forgetting to do for my girls, such as:

turn in tennis camp application - TT
turn in tennis deposit - TT
turn in Part B of camp app - EF
remind EF's foster mom to get Dr. to fill out Part C - EF
See AM on a regular basis! - AM
Check in with AM's teachers about academic progress - AM
Follow up about camp for 2nd half of summer - AM
Make letters of recommend to try and convince KIPP Academy to take AM - AM
Speak to therapist about unprovably abusive mother - AR
Call GC back about potential ACS call - AR
Follow up on about 15 late/incomplete math assignments - DC
Confirm I will attend field trip w/ class - DC/OF
Get perm from supervisor to attent field trip - DC/OF
Set time to do damn school project #46 with girls - DC/OF (I never find out about them until they are due on Monday, which is my day off, along with Sunday. So I hear about it on thursday - what do I do now? If I give up my days off I am, well, tired. If I don't help them they literally won't get the projects in at all....sigh)
Contact MDmom about meeting therapist by sending note in MD's bag since mom doesn't have a phone - MD
Speak to MD t. about behavior - MD
Get incomplete camp forms - OF
Speak to FreshAirFund family about summer plans/outings - OF
Speak to nurse about sores on head of TA - TA
Email tutors to remind of upcoming tests - AM, TT
Get test results for 2nd/3rd grade holdover progress - TA

These things run through my head all the time, such that I know there are times when I'm talking to someone and I have no clue what they are saying to me. I can't even focus. Like the Charlie Brown t. - wah, wah, wah....wah wah... wah wah wah wah....

I counted one day - and granted, this was a particularly intense day - and I used my metrocard 18 times. 18 TIMES!!!!! Sometimes I just feel so overwhelmed and frustrated. I can never do enough. AM is getting barely a 70 in school and her dad literally wants to beat her. She can't do anything but go home after school, no more basketball, nothing. She also just told me that her father now works the night shift - which leaves AM, who is 12 years old, alone in the apartment from 10 pm to 6 am. Oh, and she isn't allowed to have the phone in her room. She goes to the shittiest school ever, and is literally doing grammar work that DC and OF are doing in their G/T 2nd grade class.

Let's see, DC is pathetically behind in math at school and I'm terrified her G/T t. will suggest she leave the program next year. She basically does the bare minimum, and no one at home has a clue what she's doing so they can't help her.

OF's mom smokes so much pot she is chronically depressed. She doesn't want to let OF go to two camps this summer b/c she wants her home. To basically hang out on the corner with the family, instead of riding horses, swimming and learning how to canoe. Awesome. So the camp forms are late and now I don't think camp #2 will even be an option anyway. And this is partly my fault b/c I didn't know how hard to push and now it's too late.

TA is totally neglected and recently revealed to me that mom hits her with hands, belt, broomstick. Older sister smokes pot with boyfriend while mom is out of town, who the hell knows what else went on when she made TA sit in back room taking care of twin infants by herself. Comes to school dirty and with sores on her head. Can't do math at all. Has a twin with SERIOUS mental problems.

TT just wants love and attention. Family is from Africa so many American traditions and experiences are foreign to them, but TT wants them for herself. I feel like I can't give her enough, but at least she has a great tutor who adores her and brings her chocolate and t-shirts from San Francisco.

AR - I can'ty even start. It breaks my heart, and doesn't help that she lives on my block. Her mom told her yesterday on the way to school that she wasn't sure if she should bother giving me the camp forms (which are disgustingly late, yes) since she is probably going to give her away to another mother. For good. THis wasn't a joke. This mother is a sick fucking bitch who doesn't deserve children. There's so much more but it makes me too angry.

EF is back and forth to court to determine if she stays in foster care or goes back to live with her father, who was accused of molesting an older sister when EF was very young. She has lived seven of her twelve years in foster care. She is a special girl, a bit slow and very very sweet. And confused. Her foster mother doesn't know how to style kinky hair, so she puts it in four ponytails all over her head. Unfortunately, this is not a great look for most 12yearold girls. But her dad won't let her get a relaxer, blah blah blah...

MD. Where to start? Calls from GC at school, visits to the therapist, mom admits she doesn't want her sometimes, wants to give her to biological father who has only been present for last four months, and barely at that. Mom admits that she threatened to "push her into traffic" if she didn't listen. Always hungry. No wonder she's always having fits when she's with me.

This list is ridiculous. I hope no one reads this far. I just have to get it out of my head. It's too much. I need an fucking personal assistant. Is it any wonder I always feel like a damn failure? How can I do/be enough for all these beautiful souls? I don't get these parents. I don't get the fucking universe that lets generations of people sink into poverty and despair and abuse and neglect and depression, only to have the whole thing replicate itself all over again every 15-or so years.....I know I'm supposed to look at all the small steps, and people would say "but imagine if you weren't in their lives at all!" but given what I know about how their life deserves to be, how can I settle for less? Like, I'm just supposed to reason with myself, "Well, they are poor and black/Latina and their parents are poor and their parents were poor, and they live in the ghetto and go to ghetto schools so.....they are destined to have a shitty education, horrible hygiene, zero self-esteem and grow up hating themselves...because there's only so much you can do..." I just don't accept that. I know I have to on some level, but it fills me with rage to see this happen before my eyes. I feel like the government needs to know, like everyone in the middle of the country, in the clueless parts, the white parts, the suburbs, the out-of-touch parts need to know how hard life is for so many kids, and they need to care goddamit. Whatever. I have to get up early to take DC to dance. DC, EF and MD all have a recital in two weeks. I can't be at it cuz I have a wedding. Now I'm going to try and go to sleep.

Idol Mania and the Evolution of Dance

2006-05-11T12:40:00.000-04:00

HAAAAAA!!!

Chris Daughtry got the boot off AI! Okay, that's a little mean, because I really like all the remaining four singers - Taylor always wins, Elliot is amazing and, well, Katharine is my favorite. Chris sings like Creed for every damn song. I mean, how do you make both Queen and Elvis sound like Creed? Seriously, I wish I could describe in words how he does it. Well, if someone watches the show they know. Also, he's a bit arrogant. Ryan was telling him, "Well you know Chris, everyone has been predicting that you might win the whole thing..." and Chris sort of raised an eyebrow and gave the camera a smirky smile. Ugh! Then Ryan says, "...but tonight you're going home!" And I thought Chris' eyes would pop out of his face, he SO wasn't expecting to go home.

As predicted, the Paris votes went to Elliot and Kat. Next week I'm not sure where the Chris votes will go. Likely those voters will either be like, Fuck this! and not vote anymore, OR they'll be so pissed at Katharine they'll vote for the other two. Regardless, it looks like Taylor Hicks is gonna win cuz according to DialIdol he wins the highest number of votes every week.

Another thing that my friend just emailed me is this hilarious video "Evolution of Dance" that just made me laugh out loud (can we say YMCA and the Cabbage Patch were both on it?)

Mom arrived safely last night after 11pm. Today we get to go grocery shopping! And out to eat! (I feel like I'm in college....so pathetic that I'm 29 years old and psyched for my mom to pay for my groceries.)

The Birthday: A Photo Rememory

2006-05-10T19:46:00.000-04:00

By the way, here are some photos from my birthday (which was April 17, but so what?):

This is me indulging in tabloid trash-reading. I usually try to pick them up at B&N and read them while I stand there so I don't have to actually spend money to read about Jessica and Nick's inner turmoil.

This is me, on the subway>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
J took this photo. I generally would punch him in the face for taking photos of my thighs, but I didn't know this was happening. These are my favorite jeans and tennis shoes (which is what I called them growing up. Sneakers to everyone else, apparently. No, I never actually played tennis).

Someone on that rock is me. Someone on that rock is King of the Hill. Someone is napping. I'm not telling who's who.

Oh. My. God, Becky. Look at his hand. It's so, like, BROWN! Is this like, some kind of Jungle Fever thing?

Tickets to a Mexican boy band concert, perhaps? What's with the mustaches? That's not turning me on boys. No, it's my present!!! (I know, the photo should be enough...)

Okay, this needs some explaining. J gave me this extra excellent book 99Ways to Remake Your T-Shirt (not the real title). I am always taking scissors to things, sewing, creating, etc. So. This book demonstrates all 99 styles, gives them a name, number and little tagline. Please take a close look at the photo at left.

style , #24
Maria
"for an ethnic, chic look"

Um, yes, this is definitely the way to go when you wanna look "ethnic." Please, I am so confused about this. The ethnicity of MCHammer pants from the 80s? (I went to one of his concerts in 8th grade) Um, the chic look of a grownup who hasn't been toilet-trained yet? And why did Marias everywhere get stuck with this kind of affiliation? Seriously, this mandates some serious attention. Seriously.

Okay, but except for the seriously disturbing nature of style #24, the book is really cool. So was the wrapping paper.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I just like that I ran across 57th St and narrowly avoided collision with two hot dog stands on the run.

Also, there were cars to look out for.

Also, that may or may not be my arm at the left of the photo.

This is the end of my birthday tour. There are many more "ethnic, chic" photos from that day, but they are just too much to share. I don't want to blow your mind.

Mom Coming To Town

2006-05-10T19:37:00.000-04:00

Feeling horrible I haven't written lately. I actually sat down to write twice this week and the computer and/or blogspot were not having it and the little ball just kept spinning.

I am getting some MUCH needed rest today through next Monday, as my mom is coming to town from Minneapolis! I am very much looking forward to it, for several reasons.

Reasons It's Great When Moms Come To Town:
1) They grocery shop for you
2) They sometimes buy you new clothes/shoes
3) We go to Sephora (and she pays)
4) We go to a play/show (the only time I ever get to go because: she pays)
5) Things in my apartment get fixed
6) She fixes pants/shirts/ zippers/misc that need mending and I have been looking at for months and months, not wearing them and sort of putting them in an annoying pile that keeps getting dirty, even though I haven't worn them, simply because they are lying about.
7) She helps me plant my garden!
8) She makes me feel happy.
9) When she leaves I feel like a grownup again.

Things I Did Today To Prepare For Mom's Arrival:
1) Six loads of laundry
2) Cleaned fridge, including underneath the vegetable drawers, where there were several new forms of life in bacteria form, and perhaps a cure for the Avian Flu, but too bad cuz I bleached the shit outta that stuff and tried not to gag while I threw it away
3) Bought some food for breakfast, but not enough to make it look like we didn't have to go have a MAJOR grocery shop in the next two days. To be fair, we are really poor and have been attempting to actually EAT everything in our fridge/cupboard, even if we don't really feel like eating it, before it spoils.
4) Cleaned kitchen floor
5) Removed empty beer bottles, recycling and piles of garbage I'm too lazy to take out.
6) Used hangers!
7) Cleaned the bathroom, including behind the toilet (gag).

I think that is enough. Now I have two book reviews to write one of which is late, the other is early, so in my opinion that averages them both out to on time, doesn't it?

SLa-Cker...

2006-05-04T13:03:00.000-04:00

I feel like such a loser-bot when I ignore the computer for a few days at a time. Part of feeling depressed/overwhelmed=I procrastinate forever and then feel bad about all the things I've been ignoring. Sigh.

I am late to work. Given that it's 1:00 PM!!!!! and I haven't left yet.

I should shut the computer.
I should shut the computer.
I should shut the computer.

I am taking OF and DC (my two girls in Gifted) to see Akeelah and the Bee today. So it's not even like I"m working.

Btw, I was both an inner-city kid AND a spelling bee champion.
Yup, it's true.

Hello, I'm A Money Moron, And I Need Help.

2006-04-29T01:09:00.000-04:00

You can see by the post time that it is late, and that means I have been sucked into the blogosphere. More specifically, I have been alternately depressed and inspired by the overwhelming number of financial blogs out there. I found one, which linked to ten more, and like minesweeper when you click it just right, it just exploded from there.

Unlike myself, I see that there are all these people out there with actual money PLANS! I mean, I kind of always thought of people that "invest" as people that work on Wall Street and wear navy suits every. single. day. Not normal people from Cleveland, Minneapolis and Boston with two cats and a grill out back. I just feel like a bumbling fool. These people got their charts, predictions, sp500 references (is that a Nascar thing?), Caps - Mid, Short, Tall, Skinny - I don't know. I realize more and more every day what a Money Moron I am.

Which is totally made evident in my wallet, bank account, salary, credit card balances, taxes, overdue bills, random fees, strange letters from insurance companies that I am afraid to open, and the like. (I mean, do all people get these letters from insurance companies listing all these prices for things, adding them up into grossly scary quantities and then at the top of the letter it says THIS IS NOT A BILL....Well then why the fuck are you sending it to me? To freak me out? Because I don't need to see that you paid $1,232.90 to NY Presbyterian anymore. Great. Good for you. Now go shred yourself.) Point being, I'm a financial mess.

J and I have indeed probably fought the most about money second only to our main fight in life, which is about him never doing the dishes and leaving his damn shoes in the middle of every single doorway in our apartment (there are five doorways). It is seriously stressful on our relationship. Big time. We have just recently buckled down (sort of) and tried to get a grip on things, but it's pretty slippery. Neither of us make much money (social work & Major League Cheapos) and we live in one of the most expensive cities in the world. And we made dumb choices. And stinky things happened to us. And, and, and... I can honestly say it's the thing I have probably cried about the most in my life. Money.

As a result of growing up without it, of always worrying about it for my mom and stressing and wanting things I knew I couldn't have and then feeling guilty for wanting them, I think that when I became a "grownup" with my own salary, I just didn't have any idea what to do with it. I spent it. I wasted it. I saw a cute shirt for $25 and bought it. When I look at my debt it's not like I bought Prada or went to Bali or anything. I just never had savings to deal with all the bumps of living in New York by yourself on a crappy salary. It just kept building and growing like a disgusting weed. Growing up there was never enough money, and that was kind of the end of the story. There wasn't a discussion about how to plan, save or spend the right way - it was just sort of survival. So I never learned about this stuff, like I learned from my mom all the specifics of citations and footnotes and nit-picky grammar. I'm totally handy with a can of spackly and paintbrush, a hammer and hand-pushed lawnmower. Not so much with the balance/ledger thing. No excuse, of course, but now I'm trying to evaluate my spending habits to learn how I got into this INSANE AMOUNT OF DEBT, and try to prevent making any more mistakes.

I am not quite brave enough like the financial bloggers out there to post my "net worth" and savings and what's in my checking account and how much I funded my Roth (Okay, that was a guy I graduated college with, who now works at Comedy Central and likes to act kind of important. It is most certainly NOT something I had ever thought about giving money to, if you know what I mean.) I read their blogs and I'm amazed at what they have accomplished and truly feel like I will NEVER be in their place. It's like, when you see people running the marathon in November, people of all different sizes and shapes - half of them don't even look like they're in shape, yet there they are, finishing 26.2 miles. I look at them and think, Damn I'd love to do that! And I know there are all these training plans, etc, but I just don't know if I have the endurance to train for six-eight months. I'm not sure I have the patience, the drive, the leg strength...That's how I feel about the money, but tenfold. It totally overwhelms me, and also makes me feel stupid. How did I get in this horrible position? And can I ever get out?

So. I am working harder than ever before in my life to do the right things with my money. I'm not entirely sure what those things are, but I'm committed to learning, which is a start. Also, for those of you who know me well, it would please (and shock) you to learn that I have not been shopping in quite some time. Seriously. I splurged on my birthday and bought a $19.99 hoodie from Daffy's. And some time in January I bought two t-shirts at H&M. Other than that, nada. I mean it!

My goals for now:
1) spend as little as possible on everything possible
2) learn more about money stuff so as to not feel so clueless
3) try not to cry when adding/subtracting my balance total
4) earn extra money wherever I can
5) repeat step 3 when necessary

Here are my current plans to make extra $100 a week (btw me and J):
1) sell stuff on ebay (I have four bags of clothes in my hallway, all awaiting some photos)
2) call two people about private tutoring - This is really key. J and I are really hoping to start a part-time business doing this. I have SO much education/mentoring/kid experience, and I know that it's something I'm really GOOD at. I just need to tap into the wealthy crowd who pay $75-100 an hour, which is what J got in Westchester last spring. At a two hour minimum, that was $200 extra a week, straight cash!
3) Book reviews - right now about $45 a book, which ain't much, but it adds up.
4) Find new freelance opportunities - somewhere?
5) Dig for change in the couch cushions.

That's all for now. If anyone has any advice (be nice, please - sensitive topic), personal experience or ideas, please share!

Some Updates

2006-04-28T10:58:00.000-04:00

J is in England, and you can guess where I am (hint: Lenox Ave is involved) and I'm trying to "value my independence" .... .... ....

Still no resolution on the TA front.
MD had a breakdown at school yesterday because she claimed her stomach still hurt from the ice cream we consumed together two days ago. (She will literally make things up to get attention...) I had to give her a quick run-down of the digestive system, which was pretty humorous. Then, not surprisingly, she lets me know that she hadn't eaten dinner the night before, nor breakfast that morning....Um, and your stomach hurts? Hmmm.

I'm leaning towards Hunter for several reasons:
1) Cheaper
2) More competitve - I get the sense Columbia lets everyone in to suck their wallets dry, especially because an MSW is sort of like a necessary certification, so they know people haveto get it.
3) My coworker is going to Hunter.
4) Hunter is way more diverse. Columbia has more of a white-girl-from-California-with-great-intentions-and-little-experience kind of feel to it. In fact I know a few people just like that and talking to them made me NUTS. The kind of women who would say 'You go girl!' to one of their clients with no irony. Oh god.
5) Gut feeling.

I have to send them $400 by Monday. My mom wants me to make sure I at least find out about Columbia's fin aid package, but I know it will suck booty.

Also! I forgot to mention how thrilled I was that America dumped Kelly Pickler from AI! Thank god we aren't as retarded as I thought. I'm upset Paris was in the bottom two, but at this point everyone is so good. I don't know who should be down there. (As long as it's not Katharine, who I have a girl crush on.) I mean, we do have George Bush, but I think there is a different crowd voting for AI. I don't know. And, dammit I didn't get to see American Dreamz yet. Maybe I'll do that tonight with all my special independence. Lord knows J would never go see this movie with me.

Not Again.

2006-04-27T08:52:00.000-04:00

I am so conflicted. One of my girls (TA) started to tell me yesterday about how her mom "disciplines" her. This is so complicated, but in the end she said that sometimes she gets hit with a belt, a broomstick or more regularly, her mom's hands. It's a longer conversation than I can express right now, but it just brings me back to a year ago, when another girl was doing very poorly, the school had to call ACS and the family blamed me, resulting in her removal from the program. It was one of the most painful things I have gone through, because I had taken a year and half building the confidence of this very guarded, neglected little girl and her sisters. Then in one fell swoop of an idiot social worker who made the wrong move - the family blamed me, of course. And of course there were all sorts of racial and cultural implications between me and the family, but it had nothing to do with the fact that the girls were being neglected. So ultimately, it was the right thing, but now when I see the girl (which I do regularly, because MD is in her class) it's like I feel my stomach sink all over again, wondering what bad things her family has told her about me, when all I did was love her.

So now I am worried that ACS will be called (which they probably should be, it's a tricky thing b/c there is no physical evidence of abuse) and it will backfire in my face AGAIN and I will lose another girl. Today I'm hoping to meet with the school social worker and teacher to see if there's any way the school can get involved so that it in no way traces back to me. It's SUCH a delicate balance when you are in my position. When I am perhaps the only stable adult in some of these kids lives, I am the only person that takes them anywhere, that teaches them about how to eat and care for themselves, who is the only one telling them, "No, you're NOT fat, No, you're NOT dumb, Yes, you DO matter...." And it's so hard to weigh the possibility of ACS fucking it up leaving me out of the equation, or trying to keep it in the family but work with the mom or whatever. But you know what? Because of who I am, in so many cases there is only so much I can say. I know even though they appreciate what I do, and have opened up to me a LOT, in so many ways I won't ever be totally in - I'm white, young, "middle-class" (ha!). There's only so much I can say without them telling me I can get the fuck out. They love what I do with their kids, but I know there's plenty about their situation they don't tell/show me, b/c of the potential consequences. I don't blame these parents, it's probably what I would do as well, but it means that I can't do a blunt, smackdown when I frequently feel it's needed. Like, HELLO - why do you make your child "wash up" from a bucket when the shower works perfectly well???? Why would you go on a weeklong trip and leave your four young kids with a cousin who lets the teenagers have "sleepovers" with boyfriends and smoke pot, while the 7-year-olds care for baby twins? Why do you roll blunts in front of your kids? (this one I watched myself)

Can we say FUCKED UP?

Okay, there's my morning vent, and I'm gonna be late to a damn meeting on the East side. I hate getting to the East side from Harlem.

peace.

Free Cone Gone Bad. Very, Very Bad

2006-04-25T20:37:00.000-04:00

Okay, took two of my girls as a "surprise treat" to the B&J on 104th and Bdwy. Line was literally all the way to Amsterdam, mostly kids. We wait about 20 minutes, enjoy the anticipation of the cool, creamy ice cream on our throats, totally free. Made plans about which flavors to select. Endured the Line Nazi who screamed at us to "Move Back!" "Get on line!" "I'm not letting no one in if they aren't on line!" over and over again unnecessarily, because there's ice cream at the end! She is but a blip on our radar.

I enjoy a nice strawberry cone.

One hour later, while MD is in her hip-hop dance class, I am hunched over on the floor next to all the other parents, so nauseous I can't move. You know how you start to feel nauseous (i hate spelling that word, btw) and you think, okay, I'll just sit and rest a minute. Then you move for some reason, and you are harshly reminded why you sat down, only now it's worse. So you're like, Now I'm really just going to stay still and it will pass. But no, getting worse.

The setup of the studio is like a railroad apartment. Office leads to sitting area leads to dance area leads to bathroom. It's at the FAR end of the place, of course. Also, it stinks and there's never any soap. Now I'm thinking, there are ten parents, three instructors and about 20 girls and I have to walk THROUGH the dancers if I want to puke. Great. But I was now convinced it was that or do it with the parents and wouldn't that be a great memory?

So, out it came, in one big blog of strawberry goo (that was really graphic, but really how it was) and that was that. I still had to take MD home from the 120s East to the 140s West. Her mom was late (why, why, why?) so I attempted to focus on reading. Took a cab home.

Am feeling really pouty about my Free Cone Day experience.

Bottom lip out, tummy still churning.

Free Cone Day!

2006-04-25T15:21:00.000-04:00

I really want to go get a free ice cream cone today. I deserve it. But it creates a dilemma.

I'm trying to teach the girls I work with about healthy eating habits and choices. About nutrition. For example, usually the only fast food we are allowed to eat together is Subway, and they have to get at least two vegetables in their sandwich. Usually I try to convince them that breakfast is important, and no, blue "juice" and Cheetos don't count. Usually the only drinks I will buy them are water or 100% juice. Which can actually be hard in some delis in NYC. (Can't tell you how many times I've had the internal struggle: Snapple - juice or juice drink?) And always you can count on me NOT allowing them to buy candy, hohos, pringles, gum, sugar sticks, Doritos or any of the other crap food that they eat all the time. (Did I eat this badly as a kid?)

So back to ice cream day. Can I do it? Can I take TT or MD to get ice cream? I really wanna. Can I justify it? It's made of milk, right? And on the little B&J containers, there's a farm and cows and whatnot, so it must be pure and straight-from-the-creamery, right????

And then there's the really important choice: Cookie Dough or New York Super Fudge Chunk?

Spring Cleaning!

2006-04-24T11:27:00.000-04:00

So, yesterday I skipped church and stayed home to clean my apartment. I did not plan on doing this, it just sort of happened. I recently bought this book called Apartment Therapy, which is sort of like Feng Shui meets Queer Eye meets Clean Sweep meets Jung. So. I start reading it, taking the little quizzes and whatnot and looking about the apartment. At one point you are asked to inventory your place, as if you were buying it (which I am decidedly NOT, for so, so many reasons) and list all the things that are wrong with it, structurally.

The list was three pages long.

And then I got all pissed at DeSoto, the damn slumlord, because some of these things are downright dangerous (um, loose electric plug in the kitchen that sparks?) and the last time I asked him to fix things he acted like he was doing me a favor by sending over the handyman. That's right, there's no super for our building, just a handyman we have to wait in line behind three other buildings for. Other things on the list include: 2.5" gap between front door and the floor allowing for easy roach access from others' apartments, kitchen window made out of plastic and impossible to open, ceiling in kitchen falling down, seal on fridge weak necessitating a kick after each opening, plugs that don't work, plugs that work but are 220 volt and would fry anything plugged into them, and several rooms that have no light fixture at all, but simply a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling (one with a string to turn it on) a la interrogation room in Gitmo. Seriously. I can handle ignoring outlets that taunt me by their presence, yet don't actually work. But I'm NOT feeling the horror-flick lighting. And I'm NOT about to fuck with electricity to do it myself.

So the list got me all psyched to do what I could with all MY shit, which is extensive. I got J involved and we dug in and naturally, when you dig into your crap, you dig into the crap in your relationship, right? I mean, I think there is some kind of law, that when you move your belongings in almost any significant way, there is turmoil stirred up in the people involved. For example, have you ever moved apartments with a significant other and NOT want to strangle each other by the end? Have you ever done any home repairs without wanting to hit the other person with the wrong screwdriver for the tenth time!? Well, maybe I"m speaking for myself, but there's something there. Maybe it's the memories that are stirred up when you find that bill that never got paid which resulted in a late fee, that shirt you never wear but can't give away cause it'll hurt feelings, all the damn socks that never have mates and are always lingering about, waiting to be matched. Kind of like all the little pieces of ourselves that we hope will be matched in that other person, and we look at the pile on the bed and see that no matter how careful you are, the socks don't always match up. Just like everything you thought about the relaionship, or the other person doesn't always match up.

And then sometimes you are surprised and find a sock under the bed, all covered in cat hair!

Anyway our spring cleaning meant all the clothes we owned came onto the bed and I realize that I don't need to buy anything but socks and underwear for the rest of my life. It was embarassing, I have so many clothes. Yet I struggle to part with things I might wear at some point. What is that all about? Why can't I just give away the pants I haven't worn in a year? (Because I might want to wear them again, and if I get rid of them they'll be gone!) Also, cleaning meant we saw all the corners of our apartment (like our mind, our soul, our relationship) that we've been ignoring. Projects I started and never finished. Photos I meant to frame or give away. Letters that never got mailed. Dry cleaning that hasn't been picked up in over a year - is it still even there? Broken things, torn things, weird things. And of course we got in a fight. Over I don't know what. Probably me being petty. Or him being silently crabby and resentful. We didn't watch a movie in the afternoon like we'd planned, we dug through high school sweatshirts and things my thighs don't fit anymore and probably both thought a lot about whether owning all this crap is even worth it. It's probably not.

To round things out, when we finally were done cleaning I think we both felt better. More polished, more directed, and more tired. Sick of cat hair. J wants to get rid of both cats suddenly. Neither of us even talked about what we fought about, which is good because it would have just led to another useless fight. We watched Sunday night tv, but it wasn't as fun as usual. Then. The neighbor started a crazy bass-thumping party next door, which started at 9:00pm and went until 2:00am....We called 311 six times between the two of us (hoping more than one voice/cellphone would in some way help). They rolled by once and didn't even get out, just said a couple words to someone on the stoop and drove away. The second time, they came in and left four minutes later. The music went down a little bit for ten minutes, then went right back up. I called again, but it didn't stop. VERY annoying. (Mainly because it was a Sunday night. I mean, c'mon peoples, maybe you don't gotta work in the morning...but some peoples do!) In a previous life I would have gone next door and asked nicely. Not here. Um, no.

Lessons learned:
Deep-cleaning apartment+Relationship Landmines=Dan-ger!
Number of 311 Calls/Proximity of Party-100=Likelihood Police Will Stop Noise

FAFSA my ASSFA

2006-04-21T09:01:00.000-04:00

Got into Hunter - Yea!! Now the quandry begins!!

Talk about roller coaster week. First I turn 29, which is, well, confusing.
Then I have a break down on 7th Ave, complete with snot.
Then a sleepover, which leaves me with the requisite hangover of no sleep the next day.
Then I get into another grad school!

I am all sorts of flustered.

I"m trying to fill out every kind of financial aid form possible, which is hard, because I see the words "tax return" and start having epileptic fits. Seriously, I had to hand the computer over to J last night b/c I was seizing. Got my FAFSA back and they said my Estimated Family Contribution would be over $15,000. Um, would that come out of the rent money? Or the debt money? Or the grocery money? Right. I'm so confused how they can expect me to pay literally more than half my take home salary on tuition. In New York City.

All I got to say is Hell-to-the-Naw.

More later, I've been bad this week with my posts. Mainly because I was trying not to embarass myself with overemotionality. But for the record, I DID watch AI (thank God for Tivo) and I am SO glad that Ace went home. Right choice America. But Paris and Chris in the bottom three after Pickler's ass-version of that song, where she didn't even stay with the music? Oh, I don't THINK so. Just because she looks like some kind of retarded Barbie doll, seriously America. But at least Katharine was in the top group this week, telling me something is right with the world. Also, that I got into Hunter, that is also proof. (!!)

p.s. You KNOW I'm going to go see American Dreamz this weekend....:)

29 - Not Such a Fan So Far...

2006-04-19T17:40:00.000-04:00

Day Two as a 29-year-old, not so great. Had a breakdown mid-day, such that I grabbed my purse and fled my office like a child, about to cry about how madness, madness, madness my life feels sometimes. I thought I would burst. And then I did. Do you ever feel like that? Oh, I'm sure, we all do, etc etc, but I thought that the snot dripping down my lips and loud sobs pushed me just a bit past your normal adult breakdown...I know that was a gross image, but so true. There I was, striding up Adam Clayton Powell, passing the dealers who are watching this sobbing girl stride past them, then abruptly turning around and going in the opposite direction. I'm sure they were wondering if I was looking to buy, because I'm not kidding, I looked like I was high. Or should have been. Surprised no one offered me "something to make me feel better..."

I don't know how to explain. I just had one of those post-therapy feelings of total and complete misery about everything. I went in there and gushed about all this random family shit that is going on with my brother, and how incredibly close to my own problems it is, and how it brought that stuff up in me as I tried to help him, and then it's like "Oh! Time's up! See you later!" and I had to leave. Just like that! Like, a surgeon who's doing surgery on my psyche, and then their timer goes off and they're on to the next patient, and I have to leave the operating room with my guts all hanging out, without so much as a fucking bandaid!

So, then I had to go right to work, where I walked into a meeting with people giving us some kind of social work/education presentation, about all these heroic measures we are supposed to go to in making sure the "system" is doing right by the kids we work with, and I started realizing how NOT right the system was (no shocker, of course), how I have to do TWICE as much as I am doing if I ever want to feel like I"ve really done ALL that I can do, and then I was so frustrated, and thought about how I hadn't even paid rent until that morning, and mind you, it was the fucking 18th of April, and I just DON'T GET FUCKING PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS SHIT!!!!

Okay, I know none of that makes sense, and I"m not even going to go back and edit it. The thing is, really, that I am SO in debt, and I have this job that I can't AFFORD to have. You know? I can't afford to be saving the world right now. But I can't abide by working in an office somewhere doing shit that doesn't matter either. But why is it that you either do work that doesn't matter, yet get paid OR you can do something REAL that matters, and you fucking can't pay the bills?????? WHY?

So yesterday, I was 1) left bleeding after a really hard therapy session that left me with nothing tangible to go forward in my day, 2) more reasons why the world sucks and we have to work harder, yet 3) no more money to compensate for our extra hard efforts and 4) nothing in my fucking fridge to eat and 5) hate hate hate the way my legs are right now, and 6) sweating, because now I'm crying like a moron and that's what happens, inexplicably, and 7) think my husband is really unhappy and what if he leaves me for the office intern? (he claims she ain't cute, but whatever, compared to me right now she is..)

anyway. STILL went back to work, all makeup cried off, exhausted, and took AR to the park. Didn't even let it phase me that I dropped her off with Stoop Woman who was drinking from a paper bag and her mom left her without even calling me to go get her nails done. I wanted to ask for a sip! Came home, saw my neighbor's kick-ass restored brownstone and felt like I live in some kind of hodge-podge hippie-dome, then fell asleep on the couch WITHOUT EVEN WATCHING AMERICAN IDOL! Seriously, that should tell you how wiped I was.

Now I'm getting ready for a sleepover.

Officially 29!!

2006-04-17T09:57:00.000-04:00

So as such, here are 29 things I propose to accomplish this year:

1) Run a marathon (or a 1/2 marathon, I'm not too picky:)
2) Go on a vacation somewhere warm, without spending a lot of $$
3) Read 29 books (at least)
4) Complete YA novel I'm working on now
5) Start next writing project
6) Knit scarves for all my girls
7) Attain a higher-paying job
8) Tone up my thighs
9) Remember other people's birthdays (I say this every year, seriously)
10) Go to Chicago to visit my good friend and alma mater
11) Make scrapbooks for all my girls filled w/ photos/things we have done together
12) No more Christmas-time madness at my parents' home
13) Sew my own clothes
14) Throw a kick-ass backyard barbeque
15) Be more patient
16) Start graduate school
17) Be a better daughter/sister/wife/friend
18) Get slumlord to help pay for repairs in my apartment so my home will make me happy
19) Resolve some therapy issues
20) De-clutter my life!
21) Go camping
22) Drive to Maine
23) Happier marriage
24) Better lighting in my apartment
25) Pray more regularly
26) Get a good haircut
27) Be nicer to myself
28) Good blogging
29) Enjoy last year of my twenties with wild abandon!!!

Do you want the bad news or good news first?

2006-04-13T22:09:00.000-04:00

Okay, the bad news first:

I STILL haven't gotten a letter from Hunter.

But.

I got a call on Tuesday at work by someone in admissions asking me if I "would be willing to change my major to my minor, and your minor to your major, as I have more experience in casework and it seems like a better fit for me..."

Um, yea? Hmmmm, let me th---SURE! YEA! NO BIG DEAL! ANYTHING YOU SAY!

I stuttered like an idiot and then got off the phone. So......doesn't this mean they like me? Would you call and someone if they would rather sit by Aunt Ida or Uncle Sneed if you weren't inviting them over for dinner? That's what I want to know. And if they're offering you creamed corn or say, creamed spinach you're not gonna argue, you're just gonna take it, right? Cuz that's what's for dinner, dammit, and you're lucky you're getting any at all.

(Okay, that wasn't really bad news, per se...but it wasn't solidly good yet, so I put it in that category)

(Growing up in the Midwest, I ate things like that for dinner. There were a lot of "sides" in the meals that I ate. For example, the creamed veggie might be accompanied by, say, some cottage cheese, a piece of toast with butter, a pickle and some "Spanish rice," which came from a box, had some kind of vague red coloring to it that made it somehow spicy? To this we would add ketchup. For extra flavor. Washed down with a tall glass of milk, or two. I'm serious.)

And.........

The Good News Is......

I GOT INTO COLUMBIA SCHOOL OF SOCIAL WORK!!!!

(That is the good news. Isn't that good news???)

So. Once Hunter sends me a letter inviting me to eat pureed vegetables with my ailing relatives, I will officially have a quandry on my hands! yessssssss!

No News, But a Tasty Job Offer

2006-04-11T14:49:00.000-04:00

Nothing in today's mail.

Sucks.

I'm trying not to melt down about the fact that money is so damn tight. How did two reasonably intelligent people get into such a financial mess? I feel like I should know better than to be where I am right now. But apparently not.

Last night I was up til 4:30 am on the computer after J and I had mutual breakdowns and I couldn't sleep (but somehow his ass was snoring away next to me after getting me all riled up...) I can't believe this is true, but I actually toyed with - for just a minute or two - the idea of becoming some kind of escort. Now, before you get me wrong, it would be just for companionship, mind you. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Um, Ms. Moron, that's not what happens when you are an escort.

Well I say to you - How do YOU know? Have you done it before?

I didn't think so.

Here was one of the more promising taglines on craigslist:

Upscale Escort Agency Seeking Lovely Ladies

(and I said to myself, Am I not Lovely?)

Want to earn serious money?

Not tomorrow but today?

Upwards of $2,000 to $4,000 per week?

If so, then you may just have what it takes to work with us!

Work for women who have a thorough understanding of the business since they have been in it. Don't work for a man who truly doesn’t understand the business.

We treat all our ladies with dignity and respect that you deserve. Our main concern is your safety and well-being.

We are seeking ladies that are intelligent, articulate, with impeccable style and grace.

Our clients consist of wealthy businessmen seeking the companionship of beautiful women. We have a very strict screening process and our clientele is mostly 90% repeat business.

Email us only if you are serious about working with the best in the business.

You must include at least 1 current photo of yourself, description, contact information, and contact phone numbers.

For an immediate interviews, please call us at 646.210.4039.

There are so many reasons this could work!

1)I would really, really like to make $2-$4K a week. I am sure I am unique in that desire. And since I am one of a few with such a special qualification, I am sure they will recognize my fit for the position.

2)I work for a man right now, so maybe I'm not getting the respect I deserve. Maybe these ladies can really offer me not only a lot of money (which I uniquely desire), but also a more fortified sense of self-worth.

3) These ladies report to have significant experience in the field. Expertise in training is a must!

4)They will treat me with dignity and respect! And how many other jobs do you know about that put your "safety and well-being" above all else? Even above profits! What other employers put that kind of caring right in the job description?

5) Now, I know I am incredibly articulate, so that's easy. Graceful? I took a ballet class once or twice. Impeccable style - my friends are always asking me about my H&M finds. Intelligent, yes, as long as I don't have to balance anyone's checkbook. But this job isn't about math skills, it's about companionship. Right?

6)I would love to know a well-screened, wealthy businessman, particularly if he will call me back 90% of the time. I can't get that kind of response from my damn tax accountant!

7)I am so very serious about working with the best! What if the others out there weren't so attentive to my sense of self-worth and safety as these ladies? So, so, so very serious.

8)I have many photos of myself, mostly with young children in them. Would that be a problem?

9) There's a phone number! I can't even explain the number of times I've tried to get an interview without so much as a phone number. SO hard to get in touch with my prospective bosses.

I'm thinking if nothing else, I could go in for the interview, right?

No News

2006-04-10T22:54:00.000-04:00

My co-worker, who is greatly qualified, received word that she got into Hunter School of Social Work, this last Saturday.

She called me immediately to see if I got my letter.

I didn't.

I still haven't.

I'm freaking out.

FUCK UNCLE SAM

2006-04-09T16:16:00.000-04:00

WE OWE THE GOVERNMENT....

$5,400.

this is the part where countless individuals send me a few dollars in the mail, which i accept with grace and amazement, so that i don't have to go live in the POORHOUSE.

FUCK
FUCK
FUCK
FUCK
FUCK

need to make more money.
husband is freaking out in the bathroom.
cats don't give a shit.
am trying not to have an actual nervous breakdown.
time to move to nebraska.

church, tutti fruitties and clinton - ahhhh, sunday afternoon...

2006-04-09T14:52:00.000-04:00

Went to church this morning. Sigh. Half enjoyed it and half felt like fleeing to the nearest coffeeshop/bar and drowning in the forbidden liquids... I always see people who ask me how I'm doing, and the questions alone makes me tear up and feel unable to either lie, or answer them. In our church most people say "Oh, great! Thanks. And how are you??" and I think I make people uncomfortable when I'm sort of lamely like, "Uh, not great. Whatever. I'm trying to get through some stuff, um. Yea. Kind of bad, actually." I don't blame anyone, but most of these people are my friends, so it's hard that no one really has much of a response for me. But
what would I say to them? Well, I know what I'd say, but that's really irrelevant now, isn't it?

Things on my mind:

Anyway, I have given my public acknowlegements to the Lord, now I will do my own. Which somehow involves doing dishes and cleaning the bathroom. Somehow I think God is like, Wonderful! That sparklingly clean toilet is lovingly scrubbed in my honor, and I bless you for it.

J is paying our taxes right now. Because this is how it always is, we will owe tons of money. Every year it's for a different reason, but every year at this time while the rest of the nation rejoices in their REFUND, we avert our gaze while the computer/accountant tells us that we will sink further into debt. I think social workers should not have to pay taxes. That's my new rule. All in favor? Hands?

What is the right thing to eat? I'm so sick of every few years the whole system changing on me, I don't even know what I can eat anymore. Pasta is good or bad? Rice? What if it's brown? How about meat - in or out? And dairy? Don't get me started... I wish there were some nutritional value to Tooti Fruities (aka Froot Loops). I could totally get into that fad.

It's almost sunny enough that if I sat on my front stoop, eyes to the sun for an hour, I might turn a little bit pink! Now ain't that something?

George Bush fucking sucks, and I don't understand people who like him. I mean, I really, REALLY don't get them.In such a way that if you were caught defending him in my presence I would have to be restrained from dumping water, hot coals or The Doodle at his angriest right on your head.

Everything about him is really, really wrong. This country is a disaster right now. The list of illegal, suspiscious, pernicious, evil, corrupt, sick, disturbing, and unethical... laws, permissions, activities, doings, leaks, jailings, killings, pollutings, and general governmental bullshit - that has gone on for ...too long (it hurts to remember the Clinton years) ... makes me literally sick sometimes. I have gone on voluntary Media Silence about anything deeper than local politics, because I just can't handle it. The best I can do is try to help get rid of Fucking Rick "Man on Dog" Santorum this fall. It's a close race, but he's a freak and PA is close to me and I want to feel vindication for SOMEthing political sometime soon. His opponent Casey needs some help right now.

And I am going to get something to eat. More mints!

ta-ta!

Arrested Development on a Saturday Night

2006-04-08T21:20:00.000-04:00

I'm home on a Sat, J still out od town, and unlike last night when I would have preferred to stay at home, tonight I am at home alone, in all my freedom, and feeling entirely lame about it. I did go to the party last night and had a great time, hung out with a group of friends who all know each other from high school and are still friends now going into their 30s, which is totally bizarre to me. The last place I can EVER imagine myself on a Sat night is with the hockey losers and theater dorks from high school who probably still have long stringy hair and live with their mothers, play hockey and drink Pabst un-ironically on the weekends. These individuals, however, manage to be educated, witty, interesting and ALL managed to go to the same high school. Bizarre, right?

I started the evening with champagne, then beers 1&2, then a mojito. I think I covered my bases there. Cabbed there and home. That demonstrates very poor self-control on my part, but it was cold and rainy-ish, and well, I had just woken up, and then I was drunk-y.

This is what I did today, including what's ahead:

Worked - DC to dance, then she threw a fit when it was time for me to leave because I asked her to throw something away; AR to Barnes and Noble to buy a book that she EARNED by doing enough work to get to 100 points on our little system, brought her home and hung w/ her, sister and cousin for a while, attempting to make balloon animals (which is surprisingly hard), and left depressed that I had to leave her there.

Exercised - here' s the thing, I had been running hard on my little craigslist-treadmill of late given that soon I will have to show my legs to the world again, which resulted in the unfortunate aching of my left achilles, which makes me really crabby, because if I can't get sweaty, I don't feel like I'm doing anything, which in my warped mind is the same as gaining weight...whatever, I'm crazy. So I walked on the treadmill for 45 minutes, while watching Oprah on Tivo....did a bunch of bizarre ab exercises I clipped from a magazine (hehe).

Fat Roll - Felt it around the waistband of my exercise shorts. I think that the athletic companies make the waistbands smaller than they should on purpose so that when you wear them there's always some sort of roll situation going on. But it did make me do more situps.

Cleaned - why are there so many damn socks in the corners of my apartment? And little pieces of paper. Seriously, there are a lot of small pieces of paper. And bills. Lots and lots of unpaid bills.

Mint - ate one that I purchased from EF's school candy-sale fundraiser (remember those). Then I ate another one. I am certain that my the end of the night I will have minted my way out of any benefits the exercise may have provided.

Thai Food - made some. am eating it.

Arrested Development - Not just the progress of my mental state, but also a Netflixed set of discs I have been procrastinating watching for some time. Funny so far, but I keep getting distracted by thoughts of AR and her shitty mother, the thai food that I want seconds of, my waistline, and the millions of self-reproducing pieces of paper swirling around the house.

Ebay - Mindless surfing+no spending=a sort of shopping blue balls syndrome.

Reading - short stories by authors I adore just before sleeping. I have this idea that doing so could osmose their talent into my brain. waddaya think?

Sleep

That's all.

80s Music on an Empty Stomach

2006-04-07T19:57:00.000-04:00

Has this every happened to you? You get home from something early (like, say, work) and you're all motivated to do cleaning, paperwork, random piles of shit that has been bugging you forever, and then...............................................you fall asleep.

SO ANNOYING.

When I got home, it was light. Now it's dark outside. What did I do with that time? Shit, man. Now I'm all groggy and headachy, and my stomach hurts b/c I haven't eaten much today and what I ate was really weird (smoothie, half bagel w/ butter, some strawberries, two ginger cookies - basically all sugars, right?) and there's 80s music on and apparently it's hard to do Funkytown in this mood. I'm so irritated with myself.

J is out of town on business (blech) and I have a friend's b-day party tonight at some bar on the UES (I think) as they usually are, which is cool, but I will have to wait for the bus forever, take money out and buy two beers and try to talk myself out of taking a cab home......sigh. I kind of want to stay home and nerd out on the computer. Why the hell did I fall asleep?That was my nerd out time.

My cats are fighting, and there is nothing to eat but frozen corn and dry cereal. Awesome. This Friday night is Awesome right now.

"Now, where do you safari again, Skip?"

2006-04-07T01:07:00.000-04:00

A few notable things about the Hah-vahd Club:

1)Everything was painted dark maroon.
2)There was a sign in the elevator announcing squash lessons.
3)The room we had our shing-dig in was called the "Mahogany Room".
4)I drank "Bristol Cream" for the first time...a fine sherry. (maybe not fine, but sherry for sure)
5)I talked to some really obnoxious people from my own alma mater (NOT Hah-vahd) who were asking me questions while sipping their wine, but then sort of looking over my shoulder as I answered=LACK OF SOCIAL SKILLS. Then when I found out they were younger than I was, I totally wanted to punk them, but refrained.

.....and....

6) THERE WERE MOOSE HEADS ON ALL THE WALLS!!!!!

....not to be outdone by....

7)THERE WAS AN ELEPHANT HEAD ON THE WALL!!!!!

w.

t.

f.

p.s. I sort of did cry when I told the story, and I felt like a drippy emotional dumbass, but afterwards a co-worker told me that the audience was tearing up too, so hopefully that means they were moved. Do you think that means money?

Hah-vahd, Here I Come

2006-04-06T11:27:00.000-04:00

I have to go to a fundraiser at the Harvard Club this evening to try to get some muckety-mucks (the rich kind!) to give us some money. Which I sincerely hope they do. My boss asked me to speak about AR's story, and the recent events in which her mother lambasted her for pouring soda in cups before people arrived at the birthday party, because her mom found that to be "disgusting" and made her pour out all the soda. Then we went to the park and she make it across the monkey bars for the first time, and then again four more times. It was for me the highest of highs and lowest of lows watching this child's life over the course of those four hours. Denigrated, belittled and punished for doing something helpful, then realizing that after a year of trying she can achieve her goal, albeit it a small one to the world. It was hard for me not to cry over and over that day. Now I'm going to tell this story, and try not to cry, and then hope that they give me money....well, not me really. The program.

I wonder if they have like, walls of old gold-coated books, and mahogany wood everywhere, and like, moose heads on the wall, and old men smoking cigars....This is really funny to imagine. I'll get back to you with the details.

Hold On, I'm Getting Old

2006-04-04T23:37:00.000-04:00

Another comment I posted, continuing on theme of racism and religion.

Today was an interesting day. I have felt lately like I'm breaking out of some kind of cocoon, I feel achy and sore and a little bewildered, but I'm finding a few of those truths about myself I had lost for so long. I am emailing people I love and have been out of touch with, due to, well, due to stupid fucking sadness. Depression makes me isolate, and feel so trapped by the heaviness in my own head that I can't imagine doing much more than tripping through each day with my head down, eating ice cream too late at night and watching too much tv. And right now (for at least today, God help me) I'm feeling a little bit better. Like, maybe, just maybe if I reach out, some hands will be there to hold mine. Oh this entry sucks. I need to think.

***

The thing I wanted to say is that growing up really sucks. Learning you are a grownup sucks. You spend all this time stuffing your head with information and facts, taking tests, writing papers, setting short- and long-term goals, getting to the next step, measuring and comparing and contrasting your life to your peer's on some sort of imaginary universal gpa system. Perhaps yours centers on your job, or on your religion, or on your spouse/family, but it's there for everyone somewhere. And then you get to this point when you realize that

This.
Is.
It.

You don't have to go to school anymore to be considered educated. You don't have to date anyone else. Buy designer clothes. Talk to the right people. You are moving forward, because time doesn't really give you any damn choice in the matter, but you aren't really getting anywhere else than you were the day before. Sure, there are the things that come with Adulthood - buying a house, having kids, paying a mortgage, mowing the lawn - that perhaps you have left to achieve (if you will). But chances are you aren't going to be an astronaut now. You aren't going to follow in Aretha Franklin's footsteps. You aren't going to grow up to be the President. It ain't gonna happen. Sure, you could cash in your 401k, take a leave from (or quit) your job to backpack in Nepal. And yes, you can still act in community productions. And yes, there's always the acts of God like the lottery and car accidents and finding out you were really adopted - those things really fuck up the status quo. But really, those things ain't gonna happen either.

So here you are in your life.
This
is
your
Life.

You have control. You don't belong to your parents anymore. You don't belong to your annoying brothers and sisters whose reputation carried or followed you through high school. You can live where you want to, dress how you want to, go anywhere, do whatever....It's fucking scary. This is what old is starting to feel like. It's like, the total and complete freedom to do anything you want, knowing that at the same time Reality and Time are crushing down on you every second. Right now. And right now. And right now.

Like, right now I am closer than ever to having a kid. I am closer than ever to going on some cruise with college friends, at which we will sip margaritas and laugh hysterically about the time I hitched a ride home from the pizza place with the delivery boy (true story). I am closer than ever to having wrinkles. I am closer than ever to the moment when I realize that the cute guy isn't smiling or flirting with me, but the significantly younger, tartier, are-you-fucking-kidding-me! girl behind me...

I don't know, it's just overwhelming. Everything goes so fucking fast, and now I'm already 28-going-on-32-going-on-40 and I swear to you I was just just JUST gathering dandelions in my front yard, and sobbing over getting stood up by this kid Robert in 10th grade who I thought really liked me, and going to horrible frat parties in college where I walked through beer-drenched stairwells wondering if this was it because I was so positive it wasn't even though it was where all my friends wanted to be, and crying because I was homeless and hated hated hated nyc brokers so so so much....

I remember those things really, really clearly. I could tell you about the cracks on the floor at the frat party, and the way it smelled - sour, cheap cologne, nachos. The hazy, pollen-filled sunlight on my tiny square of front lawn, bursting with yellow blossoms. How intensely hurt that waiting, waiting, waiting was for the phone call that never came to explain the date that also never happened. The desperate phone calls to sleazeballs on sweaty, sticky, lonely days when I became nothing more than what I could spend, an official nobody on the grandest scale.

How do you grab onto anything?

(I have to go, I swear I hear another fucking leak in my ceiling. This is part of it, isn't it?)

Stuck.

2006-04-04T00:43:00.000-04:00

A comment I left about something important to me.

Some Things I'm Hiding From You

2006-04-03T23:23:00.000-04:00

Here is the thing about blogs - at first, you just sort of write, and you realize you are the only person reading, so nothing you write really matters. Then you tell a few people, then a couple more, and maybe one or two of them tell you they like your writing, or it's a great way to keep up with what's going on in your life, etc. So then you realize that there are other people reading. And it's a bit addicting. And you want more of the drug. You check the little counter thing to see who is reading, how long they read and where they live. (That's my favorite!) Then you try to figure out who they are, which leads to all sorts of neurotic thought-trails about who might forward or link to someone else, and perhaps they linked the worst entry ever to your mother, who is reading at home right now at this very moment, knowing that you are a deeply disappointing case of a daughter....Thank god my home town never appears on the list.

Anyway, the main point is, there is this Big Icky Thing looming in my mind right now, and I feel like I can't write about it, because I don't really want anyone to know. I just want to write about it for me. And that's what this blog should be about, right? But now it's also about connecting with other people, and having an outlet for my creative juices, and being entertaining (if I can ever claim to be that...), and so on. And this thing is sort of scary and big to me in a way that makes me feel like I no longer have any grasp on who I am. I don't really know how to face it, and perhaps I won't have to because it will turn out to be wrong or go away. But maybe not. And that would suck. So far I have only talked to J about it, and even he is a bit freaked out about it. I am not trying to build false suspense here (and no, I am not pregnant, thank god). I am just freaked out.

So my question is, what are your secrets? Do you share them with anyone? Do you have things you hold so close to yourself that you would never admit them to someone else, because they would just shatter your own self image too much in admitting them to another person? I think sometimes that the things I collect as Secret are things that other people probably wouldn't even care about so much. Maybe some concern, but nothing earth-shattering compared to their own Secrets. The thing is, from the moment that I those treacherous truths, my idea of who I am to that person changes, and I will eternally feel less than, and smaller and just a mess. And don't I already come off that way enough, with my open-mouthed blabbering about myself? And yes, there is something to be said for the humanity of it all, in confessing for the sake of removing the Secret of its power. But my humanity has never been in danger of disappearing, so I just don't know if that's reason enough to spill the beans on all the most sucky things about me. But just so this post isn't a total buzzkill, here are some of my worst faults, in no particular order:

1) I pick at my face all the time
2) I obsess about how fat my thighs are to a degree that is really lame and embarrassing
3) I think very judgmental thoughts about people I see in the grocery store, based on the way they speak (among other reasons)
4) I am a horrible hypocrite
5) I often go waaaayyyy too long without changing the cats' poop box so the poor things are basically pooping and peeing not on litter, but on hard poop and pee
6) I just made you read the words "poop" and "pee" three times (okay, that doesn't count)
7) I have irrationally mean and hurtful outbursts at the people I love the most, sometimes including children
8) I have stolen
9) I have monstrous credit card debt, much from irresponsible purchases (at the Gap and Old Navy - now I look back and wonder how necessary that orange-flowered-with sequins tank top really was in summer of '02) and trips I should not have taken (sadly, none to anywhere like Bali or Hawaii)
10) I sometimes dread calling you back - friend, family, loved one - when you leave me a message, because I just want to sit on my bed, lazily, instead of talking to you
11) J says sometimes I have bad breath. He claims he is kidding, but how does one really know?

Now that you know those things, you won't feel so bad about not knowing the Big Thing That Looms. But perhaps as I grow more used to It, I will know how to approach It with grace and acceptance. In the meantime, I'm feeling weak and wounded and afraid.

(This is when some kind of bedrock of faith would be nice. If only I weren't so messed up about God this might make so much more sense. Or at least I'd be better at pretending it did.)

Sleepover Hangover

2006-04-01T10:33:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a sleepover with MD and OF. In fact they are still here... :) It was MD's 8th birthday this week, so we are celebrating. I learned even more about her mother's insane choices (like sleeping with numerous men, without protection, in an effort to have another baby...) MD was super emotional yesterday with her babysitter (one of her mom's friends) who called me to ask how soon I could come get her for the party. I asked why and she said she was bawling over a missing sneaker. Sigh. When I spoke to MD on the phone, she just kept bawling "I want to go home" over and over again. Well, no shocker here - it turns out she had slept in three different places that week (mom's latest boyfriend, an aunt, the friend) and my house would be the fourth. So she has no stability, no real comfort, no place to call home in her mind.

I tried to calm her down, and I mentioned the hysterics to her mother when I saw her. She totally blew it off. When I tried to bring up the fact that she wanted to go home, again her mom blew it off, in such a way that I could hardly say, "Um, how about you let your daughter go home and sleep in her own bed?" The problem is, I don't have the "authority" to say those things, and will just offend her. I don't know how to deal with situations like this at all. I feel like a real therapist should, but that's not me, and they don't have one. Even MDMom's friend agreed, once I spoke to her about it, that the poor kid is probably confused, and obviously needs some stability in her life. Meanwhile, mom is so busy catering to the needs of a boyfriend who doesn't even care about her (and has a list of women he sees like a seventh grader, she is #43) she isn't seeing her child suffering right in front of her eyes. Truly, it's because she is still emotionally a teenager herself.

Overall, sleepover good though. Ate cake, watched "Because of Winn-Dixie" and MD had another bawl-session over nothing. Poor thing. Another bed, another night. Now I have to count on her mom coming to get her on time, which is not likely to happen. I have to work all day today with AR and TA! Please Lord, send me some energy....

Three Things About Abortion

2006-03-30T13:58:00.000-05:00

First: I am Pro-Choice.
Second: I do not consider abortion a form of birth control, but a means to deal with a very, very difficult situation, that would formidably harm both mother and child if pregnancy were to go to term.
Third: I know a woman who has had nine abortions. She is 27 years old.

AI Tragedy #1

2006-03-30T00:08:00.000-05:00

Now, I know that half of America thinks American Idol is tripe (hehe, also some kind of food made out of pig intestines, no?), but the other half happens to be watching it, and I fall into that group. And what happened tonight was a tragedy!!!!

Katherine McPhee was in the bottom two!!!!!!

She is like Norah Jones, she is great, fabulous, awesome! WTF????

I tried to call a million times, it was always busy. And I even tried this morning - still busy! What's the dealio Fox??? More phone lines, puh-lease!

Hmph. I am going to go eat some ice cream.

Tank Tops, God and Other Normal Concerns

2006-03-29T12:49:00.000-05:00

Of late I have been reading some blogs with religious leans to them, which has got me to thinking about my current spiritual status. I think that for the most part I am a spiritual person, but not a very good religious one. I was raised in this very proscribed religion, with rules about everything from how you should speak (softly, never invoking anger or drawing too much attention to one's self) to dress (no short-shorts, no tank tops, and dresses are the only true way to impress the Lord) to hair (long is better for girls, short is better for boys) to what it means to be a "real" woman (nurturing, kind, gentle, great at making casseroles, desirous to bear many children, eager to support my husband in all his needs, satisfied that my biggest contribution to the world is the raising of happy, perfect little kids)....I could go on.

Of course, there are many who would disagree that these norms are in fact placed upon the average church-goer's head by the religion itself, and argue instead that it is entirely cultural in nature. Well - cough, cough - I'm going to have to disagree. One of the things that is so frustrating to me, is when a group of people encourage - in the same breath - the Beattitudes and how important it is not to have a belly-button piercing or tattoo. Or how the Lord wants his children to be loving, giving and charitable, and if you're a woman one way to do this is give up any real plans for a career or life outside of your immediate household.

What gets me is, when I have discussions with people about why I have fallen away from my particular religion, they argue that most of my points are cultural in nature. When I point out that most of the points I bring up I was taught, by members of the church, through Sunday school lessons, activities and over the pulpit since birth, they say those things aren't doctrine, but simply habits members of the church practice because they help them be more obedient to God. I'm not sure about you, but on the days I wear tank tops I am waaay more likely to give into Satanic temptations than when I wear a shoulder-covering t-shirt. These are not ideas that I just made up. There are tons of these so-called "cultural" norms that are deeply embedded into the religion, and are as doctrinal as praying to most practicing members.

(A few examples that really bug me: wearing tank tops, piercings, tattoos, drinking coffee (or even Coke), watching R-rated movies, wearing skirts/dresses to church, speaking openly about your struggles with drugs/alcohol/sex/whatever, dating or marrying (gasp!) outside of the faith, openly questioning church practices or doctrine, being loud, wanting a career.....not to mention sex and gays...)

I have to ask - at what point is it cultural and not doctrinal? And if these things are in fact not doctrinal in nature, why isn't someone getting up there and adding an asterik to each and every cultural comment that doesn't come straight from the mouth of God?

I guess my view of God is that he/she/it doesn't really care so much how I dress, what kind of job I do or don't have, whether or not I curse, if my husband is a member of the same church, or even if I show up at church at all. In my universe, God is out there to see inside my soul, to the person that I am - deeply, truly, and honestly - and to hold me accountable according to my desires, actions and beliefs. Does this seem somewhat subjective? I guess it does. For now I'm okay with that. It also seems subjective to me that an entire race of people was once denied acceptance to our church, for no valid (unless we count racism) reason, or why women were subjugated to plural marriage (and still may be in the afterlife???). Yup, those things are pretty subjective to me, especially since there's never really been an explanation for either one. At least none that are satisfactory to my discerning mind.

Mainly, I just never feel like I can really relax and be myself at church, or with most church people. I always feel like I'm going to slip up and say or do something terminally sinful, give away my rebellious roots. And, being "nice," it's unlikely they will say anything to my face, but I know that I will quickly be labeled cynical, inactive, "jack" or whatever, instead of just being seen as another person, with normal thoughts, habits and ideas. I can't explain the number of times I have left church feeling like I'm one of the worst failures on earth, wondering if I'm the only person that struggles with all these inane rules and bizarre teachings. It's only after speaking to a work/school/nonreligious friend can I accept that I'm normal, and maybe there's nothing wrong with me inside. I think church leaders might believe that my "normal" self is exactly what I should be getting away from. But in quiet moments when I am alone with my thoughts, praying or just taking a walk, I realize that it's okay to be just normal. It's okay to want to be sexy, to swear, to speak too loudly, dress immodestly, drink coffee and beer, watch The Sopranos and sleep in on a Sunday. Imperfect, misguided, flawed and confused - subjectively speaking of course, maybe God thinks I'm doing alright.

(then again maybe i'm going straight to hell...but at least i'll have seen some great movies.)

overthinking

2006-03-28T21:36:00.000-05:00

There are things I think about all day long, and among those are the many things I have said, done or not done quite right. I fixate on conversations I've had, jokes I've made, people I spoke to on the street or phone or at church or in a store. It may have been ten minutes ago, or last week, or last year, or for fuck's sake, in high school. I fixate on these things, and as I fixate on them, I think to myself that it's so lame that I'm thinking about things that are completely OVER in the space of time. I think about how many other people do this, and I wonder how normal people sort this stuff out. Or is it normal to go back and doubt everything you've said?

I feel like, not so much. I feel like, I don't know why I spend so much time thinking about things I already said and can't take back, essentially worrying what people are thinking about what I said or did, and if they are hating me for it, or thinking I suck, or that I'm less cool/smart/interesting/worthy. Then I think, what if I took all the time I spend worrying about things that are over, and focused my energies instead on all the things I want to actually achieve in my life? I would have accomplished so so so much more in my 28 years and 11 months. Or not.

Liza Minelli and Lonely Housewives...

2006-03-28T14:12:00.000-05:00

A few things.

Last night J and I attended a taping of the Letterman show. It was interesting. They have a slew of these intern/pages who probably get paid minimum wage to hype the crowd and direct everyone to their seats, do stuff backstage, meet the guests. I was thinking, hey, I could do this! Then I thought about how they get paid minimum wage to scream at a bunch of tourists in a lobby over and over and over again....maybe not.

The special guest was Liza Minelli. Hm. All I could think about was a photo of her in the Post or Daily or whatever of her and David Gest making out. Eeeew.

Also, he claimed that she beat him while they were married....Again, all I can say is-what?....She sang a corny song and wore sequins. She told a story about a hooker hotel. I always forget why she's famous. I know, I'm too young for it. Somehow I don't feel like I'm really missing much, though.

My friend ktbuffy recently showed me how to see what brings people to my blog. I found that someone landed here from google, after looking up "lonely housewives." (I wrote the word lonely, I also mentioned watching Desperate Housewives....) They were on the blog for about 1 second. Hmph. I guess I don't have enough PORN for some people. Well, fine. Perhaps if I write things like: underage teens eager Asians Black beauties big boobs bodacious booties maybe I'll get even more visitors. Heehee. Interesting experiment. I'll let you know how it goes.

AR's Story

2006-03-27T11:41:00.000-05:00

This weekend I spent a chunk of time at AR's house. Had plans to bring her to the Union Square Farmer's Market, maybe eat a healthy lunch there, then go read at Barnes & Noble. She has been working really hard on a new reading incentives chart I created for her, and she has almost earned a book from the store, so I wanted to get her excited about picking one out. Get to her house and it turns out the family is having a birthday party for her grandma.

Now, AR's family history is complicated, disturbing and hard to summarize. There are four generations who live in two apartments above each other. Here is the rundown:

AH: The great-grandmother. In her 80s. Recently in the hospital for an infection, while there had two heart attacks, now back at home. Has a pacemaker. Pretty much raised TH herself. Has five kids, three down South, two here in Harlem (KH, EH). Allegedly (according to reports from TH, below): in a crazy relationship with her deceased husband, abusive on all parts. Once when she thought he was cheating on her, found that woman and shot her. Was never caught. Was once herself shot by her husband during a fight. Was horribly abusive and non-loving to TH during her upbringing. Pretty much doesn't leave her bed, and therefore by default becomes the care-taker of AR, when TH leaves to go do whatever all the time. Resents taking care of AR and is regularly verbally, occasionally physically abusive to AR (confirmed to me by AR, who says she beats her with a back-scratcher when she is bad.) Spends most of the warm days from spring through fall sitting outside her stoop with 2-3 other ladies, at a card table playing bridge and poker. Often takes bus trips with other seniors to Atlantic City. Always answers the phone, and is my primary contact.

KH: One of AH's daughters, lives in the second apartment, just turned 51. Mother to TH, grandmother to AR. Is mentally and physically disabled. Her motor functions are slow - speech, walking, moving around. She is able to understand basic conversations (to my understanding) but not complicated interactions. Childlike. Allegedly: was repeatedly raped by her father/step-father (AH's husband, not sure if it was KH's biological father or not) for years. Supposedly AH knew about it and let it happen anyway. At some point in time had a nervous breakdown and was hospitalized for it twice. Now goes to receive medical shots once a month for her mental illness. Often left in charge of AR when AH is sick of her, or outside, or at an appointment. Her apartment is absolutely filthy, and she has a live in boyfriend the kids call "Poppa." Occasionally AR has slept at her house when there wasn't anyone else to take care of her, when this goes on she sleeps in the same bed with KH and Poppa.

EH: Daughter to AH, sister to KH, aunt to TH and great-aunt to AR. Takes care of IH. Has two other children, a stable job, her life in order. TH hates her, probably b/c she is raising her first child. EH doesn't like TH either, but never disparages her to me.

TH: KH's only daughter. Doesn't know her father. People on the block teased her that her grandfather was her father, but she believes it was a neighbor from a block away who her mother was seeing on the sly b/c he was married. 27 years old. Extremely angry, volatile, paranoid, combustible, unpredictable. At 15 she dropped out of high school and began an abusive relationship with a boyfriend she has been with off and on ever since. During a breakup had a child with different man. For reasons unclear to me, that child (IH) was taken out of her custody at a young age and given to AH, but is cared for by EH, TH's aunt. Second child is AR, she had with abusive bf at 18. Has an apartment in the Bronx where the bf still lives, and AR occasionally sees him on weekends. However, TH badmouths him to me, and tells me that he is an evil homo thug, is in and out of jail, steals, lies, and potentially looks at his female cousins with lust... TH is very unstable and will disappear for days on end. She regularly will say she's going to the store and not return for hours, or even for the night. She is bitingly mean to AR, cutting her down for the smallest offenses, tells her she is stinky, stupid, annoying, chunky. She talks to her like a peer or a sister, not like a child. She has no clue how to discipline her, other than by verbally cutting her down, or occasionally hitting her. Mostly though, she is just absent. AR is on her own most of the time for bathing, eating, picking out clothes, doing her hw, putting herself to bed. TH is the only parent I am actually nervous to deal with, because I don't know what mood she will be in, if she will lash out about this or that (one time I came over and she was in a paranoid rage about a 3rd grader who was supposedly picking on AR, and she threatened to go to the school and beat the child up), but usually she just isn't around...

AR: Second child to TH, lives with ggma, gma, and sometimes ma. Shifted back and forth between all these dysfunctional adults. Angry, disruptive, stubborn, can't express her feelings, in special ed for behavior/emotional disturbance, energetic, resilient, interested, vibrant. Spent the first four years of her life being shuttled back and forth between a Godmother who TH met in a store while she was pregnant who offered to help her, who has ongoing drug/violence problems, but at least gives AR regular baths, and an old woman who hangs out on the corner and drinks with the old men for most of the day, always reeks of alcohol and is friends with KH. Both of these women TH disparages at will, depending on the latest. AR sees her older sister IH in after school program and on the weekends, but then watches her leave to stay with EH all week, and be taken care of.

The entire thing is exhausting, and almost emotionally debilitating for me. I want her out of the home so badly, but neglect is a hard thing to prove. And technically she isn't being abused (she doesn't get hit that often). It's just total emotional neglect. It makes me sick to leave her there, knowing that she will be belittled, ignored and neglected. This weekend I hung out for KH's birthday party, and I listened as TH cut AR down repeatedly. AR was so excited for the party she got several cups out on the table and pre-poured soda into them for people to drink. Her mother saw this and said, "Who told you to do that? What the fuck were you thinking? That's disgusting! I would never drink that, how do I know what's in it if I don't pour it myself?" in the most disgusted, vile tone. I watched AR's face shrink and retreat. She said nothing, just hurried to put the cups back in the fridge as fast as possible to escape her mother's wrath.

Kitchen is filthy, roaches everywhere, dirty dishes, food and grease stuck on everything. There were no forks or bowls to eat the cake and ice cream with, so I set about washing dishes. Gagged several times. Very stinky and dead roaches floating in the sink. Couldn't find a rag, and had to ask AH, worried she would be offended, but just said I was doing the dishes for her. She put up a mild protest and I told her she needed her rest. AR kept coming into the kitchen while I washed and asking me if I was going to do them all. I said sure. Then she asked if I would come do them the next day, to, you know, help out grandma. She just wants to live in a clean place. I showed her how to empty the drain and wipe the edges and counters clean.
Later on I took her to the park to play. She was so thrilled when she made it all the way across the monkey bars for the first time by herself. All I could do was hug her and keep telling her I knew she was trying to do the right thing, and that she was a great help, and a great, smart, beautiful little girl and that she could do anything.

When she got home she ran to tell her mother and ggma about her accomplishment, and they just looked at her like she was crazy, with total disinterest. I tried to explain why it was such a big deal, since she has been trying to get across the monkey bars for over a year, and all the kids at school can do it, but....they went back to playing their card game.

Several Reasons I Feel Awkward in Harlem

2006-03-26T02:00:00.000-05:00

There are so many things that make living in Harlem for me, well, awkward. And rightly so. I am white. Really white. I am (lapsed) Mormon, which for me feels like a I'm stuck wearing a lifelong security tag I drag around with me and can't cut off...hard to live with in any comfort but can't get rid of it. I am married to a black man (which would make you think I fit in more, but really it's like twice as bad). Also, I make very little money as a social worker-person, but because the median income in this neighborhood is so horribly low (makes me angry! poverty is so fucked up!), and the color of my skin, I know people think I have money. I don't! I really don't! But then the fucked up thing is, relatively speaking, I guess I do.

I work here and walk around all day feeling the awkwardness. I hate it. I understand it as best as I can (knowing that in so many ways I can't ever understand it at all), and just wish I could defend my presence here. Then I feel pissed that I feel like I have to defend myself, when I'm just trying to be a good person, social worker, neighbor and human. Just trying to live my life. And when I see all the negativity and stupid choices and backwards thinking around me, I get even more pissed.

Also, I am so unbelievably (self)conscious of my skin/hair/eye color, I have even wondered if I should dye my (very light) hair. But that is ridiculous, because I am who I am, and this is where I live. I try to know as many people as I can in every store, corner and building I visit. I am totally sincere in my word and deed. I love the kids in the community. I live where I work, and spend my money right here (instead of going downtown to shop or having my groceries delivered).

I love Harlem, but I know that I represent a gentrifying force that is hurting people who have lived their entire lives here. I know there's a bitterness towards individuals like me. I often feel like walking down the street with a sign over my head that says, not unlike that Citicard commercial, "I'm in debt up to my ears and have an ulcer from worrying about how to get by every month!" OR "I can't afford to buy anything and I sure as hell don't shop at Whole Foods either!" I'm not buying anything. Puh-lease! I read these blogs about how there's all this white flight to "affordable" neighborhoods like Harlem, and it makes me snort my Dr. Pepper up my nose!

I one of the numbers posted on a new building, and the Very Nice Broker told me sweetly and with a small laugh that, "In your price range you will never find anything in Harlem. You should look in New Jersey or Queens." I wanted to spit on her and prove her so so wrong, but alas. I wanted to scream, "If someone like me can't buy anything, and I supposedly have a good job, am middle-class (not in NY she informed me) how can anyone who lives here buy anything?????" Sure there are these lotteries for people from the community, but they aren't really publicized, and unless you attend the housing subcommittee of your local Community Board, you probably won't know anything about it. And how are people struggling to get by on WIC, TANF and public assistance, along with juggling horribly stressful lives supposed to dig through all that, when I can't even do it?

My experience is that there are:

-fancy historical/renovated brownstones for millions of $$$
-boarded up brownstones that I dream about owning just a piece of, perhaps in a collaborative with other working-non-richies like me/J
-city-owned, run-down, shitty apartments that people can't afford to leave

The families I work with live in the latter. I live in a weird non-category that barely exists anymore - the SRO (see Residents of The Colonial for further explanations), which is kind of like a rooming house. And for the most part, for right now, it's okay. That is, when the lights are on, the heat is working and the sink isn't stopped up. And there's a garden in the back!

OH! Btw - Fonzi DID drop something down the sink. Several somethings. When the super came over (after I got into several heated arguments with DeSoto the Slumlord about sending him over, and he claimed he "couldn't get ahold of me b/c I must've given him the wrong number" despite fact that my cell has been the same for the two years I've lived here and he's never had problems calling if the rent was late..... don't get me started) and opened the sink pipes he pulled out: a contacts case cap, a makeup brush and a tweezers!!!!

FONNNNZZZZIIIIIII......GET OUT OF THE SINK!

Not Alone In Katz's Hatred.

2006-03-25T19:41:00.000-05:00

I just want to make it clear, that I am not the only person in the world who holds Katz's Fucking Deli in disdain.

1st) There were NO waitresses such as the dumpy, disgruntled one in When Harry Met Sally. We stood like lemmings in these random lines that made no sense, then were shuttled back and forth several times because we asked for a sandwich they only made at that end, only to hear that for that particular sandwich they were out of three of five ingredients! Get it straight people!!!!!
2nd) The ticket madness is just silly. I'm a grownup. And I'm at a restaurant, not a carnival.
3rd) It was TOTALLY Thug Deli! I'm not even kidding. I forgot to mention that J and I seriously thought we saw Ludacris and his crew. (Seeing as we had just seen Carson "Queer Eye" Kressley and Dennis "Cold Titties" Quaid, it could have happened...) Then we realized that the "crew" were just workers on break.
4th) I spent about $15 altogether, when a $1.50 slice next door would have been dreamy. Sigh.

I'm still getting over this.

Upcoming Birthday Worries.

2006-03-22T22:37:00.000-05:00

Oh! And my 29th birthday is coming up, which I'm totally unhappy about, though I should just use it as a catalyst to get my ass in gear in about twelve areas of my life, like writing the eight books in my head and getting published and owning my home (wait! out of debt first) and visiting more countries and having smaller love handles and running a marathon and saving a larger piece of the world....you know.

The b-day is on a Monday, which is sort of a crappy day. And even more stinky, is that J is out of town for work the weekend just before it. Also, Easter is the day before my b-day, and who wants to celebrate MY birthday when they're celebrating the LORD AND SAVIOR, HOLY REDEEMER OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, JEHOVAH, GREAT I AM's resurrection? Right. Maybe I'll take one of those bus trips to Atlantic City that are like $35 for the day, with a "bonus" $10 in keno chips plus! the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. I could sit next to a guy named Red on the bus.

Probably I'll just go to H&M and buy a shirt and sleep in and get manicure. But I lay it out there right now, I'm going to need all sorts of fun activities that weekend so I don't feel lame.

back to the show...

So Tired.

2006-03-22T22:23:00.000-05:00

Very long day. Started at 9am with a call from DC's mom telling me that the bus didn't come to pick up DC again today, and she is worried about it. This mom is the one with mental issues, lots of anxiety over the smallest thing, and I know right away that I need to assuage her worries and make this not a big deal, or she'll fixate on it all day. I make some calls to OF's mom (OF feeling sickish, staying home again) and the school - it's a new driver. Okay. I'm tired. Got home from work at 8:30pm, about a ten hour day of kids, kid-drama and wandering the city. Team meeting this morning was exhausting because we haven't met in about 3 weeks and we all had drama to report. Lots of it. I am so worried about AR, but the recent developments should be encouraging. I need to write about that when I have the energy soon.

Came home so tired I ate Tutti Fruttis for dinner. By the way, I also ate them for breakfast. Is it any wonder I am growing love handles? Gross, woman. But I ate a healthy, if random, assortment of lunch-type edibles from Whole Foods, including a samosa, tuna penne and couscous (you know how the buffet thing goes...)

Also, for my friends out there who know/care - a Trader Joe's just opened in Union Square, and I brought TT down there to explore it, because I've heard so much about it by now I'm convinced it's the Holyland of Grocery Stores. Well, guess what!? There was a line halfway down the street to get in! There have been so many customers they can't stock the shelves fast enough, so they are limiting the number of people in the store. Forget it, I said. I don't care how good their damn peanut butter is.

I'm all achy and tired. Bleck. So now I'm watching Starting Over, because it calms me. There's lots of, um, "healing" that goes on on this show. Lots of women "supporting each other in their personal growth" and whatnot. Okay, I know I'm sounding sarcastic, and I mean to, but I'm still totally addicted to this show.

In the am I have to go meet with an AP and a guidance counselor about TA and her sister. They are chronically neglected in such a way that we think it's time to take some further steps. All the teachers at the school are aware of what's going on, and are equally concerned, but of course no one's making the effort to make any calls. Well, Abe (my co-worker) and I are not going to wait anymore. I'm sort of dreading it and happy it's some kind of movement. But I also know it could be a total mess in less than 24 hours, so I'm also apprehensive. You know, it's 10:32 pm and my head is still totally in work-mode. Arg.

Sadly the way I distract myself is with Tutti Fruttis and Ben & Jerry's (new flavor - Marsha Marsha Marshmellow!).

And my bathroom sink is stopped up, and I think the Fonz in all his sink-loving glory might have dropped something down there. He is often found staring into the drain and trying to poke his little paw in there. Now I have to deal with DeSoto and getting some one-toothed squirrel-eating rodeo clown out here to fix it. Oh, you think that's made up, but it's not. There really was a one-toothed squirrel-eating rodeo clown in my house doing repairs. I mean, who could make this up? Not me.

Parent-Teacher Conferences

2006-03-21T12:04:00.000-05:00

Things I got done yesterday:

1.) therapy.
went okay. mentioned the blog for the first time and I think she was surprised I hadn't earlier, although she didn't say so. I'm sure it will come up later...

2.) exercise.
did upper body weights. My arms are sore. Growing up I always had the biggest arms of any girl, and most of the guys around me - even in high school. Because of all the sports I was involved with I had really developed arm muscles, and people felt it was totally appropriate to exclaim in surprise and point it out and laugh about how my arms were bigger than the guys' arms. "Man, do you lift?" "Shit, girl, you got guns!" "Want to have a pushup contest?" I know now that this was sort of admiration and sort of just the different-ness of a girl who was strong. But it always made me feel like people saw me as butch and not as feminine. In college I grew out of this when I trained with other college athletes who were striving for strength and saw buff arms as sexy. Also, when you're lifting weights in a sweaty gym with 300 pound linebackers, my little "buffness" seemed, well, silly. So I have some weight-lifting issues. But I'm doing it anyway!

3.) food.
ate okay. yummy omelette and half grapefruit. got a free drink at Starbucks, out of nowhere, no coupon necessary. I was asking about a drink, and the guy at the counter just offered to make me one for free! sweet.

4.) mom.
talked to her in the morning. She reminded me that we didn't drink Dr. Pepper growing up because she thought it tasted like carbonated prune juice, not because it had caffeine in it. But apparently it does, because the other night I was blogging until 4am, then laid in bed wide awake until the sun came up. wtf? She told me that my cousin in Hawaii is finally graduating from college. He is my age, but has had several really traumatic illnesses that have set him back.

5.) tv.
watched it. shocker. I do this every night. Lame, I know, because I could be doing much, much, much more productive. But that's just it for now. Let's see, last night I watched:
- Big Love (there's like, a year's worth of therapy in this alone)
- Biggest Loser - Military Wives (soooo cheesy, but I always get all weep-ish when they show the before and after, and these people are all skinny and no longer eat fried pork rinds for breakfast)
- Deal or No Deal (I hate the fucking Barbie doll women that walk like robots down these steps holding briefcases. But, I still can't help getting sucked into the show the second it comes on, because, I mean, what deal with the "bank" give to Howie Mandel next? Who can leave with all that money on the board? And there's probability involved! So I'm technically getting a little bit smarter while watching it, right?)
- Daily Show (Clive Owen, not the funniest guest. J and I argued about whether Jon Stewart was panned as the Oscar host or not. Hands?)
- Colbert Report (Lame audience, semi-lame writing)
Shit. That is like four hours of tv, and that wasn't even with anything great to watch. See, I'm lame!

6.) zine.
started one. Felt compelled to make a zine on body image/women's magazines. Spent hours cutting and pasting and putting artwork together. Haven't done the writing yet. Will finish tonight. Love love love it. More on this later.

7.) art store.
went. Utrecht on 23rd St. btw 7th/8th ave. I love art supply stores. Feel like a clueless poseur, but I go in anyway. Bought some small canvases because I've used my other ones. I have a secret, which is that I like painting, although I am not talented at all. I just like to smudge up color on a white canvas. Usually looks retarded and then I just paint over it a few months later.

8.) sleep.
earlier tonight. Still wide awake at 2am, but forced myself to stay in bed and listen the cats fight on the floor. Why can't they be awake during the day and sleep all night? Occasionally there's cuteness at the foot of the bed when they are both curled up peacefully, but more often than not, they are bounding about like freaks on a Nascar track through the apartment, knocking things down and getting all spiny-tailed over their own shadow.

Things I did NOT do:

1.) wash my hair.
2.) eat lunch.
3.) spend any money at Barnes & Noble (even though I went inside for ten minutes!)
4.) read "The Real Story About Nick" as told to USWeekly by the chick from Laguna Beach.
5.) nap.
6.) the dishes.
7.) scream like a banshee at J over nothing (triumph!)
8.) pay any bills.

Now I am going to work. It's 12:30pm, so I know this makes no sense to anyone with a regular job, because mine is anything but. I am going to parent/teacher conferences at one of the schools my girls are in. I see the teachers all the time, so I won't hear anything I don't already know, but I get a chance to make a copy of their report cards or even take them, since their parents won't bother to go.

I am really, really worried about and kind of obsessing about one of my girls. I don't have time to explain it all now, but I will return to it. I think about her and her situation all the time. I literally think about it all weekend, most nights, throughout the day. I know this is not good, and I wish I knew how to detach better. I just want this girl OUT OUT OUT of her home. But I have to tread very, very carefully in this arena. It's just so fucking depressing.

Carson Kressly and who uses the word "tits" anyway?

2006-03-20T03:30:00.000-05:00

Last night J played a show at the Parkside Lounge, on Houston btw Aves B and C. Trendy LES, took forever to get there, of course, luckily not too cold. Great show, followed by other great shows. They made $47 and a love note. J's co-workers were there.

Ate at the famed Katz's Deli afterwards and was totally unimpressed. Was really needing some solid food to soak up my beer-on-an-empty-stomach, and was thinking this would hit the spot. Ugh. Ordered a Reuben sandwich with C to split, french fries and free pickles (Trinny!) and was sorely, sorely, sorely disappointed. The meat was all crumbly and weird, strung together by long strands of fat - which is good in things like bacon, say, when it tastes good. But this didn't. Then covered in saurkraut (sp?) which I like, but it wasn't good! They cover this with some kind of yellowish dressing that made the bread soggy and fall apart. The best part was the cheese, which I picked out and ate with the fries. I was really mad, actually. Fuck Katz's, man. They suck. I don't care if they've been open since 1888. Their meat is crumbly, fat-laced yuck!

Oh, and on the way to Katz's, we passed this club on the corner with a big Hummer limo out front, red ropes line, whole shebang. The crowd was definitely older-not trendy 20s, but more like monied/trendy later 30s/40s. Passing by with disinterest (cuz we're NYers, right?) I casually turn to C and J and say, Oh, that's Carson Kressly from Queer Eye. He's smoking a cigarette literally elbow's length away from me. The guy he's smoking with is also a tight-tee wearing guy, who says, "Shit, I'm freezing my tits off out here!" as we pass. J sort of glances over and nods. We don't break a step.

Then in Katz's we realize the guy he's smoking with was Dennis Quaid. I always thought Meg Ryan was a beard.

It's 3am I must be lonely....

2006-03-20T03:12:00.000-05:00

I think that's a song lyric from my college days.

It is, indeed 3 am and I am blogging. Today I spent a lot of time writing, reading other people's blogs, catching up on mine, trying to feel like there is some sort semblance of order to my life. Now I'm all wired and awake at this stupid hour and will totally waste half of tomorrow asleep. Sigh. Then regret it and wish I had just made myself lie down and sleep. But at least there will be a product at the end of this sleep procrastination, which is this blog!

Here are some things I realized about blogs:

1.) I don't even know the tip of the iceberg about blogs, computers and the cool shit you can do.
2.)There are some really cool-ass blogs out there, and mine seems kind of amateurish.
3.) Oh well.
4.) Posts should be shorter (sorry, I'm learning).
5.) Posts should have photos!!!

These are the things I feel good about doing today:

1.) Went to church, even if only for one out of the million hours. Thought about God and love.
2.) Ran for 30 minutes, intervals.
3.) Am sore from lifting weights yesterday! My butt!
4.) Made Mexican with J and C.
5.) Fixed blog in many ways, such as:
a-added friends' links
b-added more websites
c-wrote like five posts
d-didn't care too too much that my blog isn't the best
6.)Cleaned up email
7.) Did ALL the laundry (J actually does it, I fold it and put it away)
8.) Watched all my wonderful Sunday night tv, including:
a-West Wing
b-Desperate Housewives (repeat, but we were cooking so whatever)
c-The Sopranos
d-Grey's Anatomy
e-Big Love
9.) Started (officially) a 12-week exercise plan to (hopefully) make me buff and be-yoo-ti-ful in time to wear tanks/shorts. We'll see.
10.) Cleaned the bathmat by hand in the tub. It was full of hair and whatnot. Ugh.

Things I regret:

1.) Not staying longer at church, even though I was happy to leave when I did. A guilt thing, I know.
2.) Yelling in ridiculous fashion at J over even more ridiculous event which made me feel, sound and look like a raving lunatic who can't control herself. Pretty sure the entire Colonial heard me. Cried. Said mean things. Only sort of meant them. Cried some more. Only sort of felt better.
3.) Not having a satisfying conversation with older brother. Ditto with Dad. No talk with Mom.
4.) Still awake right now.

To Do Tomorrow:

1.) Therapy (blech, though it's good for me, etc. etc.)
2.) Some paperwork - haven't touched March yet. Yikes.
3.) Exercise - upper body weights.
4.) Don't eat like shit.
5.) Shower and wash hair.
6.) Don't spend money (other than therapy).
7.) Go to Barnes and read some of the trash magazines so I won't be tempted to buy them later on when they call to me from the newsstands everywhere.
8.) Maybe use Starbucks Free Drink Coupon from C. Bad, I know. But good! You can get ANYthing you want with these coupons. They don't even bat an eye when you say, "I'll have a triple shot, venti, half- soy, half-skim, cinnamon latte with four shots of vanilla, no whip." Not that I've ever ordered that. I think that would keep me awake for a week.
9.) Call mother.
10.) Email some people I owe.
11.) Write something small, but meaningful. Or just small, let's not get too carried away.

Fonzi (aka, The Fonz, Fonzers, Little Man, Freakshow)

2006-03-20T02:55:00.000-05:00

Cat number two. Man on the street here in Harlem came up to me last summer and asked me if I wanted a kitten. Opened his palm and there one was. He wanted money to get onto the subway. He was one step up from a bum, and he was holding a 2-week-old kitten, so I did the responsible thing and said yes. Then proceeded to bring him with me to Home Depot on a previously-planned-and-uncancelable-outing with a child and some donors. We were planting a garden, see. Home Depot people, believe it or not, are all cat fanatics. Seriously, I thought they might lynch me. They gave me a round container made of spanish moss and a washcloth to carry him in. Went to PetCo, got the kitty milk and bottle. Had to beg a dry cleaners to give me some safety pins to poke a hole in the nipple. All sorts of weird shit. Anyway, he's the opposite of The Doodle. Not as smart, perhaps, but makes up for it in playfulness. Usually at 4 am, when he decides it's time to play soccer with a piece of shoelace or something.

Also, for the record, I did not put him in the sink. He is freakishly obsessed with water, of the bathroom kind. This means sink, tub and....toilet. He actively pushes us out of the way while we are trying to wash our face, eyes all soapy so we are debilitated, so he can bat at the running water.

Freakshow.

The Doodle (aka: DoodleBug, Buggins, Big Cat)

2006-03-20T02:47:00.000-05:00

The Doodle. Name of my cat. Cat number One. Found in the Bronx. Long story, but a cute one. Grouchy, ornery, crotchety guy who swats at anyone who dares to walk past him. Puts fear in many friends, yet oddly spurs others on to make him like them. He won't. But he might fall in love with one of their bags/coats/purses and growl at you when you want to take it home with you. People wonder about the name, I tell them like cheese, and some laugh, others don't. Whatever. It was organic and makes sense and was just the name that came out of my mouth.

He looks like a small tiger. I think he might be part tiger.
Really. Look at him.

Obligations. Suck. Bigtime.

2006-03-19T19:21:00.000-05:00

I feel like such a slacker these days. I have been down, and that's why I've been avoiding the blog. I think about it, look at the computer, think some more, then feel lame and don't do anything. The thing I feel about depression is that is sort of sucks you dry of all the things you like and love and look forward to. I just sit around, wishing to have no obligations, so that I can continue to sit around. Even if it's a pleasant obligation, it still looms, and the clock keeps moving closer to it, and my freedom feels impinged upon and I start to resent the thing and the people that invited me to the thing, and the reason for the thing, even if it's good. Then I start to feel trapped in my house, like I never leave, like I have no friends and no social life. So exhausting, the cycle. Oh lord, this paragraph needs to end.

I talked to one of my close college friends this week and I told her I just don't know who I am anymore. Like, I don't know what makes me, me. I feel foreign to myself. And that's so awful. Really, I feel like I'm walking around, moving through the motions of the same life I lead before, for the most part. But I'm not feeling the regular things I used to feel when I did the same actions. I don't know if this makes any sense. I think back to things I did even just a year ago and have no clue how I managed to get it done. Plant a garden? Start a creativity/writer's group? Pitch freelance articles? Run every day in the park? Talk to friends and actually see them? I don't know that person today.

And I hate talking about depression, because it sounds so self-indulgent and pathetic. It really ends up sounding like, whah whah, poor me, my life is awful, I suck, everything sucks, blech. Makes for really thrilling conversation, I know. Anyway, I tried to talk to my friend about it, and she listened, but I still felt dumb and like I couldn't really explain what I was feeling. And maybe that's the truth - maybe it's impossible for someone not depressed to ever understand. I get that. I bet it's just as frustrating to those people who don't get it as it is to me, on this side of the mood, waving my arms around trying to be understood. I told her that I felt like I had no personality anymore, like I was just this series of routines and patterns, one thing after the next thing after the next thing... Nothing interesting or exciting, nothing to look forward to....

She laughed, and told me I had more personality in my little finger than most people have altogether. Which made me smile. I'm not sure what that means right now, but I'll take it. Also, she told me that reads my blog regularly, and asked why hadn't I been posting lately. So this one's for you, my love-ly. Thanks for listening to me ramble. You are the perpetual optimist to my negativity, and I am grateful for you.

Residents of The Colonial

2006-03-18T15:31:00.000-05:00

I feel it is important to have a complete run-down of the residents of The Colonial, as I have affectionately (snicker) named the crumbling, dripping, flickering, peeling, stinky brownstone that I live in. Glossary necessary in order for me to continue on in future entries without feeling like I haven't given all the appropriate details. (anyone who knows me that if there's something I can't stand it's a story without all the details. seriously, you know what i'm talking about. I will interrupt you ten times in the first minute if you don't set up the story with the appropriate background, details, names and relationships...)

Basement/Garden Level:

Trinny - Illegal Brit w/ an expired Visa. (VISA?) Shortish, with dark brown, very frizzy, shoulder-length hair. Frizzy enough to actually look like she teases it sometimes. Works as a mime/dancer in the subways and other random public arenas of NYC for cash. Yup, she's one of those people painted all one color (I think white is her choice) who stand on a box and wiggle, jerk, robot-dance or mime-box when a fascinated tourist from Iowa gives his little boy a dollar after commenting to equally amazed wife in white sneakers how this sure ain't somethin you'd see at the mall. Trinny is a dancer, and I believe she goes up on pointe (on the box) and dances around a bit for the dollar. She won't speak to you though. Makes upwards of $100 a day, tax-free (bitch!~). Has lived in the Colonial for about seven years I think. Used to have a red-haired, quietly stunning roommate that I think J had a crush on. Drinks a LOT. Seriously, at first I thought Wilma was kidding when she talked about the extent of the drinking, but no, she's really an alckie. Also habitually unclean, which sucks for Sako and Wilma, because they share a bathroom. Also she leaves her litter box in the hallway, instead of in her apartment (who does this?) and litter tracks all over the place. Nasty. Very sweet, easy-to-smile and genial. I suspect the accent hides some vapidness (vapidity). Generally a bit of an airhead (or drunk) and forgets her stuff in the backyard. Invites home random men from bars.

Sako - Mentioned her before I believe, sorry for overlap. Short, half white-half Japanese woman, with long-ish layered black hair. Round, easy-smiling face, looks younger than she is (in her 40s), has a dog named Jack that is like her child. Claims he knows about 100 words. Used to work for UPS full-time until back/knee injury sidelined her to her current work - professional dogwalker! (only in nyc, i swear) To "medicate" her aches she smokes a ton of pot, which often wafts up through one of her closets and out my kitchen sink. Not unlike myself, Sako can see something useful in all sorts of trash, and is an avid "recycler" of the sort that J and Wilma hate - chairs that "just need a leg," window frames, a fire hydrant, a sombrero-turned-flowerpot, chairs missing seats, artwork, etc. all found on the streets of our fair city. Sako speaks slowly, and often chimes into conversation by affirming someone else's idea with, "Right?" Like, I get you, I'm there, Right on. When she's high she talks a lot. From California originally. Also Sako is incredibly talented in the building/constructing arenas. She can put up walls, frame closets, fix pipes and do stuff with cement.

Wilma - I don't even know how to dig into this one. Wilma is such a singular individual in my existence that I'm not sure any of my pathetic attempts could remotely paint the accurate picture, but I will try, because in The Colonial, Wilma is quite a presence. Wilma is Sako's slightly younger sister, also in her 40s, looks like 30s. She is also, half white-half Japanese, with long silky black hair. She is incredibly, um, curvy, but dresses kind of like she is not-so-curvy. To be more clear: Wilma is very hourglass, the type of figure guys(niggas, she would say) in the ghetto really, really like, and probably wears a size 18-20 (bad at guessing sizes). Wears skin tight jeans, tanks tops that end just below her size-F boobs, which seem to be everywhere. She is incredibly loud. She cackles and you can hear it down the street. She has an accent, which is confusingly that of say, a black woman with five kids who has lived in the ghetto her whole life. Seriously, when my brother was in town the first month I lived here, he heard her from outside, but was blown away when he had to match the face to the voice. Wilma sort of revels in her ghetto-experience and talks about it at length. She grew up in Marin County in CA, which means nothing to me, and I prefer it that way, I only want to see it through Wilma's eyes, because it's more fun. She worked for ten years at a supermarket as the manager of the frozen section. Not entirely sure why she left but I think it was drug-related. Was married for a long time, then had an "Old Man" for a long time. Randomly moved cross country to live in the basement with Sako about two years ago. Called herself "retired,"for the first year she lived here, but now works as a home health aide on 96th Street. Thinks she has some shady business dealings back in CA on the side, but not privy yet. Partially illiterate. Extremely good cook. Funny, overbearing, dominates every conversation, demands attention, sensitive, sure she's right, curses like a sailor, loyal. I could go on, but I'll let it come naturally later on.

Parlor Floor:

J and Me - Sometimes referred to as "the kids upstairs" by Sako, Wilma, Trinny. Biracial couple, working professionals, often exasperated by building and drama. J more than me wants it all to go away and leave him in his quiet isolation. Me? I thrive on it, talk to everyone and know about what's going on all the time. We pay the most in the building for rent, by far, as we have the only apartment with a kitchen and bathroom. This leads people, I think, to believe that we are well-off. Riche, perhaps. We are NOT. But I suppose in comparison to others we are. We live the life of middle-class aspirants, on the "they" side of society. It's weird, but true. I'm a "they" but to a bunch of people in my small little life that means I have answers. Usually I don't, or what I do know is from going on the internet. I help with resumes, finding phone numbers, printing stuff, asking lawyerly friends certain questions, and letting people use my oven. J occasionally shares a smoke with Sako and laughs a lot, avoids Wilma because she drives him nuts and ignores the rest of the residents of The Colonial.

Second Floor:

Front Left Room - This room has had three tenants since I've lived here: William, Wilma and Jane/Orlin.

William - William did not speak to me for the first six months that I lived in The Colonial. I would see him in the entryway and say hi and he would pass me like I was invisible. Mr. Larry told me, "Oh, that's just William, don't worry about him," but I did worry, really I wondered, but... Tall, skinny, white and shaggy. Kind of like someone you'd see chained to a tree in Seattle, but instead of in an informed-angry-dissident way, more like a mentally-ill-wild-eyed-don't-eat-a-lot kind of way. Often wore the same clothes for more than a week at a time, army clothes head-to-toe, with a flannel-ear-flaps hat even in the summer. Sometimes carrying a satchel, like a courier. The first time I saw him I was actually going to knock on Sean's door, and I could see through a wide crack in William's door (further evidence of building decay) this slumped body on the floor. It was totally filthy, and the body looked, honestly, dead. Kind of with its head torqued sideways in an unnatural way, and the room way just filled with stuff, stinky, piles of stuff. His mother used to accompany him around. She was a short, little woman who kind of looked like a troll. She would yell up the stairs to him, or mutter to him in this bizarre chattery voice that really made me wonder if she was speaking English or Trollspeak. Her face was like a rotten orange, puckery and rindy and crazy. The main point is, that together they were totally strange and obviously had problems and neither spoke normally (or at all). One day J came home (never having met William. See - I told you he ignores everyone) and saw William on the stoop. He was sitting there muttering about how his chest hurt a lot and he couldn't breathe. J thought he was a crazy/homeless, suggested the nearest hospital and went inside to call the police. They took him to the hospital. William also used to ring our doorbell at all hours of the night when he got locked out, even though he still wouldn't even speak to me. When William finally disappeared (after months of conflict with Sean), Sean offered to clean his apartment in exchange for money from DeSoto, our landlord. He wore a facemask and surgical gloves, and said there was a family of mice living in the mattress on the floor. There was also feces on the walls, and boxes of books the mice had been living in. I saw the room. It was sick.

Jane/Orlin - Again, some overlap here, my apologies. Not sure their locale of origin. Orlin is Sako's "nephew" in the sense that they have been really close for years, not entirely sure of that history. They are engaged. They both work as tattoo artists/piercers and perform in "freakshows" as well. This means that they are pierced by various things and hung by them, or swallow weird things or other bizarre happenings. Not sure, I'll have to attend one soon. Orlin has implants in his forearms to resemble scales? arrows? armor? Lots of piercings on the face (eyes, nose, lips, ears, chin) and likely elsewhere, rainbow-brite hair and tattoos galore. They have two cats, one reminds me of a pumpkin. They also smoke a lot of pot, I think. Also, they order a lot of pizza, and the damn delivery people always ring out (only) doorbell. Arg. Not much to write. In spite of their looks, they are two of the most normal people in the building. Very easy to talk to, friendly and quiet.

Front Right Room-
Sean - Again, some overlap here, my apologies. Sean is a compact black man with a lot of muscle. He is obsessive about keeping the bathroom on the second floor clean, especially since he shares it with two other apartments. This has led to many altercations. Sean has a huge dog named Hercules, that gets particularly excited, jumpy when it sees me. Sean also has a very severe temper at times, and does drugs - at least pot, but likely something more. (General suspiscions are crack, but who knows?) People in the neighborhood don't like Sean b/c he doesn't always keep Hercules on a leash, and the dog is fucking huge. A head-eater dog, some kind of mix, the kind that scare small children, old ladies and 30-somethings alike. When I first met Sean he told me he was a bartender. Then he wasn't anymore, and I have no way of asking what he is now. I think DeSoto gets some kind of subsidizing for Sean's rent, so that means he is either "disabled" or "abused" in some way. I have never seen any women go into his place, but he has two cousins who come by sometimes. Another rumor is that he is gay, I don't know. Sean used to bully William the Sick all the time. One time I heard a huge noise coming down the stairs and when I looked out my front door, it was William, lying there moaning. He claims Sean pushed him. Sean yelled at him from upstairs, but says William tripped and fell. Who knows? Sean said William had "left blood on the toilet seat" and went on a tirade about how fucking sick he was. William wobbled around with a cane for the next three months like he was old. Sean also had many dealings with Jon/Crackhead when he lived here, which is why I am always a bit suspiscious. Also the recent stunt with the toilet seat(he has a thing, doesn't he?).

Middle Room - I think this room is jinxed.

Jon/Crackhead - I am tired just imagining how to write about this one. Jon moved in one month after we did, a short, white-haired British/Albanian immigrant with a job as a hairdresser in Brooklyn. Very stylish, mod, complete with accent to make him seem very charming. Offered to do my hair, and I said sure. I was a bit curious at how intense he was about it, as he insisted we do it that week. I hadn't done anything to my head in a while and agreed to a cut and reddish highlights. J comes home at 11pm to me, sitting in the middle of the living room in a chair on a sheet with the British/Albanian hairdresser doing my hair, listening to Kenyan music. He's telling me about his two daughters in LA, about the models he used to style, his travels in the Middle East. He is odd, that's certain, but interesting. His interesting quickly became irritating, then disturbing as he began knocking on our door demanding that we lend him money - $10, $15, $20. At first I thought he was just in a jam, then I realized - no, he's a freak and I'm offended. This quickly spiraled into shady characters ringing our doorbell at all hours of the night, asking for "Jon" or "the little old white man." The fact that they didn't even know his name=not good. The front door was continuously propped open. Someone threatened J when he wouldn't let them in. As ours is THE ONLY doorbell for the building, we got all his traffic. Then Jon began dragging in shit off the street - not like me and Sako, who look for diamonds in the rough, I mean, one day he left a box of used stuffed animals from the garbage and left a note saying I might want to use them for my kids. Um, thanks. But no. The spiral was so bad and happening right before our eyes. I see him hanging out on all the corners in the neighborhood where the dealers hang out, along with the crackheads. Imagine, this slight man in his 60s, silver hair, criss-crossing Lenox to make "deals" with people to sell them shit he's found god-knows-where in exchange for drugs. This whole mess came to a freakish head one night when I was awakened in the middle of the night by some loud fight above my bed (where his room is), glass being broken, shit being thrown, people screaming and running around. I call 911, but of course I also go out into the hall to see what's up. I'm thinking Jon and Sean are fighting over a toilet seat or something, but just then a skinny white man with an afro comes running out of the room in his boxers screaming, "He stabbed me! He is crazy! Help! I am bleeding!" He sees me and comes running down the stairs towards me. ..... Now, I'll let you salivate for the rest of the story... As I said, the room = jinxed.

Eddie - Brazilian dogwalker who lived in the Crackhead's apartment for about three months last summer. He was very sweet, very gay and liked to sing 80s tunes very loudly out the window, which I frequently heard while sunbathing in the backyard. Also, he sang very badly and very, well, gaily. I mean, it was like I listening to The Birdcage, or some other charicaturesque show. Once he invited me upstairs and showed me how he had redecorated the place, with swirly paint and nice art in the little mini-kitchenette. He also had one of those electronic "art" things with the lights and the white hair-like things that you could buy at SharperImage in the 80s - you know what I mean? And something like a Lava Lamp. Then one day he was just gone, and DeSoto said he moved to a place in Queens. I mean, how many dogwalkers can one brownstone hold, really?

Third Floor:

Front Left Room-
Eddie - Ohhhhh, Eddie. I just like to laugh at Eddie, but he is also so annoying. He's a kind of roundish black man who does "security" for a store somewhere. I don't really know what the hell he does. He's not all there in the head. I have had the exact same conversation with Eddie about fifty times, literally. This is roughly how it goes:

Eddie: Does Minnesota really have 10,000 lakes?
Me: Yea, something like that.
E: I got a friend over there in Minnesota, used to play for the Timberwolves. It's real cold there, ain't it? I hear it's real cold all the time.
M: Yes, it's pretty cold most of the winter. Not in the summer obviously.
E: But I hear it's cold all the time.
M: Right, during the winter, sure. But in the summer it's just as hot as it is here.
E: So, you talk to DeSoto lately?
M: No, not lately.
E: Cuz, he don't be taking care of this building, you know.
M: I know.
E: So, you don't talk to him? You ain't heard from him lately?
M: No.
E: If he's gonna sell this building I'm moving out. Been here 17 years, but I'm gonna go out west somewhere. You ever been to Montana? Heard it's real big out there.
M: Yes, I've been to Montana, it's pretty big. Really big, actually.
E: So, you know if DeSoto's going to sell this place?
M: No, I haven't heard from him.
E: Cuz he really don't take care of this place man. I been here 17 years, but I'm thinking I'm gonna leave.
M: ....
E: Really has more than 10,000 lakes? That's crazy.
M: Um, yea...

Something like that. Over and over. Again and again. Very, very annoying. I'm not sure why he thinks that I speak to DeSoto all the time. But he does. He also thinks that because I grew up in Minnesota it's all I talk about. Eddie is nosy and will hover on the stoop pretending to look down the street while really listening to your good-bye to your friend, or the end of your phone call. He frequently has prostitutes who stand outside our window and yell up to him. He then tosses them the keys, they come in go up the stairs, and return about 15 minutes later. I mentioned women coming into our building late at night sometimes, and he acted astonished. Hm. Don't act like you don't know...

Front Right Room:
Mr. Larry - Has lived in the building for like 25 years, is likely paying about $150 dollars, is supposed to be the building Super. Ha! He can't fix anything and walks really slowly. A very sweet old black man who hangs out with other similarly sweet old black men at the corner on Lenox, drinking beer all day and sitting on makeshift chairs, benches, milk crates, boards on blocks...They see everythign and know everyone and all say, "Uh-hunh, okayyy" to everyone who walks by. Sometimes it's "Hey sis, ain't seen you in a while," or "Where you off to today?" but mostly a friendly nod and smile and wave. Mr. Larry (according to Ms. Dolly) used to have prostitutes up to his room back in the day... but thank god not anymore, because I can't think about that. Once it's warm outside, Mr. Larry can regularly be found, if not on the corner, on the stoop, sipping from a can/bottle in a paper bag, wearing a faded green baseball cap and watching the world wander by... He also takes care of all the garbage.

Middle Room:
Ms. Dolly - A largish black woman who wears a different wig or head scarf every day, often making her hard to recognize from afar. Takes her a long time to make it to the third floor, and she refused until very recently to let me help her carry anything upstairs. I think the highlight of her day is making her way all the way to the basement to get the mail, which she sorts and kindly leaves on the table by my back door. There is a small rose bush on that table, which I regularly neglect, and occasionally she knocks on the door to say, "When you gonna water that plant!?" Which is what she used to ask me all summer about the potted plants on the front stoop as well. What can I say, Ms. Dolly, I have high hopes and perhaps not the best follow-through skills? My earliest memories of Ms. Dolly were: my first week in the building I wandered upstairs to meet my neighbors. Knocked on her door and heard a reply that I thought was "come in" so I pushed the already propped door open a bit more, to see Ms. Dolly half-dressed and washing her armpit with a washcloth. Seriously. She yelled, I yelled, it was not a pretty sight. I begged a thousand apologies while she chastised me for just going in someone's door that I didn't even know. I felt stupid. She forgave me when I told her I didn't see anything anyway. But I did. Eek. Next memory was through J. She was missing her Jet magazine from the mail table and thought that perhaps one of my five-year-old girls had stolen it. He assured her that they hadn't, and she argued with him and made it clear that "Until we moved in her Jet had never been missing before..." Hm. Awesome. But I have come to believe that Ms. Dolly is a kind old lady. I think she is "retired," from what I don't know, and visits family in The South during the year. Also, Eddie hasn't spoken to Ms. Dolly in over ten years, even though they share a bathroom.

Back Room, Third Floor:
Roger - I know the least about this man. I don't know how long he has lived in the building, and to this day J doesn't know what he looks like. I think he has another apartment somewhere. I think he is a trainer based on the NYSC mail I see with his name on it. He is friendly and keeps to himself, I've seen him about 7 times in two years. He is tall, dark-skinned, well-built and usually wears black. I think he told me that he is also a housecleaner? Not sure I'm remembering right.

Whew. So long, this entry. Sorry about that. I just had to get it out. Now I know that I can just move forward with my entries with wild abandon, knowing that you will be right along with me for the ride. The Colonial is never, ever, ever a boring place.

Live....At The Apollo....

2006-03-15T19:32:00.000-05:00

Two sats ago i went to the apollo with my neighbors from The Colonial... I was feeling totally morbidly and pathetically depressed, had just gotten back from working that sat afternoon and it was (of course, the way it works when god is really fucking with you) warmish and sunny outside and i was inside and resenting it (the sun and warmth, that is). Neighbor knocks on my door and I'm like, fuuuuuck. I just don't want to deal with her right now. I open anyway. She bursts in like the smell of hotdogs (kind of yummyfatty and lingering and appealing in a whitetrashireallyshouldn't kind of way) and says, 'what're you doin?' and at the time i really couldn't say i was doing much more than getting ready to do laundry, J was out of town for work and it wouldn't really have worked for me to say, 'oh, you know, wallowing in self-misery and general ineptitude' so...i said, 'um, nothing.' She says, 'come to the Apollo with me, the tickets are free.' So I say sure, why not.

There are several things to catch up on before I can continue, and that means I have to go back and read what I've already written cuz I don't want to bore anyone.

*
Hold Please. You may have to read the Residents of The Colonial post for this to make even more sense.
*

Went up to 125th with Trinny and Wilma. Stood in a long line that wrapped around the block, somehow sweating in February sun, wondering if this was worth it. Also feeling a bit, well, Snowflakey. And Depressed. (which brings with it Ugly, Boring, Bored, Irritable) Trinny is talking loudly about her recent affair with a guy who lives around the corner, who she met at a party and has been having mad sex with since.

I have heard of this person through Wilma. More specifically, last summer, when my very, very sober mother was visiting me, Wilma called me very late at night begging me to help her because she was so trashed she couldn't walk home. From one block away. I coolly (so I thought) told my mom I had to go out for a minute. I walk to the next block and see the party, but no Wilma. Now, I'm in my tank/shorts pjs, and I'm NOT going into this random ass party by myself. On the phone Wilma had told me that there was a fine-ass brotha she was hoping to hook up with at the party. I don't know what happened to him, but Wilma got so trashed she couldn't walk home, so obviously she isn't scoring tonight.

People on the stoop were very nice, and told me Wilma had been there, but were not helpful past that. After walking around for a few minutes, annoyed, I get a text that says something like, "Acos stret on steps" I find Wilma half-passed out on a stoop halfway down the block. After helping her big ass into her apartment, I go upstairs. My mom, of course, asks if Wilma was too drunk to get home. I (embarassed, for some reason) yes her and change the subject.

Well, to get to the original point, the party was being thrown by the man that Trinny was obsessing about in line at the Apollo. Now, I already knew from Wilma that this guy is married and after Wilma met his very sweet, kind, intelligent wife at the party that night, she knew there was no way she could proceed to hook up with the guy. Apparently Trinny's standards aren't so high. So I ask Trinny, 'Wait, isn't that guy married?' Then she launches into a so-predictable-I-wonder-if-she-reads-Cosmo-quizzes defense about how his wife is just so materialistic and it's complicated and she just gets him like no one else does and they don't even sleep together any more, besides the sex is soooo good and she's had more sex in the last two months than the last two years..... I am trying to care. Well, no, that's not really true. I don't give a fuck, and I already have way more information about this random guy and her sex life in my brain than I could ever, ever have known in my most bizarre dreams. Honestly, that is space that could be used to learn Spanish, memorize small mountainous cities in South America, remember birthdays of the friends I always let down.... Why do I have to know this information? Why, why, why?

Because I'm standing in a really long line in the randomly sweaty winter sun on 125th Street with my two neighbors waiting to see the Apollo because the tickets are free. Any questions?

Then I realize the people on each side of us in line are sort of listening, and I'm even more annoyed because I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW ALL OF THIS. Wilma stepped out to make a phone call, so she wasn't there to dominate the conversation and shut Trinny down. So I let her ramble and tried to zone out behind my sunglasses. At some point I noticed this bizarre smell - first in the cab on the way there, then again in line. I'm trying to identify it. It's sort of sour. Sort of pungent. Aha - it's PICKLES. I swear to god!

Trinny. Smells. Like. Pickles.

I'm going to ask you to pause for a moment and think about this.

Pickles.

Mind you, she hadn't been eating any pickles. But perhaps the unstoppable flow of alcohol through her veins is making her give off some kind of pickled smell? I don't know. But I couldn't take it. That's when I realized that her water bottle had vodka in it, not water. THEN, as if that wasn't enough, Trinny leans in, lowers her voice (a little) and tells me that she's so itchy. I just look at her, no reaction. Because I just know that whatever comes next is not good. I'm so itchy from too much sex! Heehee. I think we did it like, three times last night. But I'm sooo itchy now, down there, you know? I wonder if I have an infection?

Um, no, Trinny. Perhaps I don't know. I don't care what that implies about my sex life, but I don't know. And I hope to never know what your pickle-smelling, itchy-down-there symptoms mean.

The Apollo was pretty good. Mo'nique (sp?) was funny and looked great. She's a large woman with an amazing stylist, let me tell you. I wonder if a white woman the same size would look as sexy, yet large and get away with it. I feel like the answer is no because there are such fucked up societal ideas of what white/black women are supposed to look like. Anyway.

In the tradition of amateur night at the Apollo, a bunch of people/groups come out and perform, and the audience is either feeling 'em or NOT. And if they aren't, they boo, and then the Sandman (who is, oddly, a tall guy with long dreads wearing a maroon suit and white shoes) jumps over a railing and tap dances the performer off the stage. Now, there was a soul singer, two rappers, an r&b guy. Then out comes this poised 13-year-old girl in a long dress who sings this beautiful classical opera piece. Really talented. And some fucking ignorant moron in the balcony next to us starts booing her and laughing, along with his friends. It was so fucking ignorant I wanted to get up and kick his ass. Literally. If I wasn't who I was, I may have done just that, gotten kicked out, whatever. It would have been worth it. Luckily, the rest of the audience started cheering to cover it up, but it just felt like it was so symbolic of so many problems today that I see all the time, and it made me really, really angry. For that poor girl, but even more for that moron who was raised to think that all black people must be [_] (that is a little box).

Afterwards, Mo'nique gave the Booer a dressing down and basically said, we don't do that to a kid, and we don't do that to one of our own. Of course, the guy didn't get it, and still doesn't and left there with his friends laughing about how "wack" that singing was. But the main point wasn't that it was a kid, or that she was black, but really that she was good and talented it wasn't r&b, or soul, or rap. It was just beautiful, gorgeous, Italian opera, something that -gasp- black people aren't supposed to do. Talk about putting people in a box. It reminded me of all my former students who used to make fun of the kids who turned in their homework and got good test scores by saying they were "trying to act white."

I used to ask them, "Who told you black and brown people can't be smart? Can't get good grades? Who taught you that Puerto Ricans and Dominicans and immigrants aren't smart and like to read and learn and be a success in learning? How sad. How sad that you think so poorly about yourselves. Well, not in my classroom." It got them thinking. Too bad there are so many people who still just don't get it.

I told Wilma that Trinny smelled like pickles and she just laughed really loud. Of course, she made me sit between the two of them.

OF's Rainbow Project

2006-03-02T20:31:00.000-05:00

Just to give an idea of some of the things about this job that "prepare" me for motherhood.

This is a copy of OF's All About Rainbows project, in which we (ahem, me) painted various steps of what makes a rainbow.

Seriously, look closely. There's some sweet detailing going on there. The light particles reflecting through the drops of rain. The different hues of color that come out. Some seriously dirty acid rain or some shit coming down in every picture. A visual of how ALL people see rainbows a little bit differently because of how our eyes work...

Pretty sweet, eh? My kids are gonna fucking ROCK the second grade!

(I feel some guilt using the F work in an entry about and even featuring a child. Hm. She'll never see this though.)

Oh, and I'm still scraping the Glitter Glue from the word "Rainbow" off of my coffee table. But she was just so excited about it.....

American Idol and Things to Return to...

2006-03-02T20:24:00.000-05:00

SO many things to catch up on. How is it already Thursday? AND I haven't written? Sigh. So lame am I....

Well, I just got home from work, at 8:15pm, so you wonder why I'm always tired? I just went through fractions with my two G/T second graders (OF and DC - the one with the mutism problem, which btw is gettting better) for about 3.5 hours. Seriously, they are learning some tough stuff. I felt like my head was going to explode, much less their little seven-year-old brains.

Just so I won't forget, here are my memory tags:

The Apollo
Pickle-smell
The Club (until 5am)
Body Parts
Electricity
311
Fucking GED

THanks...I'm now going to veg out watching American Idol.

With total and unashamed abandon.

I actually look forward to it all day.

When I came home the other night to find my TiVo had (gasp!) been disconnected due to FUCKING power issues, I seriously almost cried. BUT - not to fear, I still had the Girls' night to watch, so that had to make due.

Honestly, I also don't know anyone else who's as into as me, which makes me wonder what my deal is, but whatever. (Btw, for anyone who cares, um, this year I can't help but think - you went through 30,000 fucking auditions and got THESE 24 people out of it??? Seriously, it makes me feel like about 75% of it is about perceived marketability...I know, you're like, Um, shocker, girlfriend! I can't help it....At least America got rid of that crazy model-wannabe twin last week. Now they BEST be getting rid of that cheesy-ass, camera-hogging, fake-smile BRENNA...) I mean, there's nothing wrong with me, right?

A Cigar, A Bible and An Ex: A Dream Deciphered...or not.

2006-02-25T00:40:00.000-05:00

Interestingly, my dad is actually doing well right now, and as an actual Crazy Person, is probably the only person I know that can truly relate to the feelings of depression I experience. I have talked to him this week several times and he's been lucid, dependable and helpful. I actually felt like I was getting advice and support from him, which is really bewildering. The vast majority of our phone calls center on what medical procedure he's having next, how he's feeling and what his latest catastrophe is.

But now he is concerned about me! He even sent me some books Express Mail (!) to me because he was worried about me and wanted to do something to help. Don't worry, there are no plans to make this a habit, but it was strange to rely on him, even to answer the phone. Which I did this week, I relied on him. I think he felt really validated and important. Fine, whatever. My mom was like, "Um, yea, that's called being a parent. You are just used to being his parent." I laughed, it's true I suppose.

Now I'm going to write about a dream I had. If you hate hearing about my dreams, as several of my former college roommates do because I always babbled about them endlessly, stop reading now.

(my dreams feel so real, at times i feel tired when i wake up from them)

I dreamt about an old Ex-boyfriend last night. Can't even begin to express how lame it makes me feel that I have dreams about someone from high school. First love, whatever, but still. Surely he represents some repressed something-or-other, right? In the dream I go to my high school reunion (hmmm, didn't I just do that?) and drink and have fun and flirt and laugh with my girlfriends and all the old people I forgot about from high school. At some point the Ex arrives with his current girlfriend, and rather then avoid her, I befriend the girlfriend. Weirdly, at some point the girlfriend and I share a cigar? (what) We laugh and the Ex thinks it's weird that I'm talking to her.

At the end of the night find myself back at the hotel room where my friends and I pre-partied (such a college term) and I'm looking for my stuff that somehow I left there. Anyway, I realize that we left the room a mess and should clean it up. As I do this I realize that it's not, in fact, a hotel room, but the Ex-boyfriend's bedroom, and that he's asleep in the corner of the room!! So now I'm trying extra hard to be quiet and not wake him, as I go about this obligatory straightening of the room, no longer just my belongings, but random piles of books and stuff. I'm also feeling really embarassed, because why the hell am I in his bedroom while he's sleeping, cleaning up his stuff? Then, horror of horrors - I realize that the girlfriend is asleep in another bed on the opposite side of the room. I'm making piles in the middle of the room. Get me the hell out of here, what the fuck am I doing?

The Ex realizes I'm there and mumbles that I shouldn't bother cleaning up. I leave to go to the bathroom. As I'm closing the door, his father stops me and demands to know what I'm doing in his house. I beg him to just let me go to the bathroom and then I'll explain, but he makes me come out. The Ex's mom (who hated me and thought I was a "distraction" and from the "wrong side of town"in real life) appears and the dad says, "Look who's here!" Then the Ex, his girlfriend, my girlfriends, and J, all emerge right there in the kitchen. All is awkward, I have to pee and don't know what I'm even doing there.

As I go to leave with my peeps, the Ex hands me a little packet of stuff I had seen in the room, and of course acts like he is unaffected and could care less as I leave. I feel dumb. In the car I take it out and inside there's a Bible, and a DVD. Inside the Bible was this long note that I had written to him back in the day, about how I would always love him, and I found inspiration in the Bible, that he should read it, blah blah blah... (By the way, I have never given a boyfriend a Bible with a love letter in the front, thank you very much. Or even one without an inscription. No Bible giving.) He had written throughout the Bible in red ink little sentences to me responding to my note, like "Prove it" and "Where are you now?" and other things that of course I couldn't read because it was a dream, but implied that he missed me and was mad at me. The jist was that he was reacting to my note in a way that expressed sorrow at our break up or something. The DVD was about his life, some sort of photo/music/movie compilation, and there was a section full of photos of the two of us and things we had done together. It was sweet and seemed to imply that in fact, I wasn't a total nothing to this person.

In reality, this Ex was the first person I was in love with, so to me he wasn't nothing, but I always sort of felt discarded and forgotten. Somehow this dream was trying to affirm to me through these bizarre gifts that he did, in fact, care. All of this feels really obvious and just basically silly to me. Can I puh-lease stop dreaming about my high school boyfriend? What the fuck.

My therapist thinks the Ex stands generally for self-acceptance, and the random gifts represent the books my dad just sent me, and the Bible is my religious mom (just had major God-talk this week - pretty sure I'm not going to heaven, by the way. Hey, you probably aren't either, so don't get your hopes up). She thinks I secretly feel like people won't love me even if I am depressed or Depressed, and that the "gift" was me realizing that it's possible that Important People in my life might still accept me and be able to love me, even in what I view as my imperfect, failed state. Huh.

Or maybe I am emotionally stunted at 18 years old and should just go back to high school and like, stay there. Yea, that would be fun.

Little Chunks of Time, Hard to Swallow

2006-02-24T22:51:00.000-05:00

This was a tough week. I have not been writing because I didn't know quite what to write. I was uncertain if now that even a few people know about and occasionally read this blog, I can really be totally free in my writing. Suddenly I felt self-conscious (me!???) and ashamed and just didn't want to share. I still kind of don't. I mean, I do for myself, but then I think - why the hell did I tell anyone about this dumb thing anyway? What the fuck, it doesn't matter, I'm not the fucking Times. I think I have a circulation of like three, which works for me.

Lately, there's just a dread that lingers, a stupor of thought that settles in and indescribably melancholy. I've been sinking, and the thing is, that it's so hard to explain what's wrong. There aren't sufficient words, especially when you seem so fine, so alright on the outside. Inside it feels like everything is dying, like your layers are peeling apart and everything is sort of raw, empty and drab. I feel like I can't even explain it to myself. I just feel stupid. I can't tell you how many times I've wished I could just get the flu really badly, and be totally out of commission. Like, Look! I'm Sick! It's Physical! Everyone around me has been sick, and I'm suddenly this fucking healthy horse.

I watch conversations around me that I would have participated in otherwise, and feel like I have no idea what I could possibly offer to the exchange. I walk down the street and feel like I want to be invisible, like I want to just float past everyone and everything without having to feel the pound, pound, pound of my heavy footsteps, bringing me closer to - what? It feels like nothing has a point. So dramatic, I know. Lame, I know. I hate even rereading what I'm writing, so I just shouldn't. I don't even mean that in the melodramatic way it comes across. I just feel stumped by the idea of what comes next. Even the things that I love are a chore. I almost feel like I don't remember what I love right now.

The weird thing, is that I have started to see each day as this series of moments. These increasingly interminable, fragmented, segments of time. Chunks of time, and I am just trying to get from one chunk to the next. I mean, regularly my life is fluid, I guess. It just sort of, happens. Even if there's a thing you don't look forward to, you get to it and through it relatively quickly (unless it's firing someone, or breaking up with someone, or flying through horrible turbulence over the Rockies in a storm, in which case each millisecond is hell) and then you're done. But now I just am in a moment and I can't see how I'm going to get to the next one. And the thought of all the other moments and pieces of time that make up the rest of the day feel totally overwhelming. Just almost terrifying. And I want to cry. I feel like I weigh a ton. I even think - can other people see how slow I'm moving? Do I look funny to anyone else? Swollen or something? Boring? I think I ooze boring lately. Where did all my insides go?

What I really want to do is sleep.

I try to talk to people on the phone. It helps me get from one moment to the next. I spend a lot of my day getting from one place to another, so there literally are a whole bunch of small chunks of time - on a bus for ten minutes, walking six blocks, etc. It's amazing how lonely I can get in six damn blocks. I shake my head at myself thinking about it. I try to call my mom at work, or my brother wherever he is, or my dad occasionally. I think about calling friends, but usually I don't. I feel lame. They'd say, "Hey babe! How's it goin'?" and I'd just want to answer, "Horribly. I am horrible. I am lonely, and I want to cry, and it's only 12:30pm on a Tuesday, and I barely got out of the shower and there's something wrong with me." But none of those things make sense to say, and I'm almost at the place where I'm going and then I have to be in work mode, not pathetic mode. And the call doesn't happen anyway, so it doesn't matter.

Instead I focus on all these little details that are everywhere, crowd my senses and almost overwhelm me. I look at the bare trees against the sky, the poofy clouds, the dog poop on the sidewalk, the shiny hubcaps, the guys in black coats on the corner, the AM NewYork box, the red CVS letters, the train making that start-up noise you hear and know you just missed it, the fruit stand lady with her brown fanny pack change purse. The wind blowing my hair. A chicken bone. I hear people cursing everywhere like their voices are carried on the wind to my ears. A 99cent store. More skeleton trees. More wind.

I try to think about the next thing to look forward to, and it feels really far away...sometimes it's getting a seat on the bus so that I can do my crossword puzzle for five minutes. Or remembering to pack a granola bar and eating it. Sometimes, and this is both really lame and really exciting for me, it's reading my neighbor's Star magazine that I "borrow" and read before she gets home. Seriously, that's fun shit. I'm pretty sure "borrowing" mail is a felony.

I'm a felon. woohoo.

In Case You Didn't Believe Me

2006-02-20T22:31:00.000-05:00

An update on the toilet seat...

Spoke to Sako, my downstairs neighbor, who is the "aunt" of the one of the couple who live upstairs next Sean, the Angry Toilet Thrower. Remember, they were out of town, and are the only other two people who share Sean's bathroom. (Incidentally, they are professional "freaks" - they travel around the city/country doing freakshows, and their day jobs are as a tattoo artist and piercer.) Sako is who I had to fiendishly text when I saw the toilet seat, because who else would appreciate the madness? I guess J would, but he was on the train.

Today I saw Sako and she said that when Jane and Orlin came home she showed them the bathroom and they were like, "What a fuckin' freak!" So Jane is on her way down to the basement to use Sako's bathroom one day in her bathrobe and she runs into Sean in the hallway and he asks her why she's going downstairs.

Jane: "Oh, well. You know, since there's no toilet seat now... and it's my aunt's bathroom, soo...."

Sean: "Well, why don't you just go use the one upstairs?" (Which is also communal, but with four people, all of whom are really old and probably have even worse toilet issues.)

Jane: "Naw, that's cool. I'll just go on downstairs. Oh, by the way, just so you know, um, Orlin and I were out of town last week, so..."

Sean: "Oh, right. Yea, well you know, it must've been fuckin' Ronald, man. (lives on the top floor, where he was just directing Jane to bathe) He is sick man. He's always bringing hoes up in the building, and I know they go back to that bathroom and do kinky shit, man. He is nasty."

Jane: "Hmmm..." (backs down the stairs)

Sean: "Anyway, it was just an anger thing, you know? I'ma get a new seat cover. We needed a new one anyway!"

I really wish I had photos of all these individuals, so that I could post them and you could just imagine more clearly these interactions. Honestly.

Buff, wired black man with way too much pent up anger, usually followed by gigantic dog NOT on a leash.

Shortish, pink-haired, white girl with excessive piercings/tattoos, often followed by tall, skinny white guy with mohawk, implants in his arms to make him look scaly, and piercings galore, including like, thimbles in his ears.

(By the way, my step-brother, the Punk, used to use those - gauges I think they're called. He used them to try to stretch out his earhole as big as possible, and one day it snagged on something - shit I wish I could remember what because that would make this story so much better - and of course, I mean, come the fuck on, his earlobe ripped open and he had to have it stitched up at an emergency room in like, Kentucky or someplace random like that. Why does anyone have the desire to make quarter-sized holes in their ears?)

Sako is a very short, kind of chubby woman who is half American-white and half Japanese. She smokes a LOT of pot. She is a professional dog walker. She is extremely generous and can put up drywall and drill things really well. She has a small chihuahua named Jack who she takes with her literally everywhere. She used to work for UPS and had a girlfriend for several years. (but I don't think she's a lesbian, technically) And she's usually high.

As promised:

No One Likes A Dirty Bowl (a.k.a. Toilet Seat At My Front Door)

2006-02-16T15:40:00.000-05:00

Okay. Many of my friends and family have visited my home in Harlem. I live in an old, old brownstone, filled with creaks, cracks and the occasional crackhead....

First thing to know about the building is that it is an SRO - Single Room Occupancy. I don't know all the history on this, but sometime after the 50s when these brownstones couldn't be held by one family anymore, they started chopping them up into little rooms. So instead of four floors for one family and a bunch of servants, they became a bunch of little rooms. The thing is, the little rooms were not made with their own kitchens and bathrooms! Some have kitchenettes, but not all. In fact, my apartment, which is the "parlor" floor, is the only true apartment in the entire building - with a proper kitchen and bathroom.

I know. You're thinking, "um, apartment=bathroom+kitchen+place to sleep+lockable door" right? Not in an SRO!

It's actually like a boarding house. Gross as that sounds. I can't even think about how many prostitutes have been up in here.

So I'm going to begin to explain the many, many, many, many experiences that I have had with my neighbors since living in this building. I feel that my building has SO much personality it needs its own name, like The Manor. But in truth it's more like, The Squalor (lots of filth to clean up), or perhaps The Leaker (many very sigh-inducing leaks I can't even think about right now), or The Squeaker (yes, mice) or The Neon-Orange Extension Cord (supplied half the building with power several times), or Crack Den (!!!) or The Colonial (just to be ironic. And it is old...).

Anyway, I'll get to all those stories another time.

Let me just say that the other night, while spending a quiet evening watching my Sunday Night TV Shows (West Wing, Desperate Housewives, Grey's Anatomy) with C, I heard a loud, clang-bang-thump-thump-thump-crash of something obviously falling down the stairs and landing outside my door. (My living room has a massive door that opens to the front hallway of the building, which means that I hear every single person that enters or moves). Loud and bizarre as this disturbance was, I was not alarmed. Oh no, not in The Colonial. These types of noises have been heard before and that time the noise was a person.

Not hearing any human moaning, I paused my TiVo (very important) and peeped out the peephole. Nothing there. I cracked the door and said, "hellllooooo?" No answer. Opened the door and stepped out.

There, in front of my door, was a blue toilet seat. Lid and seat. Blue.

Upside-down.

In front of my door.

"Um, Sean?" I call up the stairs to the guy who lives alone, with his large combo rotweiler, pit bull, head-eater dog named Hercules (who he told me once really likes me and reacts to my voice differently than everyone else. So far my experience of this special liking is that he just gets really out of control when he sees me, wagging his body/tail and whapping me with his tail while his not-so-little ding-dong comes out to say hi...). Anyway, this guy can be very sweet and is most of the time. But I have also seen that he has serious anger issues, and he is supposedly an amatuer boxer. Great combo.

"Yeaa." He calls down. Then I see him at the top of his stairs, in a towel. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, but look at that thing! (yea, like I want to do that...) I don't LIVE like that. I'm TELLING you, I Do. Not. LIVE like this. That is NASTY, I'm telling you!" Okay. Hm. Maybe I should see what he's talking about. I lean forward. I see a brown spot. I run inside....

...and get my camera. Now, I know this seems totally sick and bizarre, but I just had to document this. There was a small little spot and a hair next to it. On the bottom of the seat. And Sean ripped it off the toilet and threw it down the stairs.....

HE RIPPED OFF THE TOILET SEAT AND THREW IT DOWN THE STAIRS!

(When I figure out how to do it, I will upload the photo for your perusal. I know this seems sick, but too damn bad. It's hilarious.)

The funny thing is, the people he shares the bathroom with were out of town for like a week, so in all likelihood he was examining his own evidence....

Ahhhh, The Colonial. At least things are never boring.

And a Stolen Metrocard

2006-02-10T21:13:00.000-05:00

Last night I got home very late. 9:30 pm, in fact. Had a meeting at the office with several of the parents and kids we are trying to sign up to this great camp program for the summer. I managed to get three of my parents/kids there, which is phenomenal. Honestly, we can't get parents to participate en masse in any way, but there were six parents there last night - that's HUGE!

It's amazing though - here's this amazing, totally FREE camp, and some of the parents are so protective they are like, "I'm not sure I want to let my child go..." In other words, you want your child to hang out in the hot, stinky, crime-ridden, drug-filled ghetto all summer? AWEsome. I mean, I just don't get it. YOUR life is really small and so you don't want your child to experience something new? I can't tell you how completely frustrating it is.

Even harder, is that you can only say so much to these parents. They are, I guess understandably, very defensive, very chip-on-the-shoulder about most things, and arg, it's just like hitting a wall. You can only say so much, you don't want to offend them and then risk cutting off the child from the program, which we know is a good thing. It's just so hard when you are trying to show the child AND the parent that there's this WHOLE other world out there - a world OUTSIDE of the ghetto, where there is clean air, where Every. Single.Person. on the street or that you encounter isn't always cursing, yelling at their kids and hating their lives.

I guess I'm having a fed-up-with-the-ghetto kind of day. There are really just days when I hate it. I have days where I love where I live, feel invigorated by it, alive and powerful. And there are plenty of other days when I just see angry, ignorant people without jobs or anywhere to go all day other than the corner. I just want to scream, "Hello! Here's an idea - go SOMEwhere during the day. ANYPLACE other than the same corner every. single. day!!!!!!!" I can't even explain how stereotypical things seem sometimes. It really seems hopeless at times.

Of course, there are a million reasons why these things are the way they are, and truly, I'm the first person to list them to some Republican fuck spouting off at the mouth about the urban poor. Mainly because those people wouldn't know an "urban poor" person from a million dollar rapper, (there's the black part, you see, it confuses them) but living with it, it starts to really grate on you. Or rather, living with it really starts to grate on ME.

Forget about J. He is the most cynical of all. And being an educated black man? Forget it even more. If you listened to him without seeing him, you'd seriously be confused.

Have you seen the movie Crash? Well, first of all, I thought it was not a great movie at all. I thought, in fact, that it must be a satire. It was so ridiculously stereotyped and silly, it couldn't really take itself seriously. But it did and does and wasn't, which in my opinion made it a pretty lame movie. But. What I will say, is that it was a great conversation starter, and one of my favorite parts of the movie was when the black producer in the SUV turns to the black thug who has just attempted to carjack him, and says, "You embarass me. And you embarass yourself. Now get out of my car." So true. That's basically J's mentality.

Well, this is a random rant. But it ends with me realizing this morning on my way into the train that someone at the camp meeting last night went into my bag and wallet and stole my monthly metrocard (value of $75 to those who aren't familiar) and about $4. Left my cards and ipod and such. Really pissed me off, but I guess not too surprising. Someone stole my co-worker's new fancy phone last week. I didn't hide my bag. Too trusting, I guess. I just tell myself I guess someone was really desperate and really needed a metrocard? Poverty makes people do things they wouldn't otherwise. Thing is, that's no excuse. And given what I see regularly, and know to be true, I don't know that everyone DOES know otherwise. And that's what makes me really the most sad, sick and angry. So many parents are still kids themselves inside, forget about their children growing up with any kind of maturity and ethics.

Okay, well this rant is over for today. There's plenty more where this came from.

Trapezing

2006-02-10T21:07:00.000-05:00

So I get a call at the last minute last Friday. (yes, I'm a week late..) A friend from church who's like, hey! we're going to the flying trapeze downtown. You're coming! So i did. I was totally in the worst mood ever, depressed, crabby and ready to wallow in it.

Off to trapeze, where I actually flew through the air, flipped and CAUGHT another person in the air!!!! It was awesome. Made me feel like I rediscovered a part of myself. The coaches were all encouraging me to go back to gymnastics, which made me so excited. I just might do it.

May I reiterate: I flew through the air with the greatest of ease, swinging and flipping on the flying trapeze....

p.s. check out the photos - one of those was what I was doing! Seriously! I highly recommend trapeze for anyone who needs to shake things up a bit...

But why do commercials for the Olympics make me cry?

2006-02-03T15:41:00.000-05:00

Tough week. Basically been really down. Can't ever really appropriately explain what about, something to do with the overwhelming nature of life, existence and why everyone pisses me off.

Sigh.

You know, the easy stuff.

Spoke on the phone to a beloved old friend who told me that I should try to focus on the present, and set aside the meandering feelings of hopelessness, irritation and aggravation that seem to flood my mind when I so much as attempt to get dressed, walk down the street, etc. I wish it were that simple.

Therapy seems like a waste of time. A parody:

Today I guess I'm feeling kind of down. Yea, just out of it. Not in the right frame of mind.
Okay, I'm feeling depressed. I'm feeling irritated, pissed off, frustrated. I'm feeling like a failure.

No, I mean it. Yes, I'm even irritable right now. Yes, here. Sorry.

Why do I feel like that? Well, because everything sucks! Okay, no, just kidding. :0) But seriously. Hm, let me think about it. I guess I'm feeling that way because my father was absent throughout my childhood and my mother is living her obligatory religious morality through me. It's hard to be a Christian and a good person you know. God wants us to feel bad all the time, right? Also, as a perfectionist, I am prone to unmanageably high self-expectations which never get fulfilled, creating a viscious cycle of expectation-failure-expectation-failure. That cycle repeats itself in relationships, enabling a self-fulfilling prophecy of solitude and loneliness to permeate my life. That was last week.

Yes, I think that's right.

Oh, you think it might be about feeling abandoned? Well, sure, my best friend moved away when I was in seventh grade to become a slut on the other side of town, and now with my mother's remarriage I feel the main source of support for most of my life has been removed. Yes, I know. Painful, um, yes. Difficult to feel loved. Sure. Yes. Also have a deep-seated fear of everyone in my life leaving me - my husband, friends, cats, landlord - he might sell the place, and then who will I send my checks to? Who will I call when the electricity goes out on Sunday nights? Even you, Almighty Therapist, even you might leave me one day!

Horrible cycle, yes. Um-hm.

Well, I suppose there are likely sexual side effects. Aren't there always? Yes, sometimes orgasmic, sometimes not. Really!? No! Shit, I didn't know that. And caffeine too? Well good thing Mormons aren't in the habit of drinking coffee (the good ones anyway). Hm. That's something to think about. And you think that's because of my father leaving so early? Or the unbearable weight of repressive hyper-Christian morality that stifling my libido? Both. Hm. Oh. One created the platform and the other established the pattern? Right.

Oh. Transference. Right. I thought it was guilt-induced red-state/blue-state conflict. Okay. Yes, I'll think about that. I'll think and think and think and think about it. In fact, since that's mostly what I do, I'll start keeping a checklist of how many minutes I think about it. Okay?

But what I really want to talk about is how hard it is to wake up sometimes, to feel like I am pretty and good at what I do, and why I never have any money and how that's my fault and how commercials make me cry sometimes, like the ones for the Olympics with all the patriotic music in the background, and the flag waving- I mean, I'm not even into all that flag-waving shit until the Olympic and then I'm crying and there's poor Michelle Kwan who's never gotten the Olympic gold and I remember how my gymnastics dreams were shattered when at the last regional competition of my senior year I sprained my ankle in the middle of my floor exercise and-

Oh, right.

Out of time.

Awesome.

So, um, right.

See you next week.

Off I go.

Deadlines.

2006-01-31T21:38:00.000-05:00

Graduate school applications SUCK. Note the time. The date. I am printing. I hate that I seem to only thrive under pressure. A.k.a. the Procrastinator's Excuse #1...."but I just can't get anything done early..."

I am so sick of my personal statement I could puke. I no longer care why I think I'd be a great social worker. I love everyone, let's make the world perfect - you and me together. Join hands, we'll smile at the rainbow of life, love and liberty all of us with different colors and religions. See? It can work. All of us, loving, and living, and praying - oops! can't do that now - together.

I'm getting giddy. I can't believe I did this eight times as an 18 YEAR OLD! I wonder what crap I wrote back then. I know that I had to drive one application to the airport's 24-hour post office to get it stamped with the right date. Now THAT'S pathetic.

I did manage to get my transcripts today, so stroke averted.

Always a Beast Awaits to Eat Me

2006-01-25T21:11:00.000-05:00

I didn't post much lately. I've been feeling really down. Which seems to happen all the time. Really, I mean it's pretty much a constant in my life.

I hate the word Depression. I hate what it connotes, the implications it has in society, the ubiquitousness of the word and the "sickness," the weakness it implies, the eye-rolling involved when people hear the label. Okay, maybe I made up the eye-rolling. But I don't think so. Sometimes I roll my own eyes about someone else's supposed "depression," even though I am undeniably affected by it personally.

I don't even want to write about it, but it's pressing on me and so I feel like I should. I feel like I should blahbljadlfkjalbh it up and I just feel stuck and pissed and irritated. That's also how I feel a good chunk of my time. Frustrated. Mad. Irritated. Stuck. For every great day forward, I have a dreadful, sludgy, painful, aggravating day filled with what feels like a reminder of what a failure I am around every corner, at the end of every phone call, in every pile of crap in my apartment.

I went to a party a few weeks ago and met this fabulous woman. She is about ten years older than I am, totally out of Sex and the City. Beautiful, glamorous, funny, smart-as-a-whip, sexy, independent, owns her own art business. Knows people. Has things to say that people want to hear. Earns a good living. Fabulous style. Skinny and great skin and boobs. She sat and talked to me for about two hours. She was sort of fascinated by me, by what I'm doing for my job, by the people I work with and my goals and the things I've experienced. It was so bizarre. I mean, here I am at my J's work party, I'm thinking - I'll drink in a corner and eat all the holiday food and then we'll leave. (First of all, anyone who knows me knows I can't sit in a corner and eat. I mean, I can certainly EAT, I just can't ever NOT be meeting people, talking to people.)

This woman - now, granted she was nearing drunk - told me that there are people out there who will want to hear this, who will want to talk to you, know more, give you money, hire you, listen to you, take you seriously. She was telling me that I had "it" and that she wanted to help me accomplish my myriad goals. She took me seriously. She saw my passion, she was passionate for me and ABOUT me. I just wanted to BE her - but as ME. Does that make sense?

And here's the thing - I was floored. I was wooed. I was in love. I was confused! I left the party floating. J was like, Well, duh! I've always told you people listen to you and find you compelling. Why does it take a stranger for you to hear it? Whatever, because women are retarded and need validation from women more than men, for the most part. Anyway, it was great, and whether any of it is true or not, the important part is to follow.

The next morning I got up to go to church. I sat in a room full of beautiful, accomplished women, most of them pursuing graduate degrees, all married, smiling, clear skin, happy, cheerful, positive and upbeat, several with adorable little babies, and amazing, supportive husbands who carry diaper bags and put their arms around their wives like it's natural and fun. These ladies were kind and spiritual. The kind of women who read the Bible, look great in Banana Republic sweater sets, have glossy, no-product-needed hair, and that kind of beauty that "shines through from the inside, out." Gag.

I mean, don't get me wrong. They are wonderful. I am nothing if not in awe of them. I just don't think that can ever be me. I get even more mad that I want it to be me. I don't think it's normal. In comparison (there it is - what we do) I felt: Totally. Inadequate. I mean, I was almost in tears. Inexplicably - to some perhaps - I felt smaller than small. I looked at these would-be perfect women and felt not inspired, not happy for them, not generously-filled-with-love-for-my-fellow-woman, just Pathetic. Small. Lame. Invisible.

Now, it's important to realize that I don't go to a totally normal church. I won't get into specifics, but there's a tendency towards Stepfordness. But that is really irrelevant. I totally internalized it, walked home in tears, wrote a mental list of all the things wrong with me. All the things I forgot to do, didn't complete, was too tired to attempt, the things I'll never have, be or do...

And this happens all the time.

Elated.
Disgusted.
Confident.
Pathetic.

Endless cycles that make me feel like two different people, that allow me to project one image to my friends and another to myself. It's exhausting and at times, consuming. I wish I could just listen to that first Fabulous Woman, but right around the corner there's always something I let sabotage me.

I take it out on myself. I hold myself to ridiculous expectations. I do too much. I fill my time. with stuff to do, deadlines, activities. I spend more time thinking about my friends or my job or my duties than I do about myself.

And I am never, ever satisfied.

Ate my fruits and vegs. Now where's the chocolate?

2006-01-20T22:12:00.000-05:00

Skipped therapy today because I needed to get more hours in.

Made up with the t. I messed up with earlier in the week.

Got DC through tons of math.

Ate a fruit or veg at every meal!

Exercised!

Am watching my addictive reality tv soap opera. Can't help it. I am addicted.

Yesterday I wrote my stinky, late book review, and turned in all my editing sheets. I almost feel caught up.

Just have to work on MSW applications. Due Feb2. I'm SUCH a procrastinator.

Please, if anyone is reading this, kick my ass into gear on this one.

Have to work tomorrow. Sigh. Tired thinking about it.

Can I eat chocolate as a reward? Or do I undo all my hard work? I'm not so good at moderation. Moderation. Procrastination.

Treadmill+ Trashy TV= (ahhh) Relaxation

2006-01-19T21:46:00.000-05:00

Saw AR today. She breaks my heart. I have to limit my time with her because her situation is so frustratingly painful. Spent one aggravating hour trying to get her to read a book that is below her reading level. She refuses to read. She rolls her eyes, mumbles, pretends to fall asleep, gets out of her chair and walks away from you, ignores you, stares across the room, anything to not read. And she's smart! That's the hard thing. I don't have the energy to get into her life story - and that of her mother's - but it's crazy. And exhausting. And she lives at the end of my block, so I think about her all the time. Like, I think about adopting her. Which I can't do, among many, many other reasons, because my husband is SO not into the idea. But I think I would do it if I could. All of this oddly results in me limiting my time with her because I just feel so angry and helpless at how neglected she is. Emotionally. She has clothes and a roof and food, so technically she isn't being abused, all bases are covered. But she gets absolutely no love or support from anyone. None. They talk to her and treat her like an adult since she was only 4. Probably younger, in fact.

All this recent talk and discovery about Nixzmary and her death makes me feel really upset and nervous and freaked out. If something secretive and awful were to happen one of my kids, it would be AR.

Finally! however, she read, managed to finish her short chapter book and obviously felt so successful and proud of herself. If only I could see her for an hour every morning! I just don't have enough hours in the day.

Went to a sneak preview of "Nanny McPhee" with OF. Fun! Free movie in Manhattan is a serious bonus. After an asshole bus driver refused to let OF on for free - he literally stopped us and said "Five years old or below the bar or you pay FULL FARE." I was really rude to him. I have never paid for a child. Like the two dollars goes in his pocket or something!?

Dropped OF off and spoke to OFMom about the GED. We were planning to go visit a nearby GED program, but the movie interrupted. Mentioned having a once-a-week GED tutoring class with her and MDMom, maybe on Thursday nights. She was totally up for it. I know it's one more thing on my plate, but I'm thinking if we do it between now and April, and then the two of them will start their classes together, it would be a good way to get started and motivated and such. 6-8pm on Thursdays. I can do that, right? Probably shouldn't. But I'm totally excited about getting them excited about it.

Home, onto my treadmill. Have been having weird abdominal pains last few weeks. Exercise helps me relax and feel better. So does chocolate. While watching Dancing with the Stars. And then The O.C. Does that make me lame? I am almost embarrased by how much tv I watch when I get home at night from work. What do you do to relax?

No Money+No Skills+No Education=Desperate Depression

2006-01-18T22:30:00.000-05:00

Then tonight MDMom calls me and is really upset. She tells me that she is just overwhelmed with her entire life, she's crying and can barely talk. She says she just doesn't know how to keep going, her life is so hard and things feel out of her control. She tells me that even though she works full time as a home health aide (for only $8 an hour, no benefits, no paid vacation), she only takes home about $800 a month, half of it goes to rent, so she's left to cover all food, expenses - everything for her and her daughter for only $400 and it's NEVER enough. She said she feels like she has no way to get money, she doesn't have her GED. She mentions that she feels like she's going to have to go into prostitution. I tell her No,no,no! You don't have to do that! I insist that that is not necessary and that we will figure it out. She starts sobbing and tells me that she mumble, mumble, mumble. I say, Excuse me? You feel like you already are, or, You already did in the past? I don't understand. She tells me she feels like she's basically already doing it now.

I ask about the boyfriend I already know about, and she tells me that in addition to him - who she says isn't really even a boyfriend - there are three other guys, none of whom are her boyfriends. She tells me that she just calls them when she really needs something, and either she goes to their place or they come over after MD goes to bed and they have sex and then they either give her money, or whatever she needs at that point. She is crying and feels really awful and says she just feels like she has no other choice, and that without that money she wouldn't be able to survive, that she's already bouncing checks, that she has overdraft fees and doesn't know what to do.

I am feeling really at a loss about what to say here. She's crying, telling me she's basically a prostitute, I'm trying to make her feel better. I ask her what her friends say to her and she says they don't know. She tells me that even the main boyfriend is cheating on her, and she's never been with a man who didn't cheat on her. I kept telling her that she deserves better than this, that she does not have to settle for this in her life. I tried to move to conversation toward getting her out of this situation, focusing on getting her GED (there are wait-lists for the free programs and you have to attend four days a week for three hours, or there are pay programs, but she doesn't have the money, also doesn't know who would watch MD during all this time) and her resume up to date. She says she used to work at Chase and made enough money to support herself and didn't feel like she had to get anything from anyone else, but she doesn't get child support (bastard!) and can't make ends meet. She was crying again saying she would try to get a night job, but who would watch MD? Her mother is an alcoholic, bipolar who allowed MDMom to be molested as a child, so she doesn't trust her with MD now. She doesn't have much more family to help.

I tried to keep giving her hope and focusing on our next steps. I told her to get her resume out and start editing it, adding new things that she does and I would help her type it out. I said we could look into bank work again and she started crying because she can't get hired anywhere decent without a BA, much less without a GED. I told her she did it once, she can do it again. I kept reiterating that she was worth more, that she deserved the best, to be treated well and to expect to be treated well. She kept protesting (I understand why) there are no good men out there, none who treat women well, none who don't cheat or hurt or abuse or use.

I tried to steer the conversation toward concrete things we can do together to make her feel more in control. I made her promise me she would get out her resume and we would update it together, and that we would sign her up soon for a GED program. She was still weeping, but was hearing me and saying Okay, okay. I told her it was important that she make sure MD was secure, and that she tell her that Mommy was okay. I explained that hearing her mom cry was very upsetting to a child, especially one as sensitive and upsettable as MD, and that she needs to tell MD that she is okay, just upset and that everything is going to be okay. She was really listening, so I pushed on and said that for MD, her mom is her whole world - her security, her life, her concept of the world, so as much as possible she should try to make sure MD feels safe, loved and secure and like things are okay. She agreed that she would do that when she came out from hiding in the bathroom.

I told her if she was ever feeling suicidal again to call me, one of her friends, or her counselor ASAP. She said she would. But I told her when she was feeling that way, to think about her little girl in the room next door and use MD as her motivation, her hope and inspiration to keep going.

Got off the phone and treadmilled for another half hour. You'd think I'd be a stick at this point, from all my treadmilling, but (sigh) not so.

Who's A Flake? Oh Wait - That's ME!

2006-01-18T21:45:00.000-05:00

I forgot to mention that I met with the Guidance Counselor and principal at MD's school to chat about her progress (or lack thereof). I got to school and they informed me that THAT DAY she had gotten in another fight with the same boy, and had backhanded him across the face. Awesome. After two consecutive nights of talking to MDMom and having her nearly kick MD's ass (or mine, or the teachers's), I pleaded with them not to call and tell her that day. So we agreed to set up a meeting for the next Tuesday (yesterday morning) at 8am. Begged the t. who is mad, to come in. Okay. Whew. Left leaving very satisfied. Now just to call MDMom and let her know to be there.

Found out the details of AM's fight. In one of her shockingly messed up classes, the t. left for a minute and one girl in the class and another who had wandered in front hte hallway, locked the t. out of the classroom. When AM saw the other girl in the hall she pointed her out to the AP and said, "That's the girl who did it!" and the girl got pissed at her for "snitching" (don't even get me started on the STOP SNITCHING t-shirts all over the place. Well, not ALL over the place, but all over Harlem anyway. Sigh. SO annoying to me. As in, don't tell what you know about whatever's going down.) AP is standing right there, the girl shoves AM to the floor, so AM gets up looks at the AP, who does nothing, and then hits back. Then the AP later blames AM for "starting it" by instigating verbally. Even though the other girl shoved her right in front of the AP! So AM got three days in-school suspension, the other girl got one.

I told AM that while I do NOT advocate fighting, and that it better NOT happen again, that I was proud of her for telling the truth, and that there are times when you have to defend yourself. Her father, who is about 6'6" and 250 pounds still hits her when she messes up. She said she put a whole lot of lotion on her arm so it didn't really hurt, but he did beat her with his belt on her arm. I asked if there were any bruises, but she said no, and it was way less than other beatings in the past. She's 12 now, so at some point this is going to HAVE to stop. I know he's old-school and it's a cultural thing, and he loves her dearly, but she's a young woman now.

Good weekend. Went to church, but wasn't all that spiritually uplifted. I tried though, for what it's worth. Sometimes I just don't really know how to connect with God. I am so busy trying to remember what I'm forgetting that church is the only time when I'm sort of forced to just sit still for a couple hours, not really move around or fiddle with things, and it's like all the stuff I've forgotten come rushing back at me. I try to push them out, but...

Saw MatchPoint and Brokeback Mountain (finally). Cried a LOT. Both movies amazing and highly recommended.

Woke up at 9:30am yesterday like a bolt. Shit! It's Tuesday! I'm in bed! It's 9:30! After ALL THAT I f*ing MISSED the meeting THAT I SET UP!!! Oh, I felt like such a moron. A TOTAL MORON. Now I have lost credibility with everyone at the school, and they are going to think MDMom is a mess, when I TOTALLY FORGOT TO CALL HER. I worked all day on Saturday, was at church and a ballgame on Sunday, doing errands all day Monday, and....Oh Crap. I was so upset. I called my co-worker and lost it. I called my mom and lost it. They both just assured me that I'm human, it's not the end of the world, but I felt (feel) so dumb. I mean, I'm supposed to be the one who knows what is going on, who is getting things done. NOT FORGETTING TO SHOW UP TO MY OWN APPOINTMENTS.

I immediately called the GC and took responsibility it, tried to amend things, etc. She took my apology but was sort of like, "Um, no." to my suggestions of a re-schedule. Told MDMom later and she ws sort of like, shrug.

Now, every time I'm at MD's house one or the other elevator is broken. Amazing how, in a building with 20 floors, 10 apartments a floor, there are only two elevators and two stairwells, and one elevator is ALWAYS broken. The stairs - well, they are stereotypical, and after a few attempts at that I said no more ash-covered, urine-soaked, narrow, dark, sketchy project-stairwells for me! I put my foot down! I will only go in half-broken, urine-soaked, cramped and sketchy elevators!

So on the way out, the elevator starts going up, not down, and started shaking and going
really, really fast like it was going to explode out of the ceiling like in Charlie and Chocolate Factory. (the book anyway had a crazy exploding elevator) So I jump out on the 20th floor (instead of the 1st) after the shuddering door creaks open. I'm shaking and freaking out. There's a man standing there waiting and I tell him that elevator is kind of broken. We wait for the other one. (Thank God, cause I'm not going down 20 flights of stairs with this man!) The man immediately starts in with, "Oh your eyes are so beautiful. And your lips. Also beautiful. What's your number? Can I give you mine?" blah blah balh. I tell him politely I'm married, shake my head, don't make eye contact, keep it short. Elevator comes, 20 flights later I'm rushing out and guess who's rushing with me? The man.

He's short, about my height, and slight build, but wearing the baggy, thug-style clothes. I couldn't help noticing a dog that got in the elevator with us was really really interested in smelling his crotch/waist area. Ugh. Wearing a doo-rag under a baseball hat, scars on his face, several homemade ink tatoos. Horrible English. Tells me he's from Ecuador and he really likes white ladies like me. He wants me to introduce him to other white lady friends. Asks me if I smoke. If I do drugs, tells me he can get me some. Keeps walking alongside me. I'm going faster and faster, keeping my answers short. Walking fast. Down Columbus Ave. He is asking me where I"m going, if I'm going to the train (I'm thinking - shit! Anyone can get on the train - he can follow me!)I tell him I'm going to a friend's. I tell him no, I'm not interested over and over again. He's not hearing me. I pass a guy on a cell phone and I seriously almost threw myself at him and yelled out, "Doug! Oh my god, what a surprise! SOOOO good to see you!" But "Doug" was too engrossed in his call. Where are al lthe people? Then I see my bus from a block away and just start running full force towards it. Whew! Then once on the bus I realize that while I was walking I passed a police precinct! Oh, girlfriend you are so lame. :)

Doctor, Doctor, Give me the news...

2006-01-14T18:53:00.000-05:00

Went to therapy on Friday myself. Given my job alone you would think it was warranted and I've barely even touched upon the personal in this blog yet. Oh don't worry, I will pour out waay more than any of my nonexistent readers will ever want to read.

It's very unlike me, but I got in the room with the therapist and just started to cry. I cried about my mom, my step-father, my life, turning 30, not being a published author yet, my relationship with J, my fat thighs, my (seeming) inability to purchase property in this lifetime, my horrible budgeting and financial chaos, my ugly face (I know, I know), the fact that I was crying in the first place... I was a blubbering mess. Literally, the most kleenex I've used in her office in over six months!

It sort of resolved itself with her asking me if I had noticed that she was pregnant. Holy shit! Here I am, someone who has expressly talked with her about how I notice details, in fact about how I often notice and remember details about others while I feel they rarely remember the same in me, that I even felt it was a special talent or attribute that I hold - noticing the small things in people's lives. And she's pregnant. And I see her a LOT. And I didn't notice.

What the hell - so very, very embarassing.

Perhaps I have just so divorced myself from the idea of her as a regular "person" in order to maintain my ability to speak at length about my limitless faults, insecurities and issues, that I long-ago ceased to really look at her? I don't know. I mean, I notice if a book is in a different place in her office. Or if the plant is turned away from the sun this week. Seriously. Because while I talk to her I stare at the bookshelf and reorganize all the books by size order in my mind, then in reverse, then alphabetical by author, so if there's a new book or one out of place I notice. But not her five-months-along belly? I'm a clueless moron.

* * *

So most of yesterday I was a bit of a mess. Went to the Bronx to see AM after therapy. Found out that she was in a fight with another girl the day before and had in-school suspension. Hate going to her school, it makes my blood boil. Especially since I once was a teacher at a middle school very nearby, it brings me back to the anger of being in what feels like a totally ineffectual school. Here are dozens of kids, at the cusp of deciding who they are going to become, at the time when they are going to fall on one side of the fence or the other - right when you can get them interested, invigorated and wanting to learn, or they can take it to the streets, start dealing and drinking and sexing and drop out. It's literally a matter of 2-3 years in my opinion, that determines on which side they fall. And in poor neighborhoods, we just don't have leisure timeto sit around and have fuck-ups for teachers, unorganized classrooms, lack of resources, no discipline, all the shit that I saw all around me as a teacher and every time I walk into AM's school. There is literally not enough room in this blog for this particular diatribe.

For example, I see this girl weekly, she is in sixth grade (which I taught) and she NEVER has homework. I don't mean that she's lying to me and it's sitting by the wayside somewhere. I mean, she may or may not get a random worksheet, a few sentences to answer/copy and a book to read that is obviously easy and way below grade level (but at least she's reading they call. bullshit!) and she finishes it before she even leaves school. So when I ask her "where's the homework?" and there's always "oh, mr. so-and-so didn't give any, so-and-so was absent, so-and-so said just study for the test, I finished it already" etc. She is behind in almost every grade, in spite of her father's and my best efforts and I blame the school. I blame so many, many things, but mainly I blame the low expectations of a school and a system and a community and a city and a nation that would look at a child like AM, the statistics of her life and basically shrug. Which is pretty much what they do. I mean, Bloomberg is sort of trying, but it's like all band-aids, you know? Oh, it makes me violent. (not really. on the inside.)

One day I sat in on one of her math classes. The room was straight out of some eye-rollingly stereotypical movie - kids in the corners playing cards, kids jumping over desks, fighting in the back of the room, going through the teacher's things. There were about three kids in the front of the room staring at the t. and attempting to copy the random scribblings from the board. Where was the t. during all of this? Oh, at the front of the room, yelling at kids at the top of her lungs. Vaguely attempting to teach in between screaming at one child or another how she was gonna "call yo' momma," "I can say anything I want to!" and "Whatever Jose, that's why you failing my class!" There you go, insult the kid. Ridicule him in front of all his peers. Talk like one of his own siblings. Make him feel like you hate him. Use improper grammart. Shout like a child. Seems to be working for you so far.

Honestly, she looked foolish, and if I were one of the kids in her class, I'm sure I would hate her as many of them obviously did.

I left that day so sickened and angry. Just really, really angry. I mean, none of this is ever a surprise to me - I used to teach just down the street in a similar setting. But that NEVER excuses it. I immediately left a message on AMDad's voicemail telling him I wouldn't let a child of mine stay a day longer in a school like that, and I only felt it was my duty to tell him so and that I would begin immediately researching new schools to transfer her to. He left me a message that he was very grateful and would also look into it as well as speak to the AP at the school. Which would only make things worse, you will see after reading the next passage below, when the very valid complaint would become just a piece of racialized fodder.

Later I found out that at the end of that period, the t. confronted AM and said in a snotty voice, "So. You behave for a white lady when she comes to your class and not for your black teacher? What is that all about? Huh? Think about it. What does that say about you?" AM said she didn't answer, and didn't really understand why she said that. She said, "But Ms. S, of course I would behave with you there. Or if it was my father, or my mother. I just wouldn't want you to think of me badly." Shocking. It's about not race, but respect? Wow. If only Ms. MathTeacher had graduated from sixth-grade-level maturity. I was so angry I wanted to go right into the school and have a word or two with this pathetic math teacher.

YOU can't teach and it has something to do with the color of MY skin? Excuse me? This isn't taking into account the fact that I have a long-standing relationship with AM, that she has respect for me, listens to me and that I am consistent, mature, understanding and good at working with kids, whereas this woman was a small-minded, insufficient excuse for a teacher, who offerred respect to no one (including herself, obviously) who was grasping at straws to justify her own failure by trying to corner and intimidate a child. Pathetic Bitch. As if the kids in your room don't have enough real racial bullshit to deal with in their lives and their futures, and now you are going to bring and create more of your own for them to wade through. Shame!

SO maddening. And disgusting, actually.

(This is why my treadmill is so very, very necessary. I belonged to a gym for six years, but it recently became too expensive, so this craigslisted treadmill has worked quite nicely so far, thank you. Except for the fact that my weight keeps increasing lately, not decreasing. What's up with that?)

Peeing Pants, Pouting Parents

2006-01-12T23:40:00.000-05:00

I then took out two different girls at that school - OF and DC, both of whom are in the gifted/talented program. Heard from their t. that OF is doing really well and she continues to tell me that she worries about DC's ability levels and placement in her class. I continue to pray and work hard with DC. This was a HUGE opportunity - given all the tests, applications, rigamarole, re-registering, bus bullshit and whatnot to get these two girls into this program, I will do whatever I can to keep them both in it. There's really no question with OF, who is now reading at a borderline 4th grade level (she's in 2nd grade), but with DC there are math concerns, as well as reading comprehension issues.

I take them to swimming lessons, and afterwards DC has written out three questions to ask the instructor about swimming, which is for a research project for her class. In fact, this whole outing for her (she used to have swimming, but now only OF goes) was to enable her to do this interview. Now in front of her instructor she refuses to speak. She's had this great lesson, is all happy, etc and now she just hold the notebook and pencil and stares at him like he is a statue. He cajoles and tries and I start to get more and more upset. Oh please, not again. NOT AGAIN. I am SO frustrated. See, DC has Selective Mutism. That is to say, she "selects" times when she becomes "mute." People take it very personally and I have to tell them - it's NOT you. You could be holding a chocolate cake and all she had to do was say hello to get it, and she wouldn't, once she's in this mode. It's really kind of fascinating to watch, except that it's so f*ing maddening. Anyway, I thought we were making SO much progress with her new school, teacher and dance classes. But now, she's back at it and I feel mad, embarassed and tired. She finally manages to ask him, not the questions, but a compromised "Will you help me?" followed by her giving him the notebook to write the answers down himself. He is sweet about it and she just stands there.

In situations like this, I never know how hard to push. It's the weirdest thing to be a part of, because the other adult never gets it (unless they know DC) and look to me to sort it out. WHICH I CAN'T! And then, weirdly enough, SOMETIMES I CAN! There doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to it. I don't know. We play I Spy all the way home. At OF's house I speak to her mother about the GED-to-College program at Hostos Community College that we have been discussing for her for sometime. I looked into the registration process and we are going to try to go over there next Thursday perhaps, after swimming with OF to register her mom. YeA! I love her mother. More on her in the future.

Off to drop off DC. On the way she tells me she has to go to the bathroom, so we hurry. The elevator in her building is slow. She's doing the dance. I'm hitting the button. She tells me, "Ms. S, It's starting to come out!" I feel awful. I'm hitting the button, trying to reassure her. Her face starts to crumple. I see streaks of dark running down her jeans and I almost cry. I immediately begin to reassure - It's okay, no big deal. A crackhead comes into the foyer just as the elevator opens and DC hides behind me so he won't see her legs. I'm thinking, Oh please let this guy not be going in the elevator with us. There is a lot of "activity" in this particular building, and we both know it can be pretty uncomfortable to be stuck in an elevator with a tweaking crackhead who asks us both a lot of questions neither of us want to answer.

He walks by us. Whew. Into the elevator and I keep telling her it's not a big deal, and we'll go right to the bathroom, and it even happens to grown-ups sometimes. I can't tell if her face is smiling or crying. We get to the door and she bolts to her room, grandma, auntie, baby cousin and two brothers are all in the living room and it's no big deal. DCMom, who I'll get to soon, is in the shower to alleviate her myriad health problems. I call through the door to her to say goodbye and she says to open the door and tells me some stuff. She talks to me from the stall and I feel awkward. At one point I sorta saw a naked body part, and not just her foot. Ack! I tell myself it's the human body, and besides, I love this woman so much, and obviously she trusts me enough to talk to her in the bathroom. Still, there are some boundaries I don't need to cross, so I shut the door more and just sort of talk through the crack to say goodbye.

PERSONAL DRAMA ENSUES

On the way home I call my brother back to let him know I hadn't forgotten that today is my mother's birthday. Have I sent her a card? A gift? Anything? Nope. I suck. Taking care of everyone else's kids/moms and not my own. Awesome. Killer job there kiddo. We talk for 1.5 hours about the family drama that took place over Christmas. How can I summarize?

My step-father thinks I ruined Christmas by insulting his recently outed lesbian daughter, and I'm too outspoken in general.

Of course, that's not what happened, but that's my sensitized version, and it isn't actually THAT far from the truth of things. My version is:

My over-sensitive step-father has turned my moderately conservative/religious mother into a humorless, blob of no-opinions, no-laughter and no-fun. And I didn't insult his daughter. She just hates him and didn't want to be there because he has told her he is embarassed by her lesbianism. And she thought when I told her that she looked like one of the models on America's NExt Top Model that I was making fun of her, and then when I pushed the presents to the middle of the room (some Christmas Present-style Clashing going on here) she couldn't handle it anymore and left. Anyway, after spending about an hour explaining to her that I'm not used to people being insultedby being called a model lookalike, I apologized and we made up and all was well in the universe. Well, all was well between US. The real issue was that her father was excluding her girlfriend from Christmas, making her feel like a failure as a daughter for being a lesbian and came right out and told her that he was embarassed by her and didn't want the rest of the family to know about it. Awesome. How again, did I ruin Christmas? So we talk about that for awhile. Then we leave, and my step-dad, who pouted for the rest of the night like a five-year-old whose candy has been put away. Mind you, my step-father is a head professor at a major U.S. university. Because he thinks I upset his daughter. Oh, also I'm too out-spoken, which isn't really related to anything, except his general dislike of me.

Reality's the shit, ain't it?

Okay, enough.

I am EXHAUSTED. by my life. by my head. by my family. by my job. The only thing that doesn't exhaust me is chocolate.

Soooo not a real option.

Exhausted

2006-01-12T23:15:00.000-05:00

Well. Monday was the positive meeitng with the therapist. TUESDAY I checked my phone after being in a basement with no reception for several hours, only to see EIGHT CALLS from MDMom. Shit. Okay. Listen to messages.

Long-ass rant about how ANGRY, SICK, and TIRED of all of this she is. The school called and MD had CHOKED a child in school. Then MDMom, in all her defensive and upset glory hung up on the teacher who was trying to tell her what happened. Oh Lord. She wants MD out of the school, she doesn't think she's going to send her to school the next day, she's going to go crazy. Please call her back. Awesome.

I had trusted co-workers listen to the message for le advice. Basically they said support her, tell her yanking her out of school won't work (duh) and try to facilitate a meeting with admin at the school. I was not to call MDMom back that night b/c she needed to simmer down and get calm, and I was tired of it all. (Imagine how she must feel.)

Couldn't help it. Eight calls is a lot to ignore, so I called her at about 8:30 while I cooking. I hate cooking, and I knew she would have a lot to say, so it would get me through it. It did! Somehow before I knew it I had a meal in front of me! Same basic complaints - why do they keep blaming MD? Why is she always in the middle of things? What about the other kids? What are they doing? Why aren't they being punished? I just let her vent and didn't even try to approach the "Well, choking a child isn't justified no matter WHAT the other kid did (which was not much) anyway, and it's irrelevant what they are doing to the other kids, since MD is the common denominator in all the messes" argument. Not gonna fly, even if it is the truth. I had to get off after a half hour, and we settled that I would attempt to set up a meeting with prin, t., G.C. and the two of us for as soon as possible.

She DID tell me that she called the therapist's office to speak to them about it! I told her that was really great and expressed my happiness that she felt she could do that. The therapist said she didn't think taking her out of school was the right thing to do either, but at least she thought to take it to a good place. She was so fed up, she said, you know, I'm about to just beat her, I just don't know what to do. Then I'ma end up in jail and that ain't getting any of us anywhere.

*****

Wednesday I go into the school to speak to the GC about setting up an appt. She informs me that TODAY MD OPEN-FIST SLAPPED THE SAME CHILD ACROSS THE FACE! Oh shit. Now MDMom is really going to lose her shit, as am I. I meet with the GC and the prin, give a bit of background and they agree to the meeting for next Tuesday. But they want to suspend MD. I manage to convince them that calling MDMom today would be VERY detrimental and they agree to wait until the meeting to speak to her about it. I don't know, was that the right thing to do? I was worried another mid-day phone call from the school would put her through the roof.

I did see MD in the hallway and asked her how her day was going and if she was making good choices. She said she was. I stooped down and looked her straight in the eye and asked again in a quiet voice if she made good choices today. Her big eyes went sideways and suddenly the bulletin boarder was really fascinating. She shook her head no. She refused to tell me what made her hit him. I asked if she felt while it was happening that she just couldn't help it and she nodded yes. When I asked her to explain it to me, she just said, "I felt like I couldn't help it," but when I told her those were MY words, and I wanted hers, she just went silent on me.

I gave her a huge hug and told her I loved her and asked her to think about what she was feeling when she hit him. She was very sad and pensive when she walked back to class.

Things Get Better, Then They Get Worse

2006-01-11T20:31:00.000-05:00

Monday went well. Chatted with therapist in advance about the crazy call on Friday. Warned her that there may be some racial issues and to be sensitive to how MDMom may be feeling, which she totally got. Picked up MD and went to therapist's. MDMom was already in session and speaking to Th. When she wanted to speak to the child, I sent MD in and sat in the hallway and MDMom came out. The first thing she did was give me this crushing bear hug and burst into tears.

Then she told me about her childhood - things I had never known, had only sort of imagined, but that she had kept private until that moment. In so many ways I know so much about the moms, women and families that I work with. But then, I know that there's so much I don't know, so much that due to my position and who I am, that they can't/won't tell me.

She told me that she was molested at age 11 by her mother's boyfriend. She told her mother about it, but she didn't believe her, so she went to her best friend and her mother. They confronted the mother about it, but her mother denied it and said MDMom was lying. The very next day she went directly to the school guidance counselor who called ACS. She was removed from the home that very day, never to return.

They placed her immediately in a group home for troubled girls. After some time she went to a foster home. She was unhappy and attempted to kill herself with pills and was put in the hospital. The foster family couldn't handle her, so she was placed in a sort of mental health "lock-up" type facility, run by nuns (I just find that detail interesting) for troubled girls. AFter a few months she escaped and ran away with two other girls by sneaking past the guards. The three of them went to one girl's home and she was immediately beat up by her boyfriend. MDMom was like, I'm outta here. She ran away from that place into the wilds of Brooklyn in the mid-80s. I cannot even imagine. She was in Flatbush, and was trying to get to her aunt's house in East New York (not the best place, even know. Imagine then.) In one night she witnessed a drive-by shooting, her friend get beaten and was propositioned by a cab driver to whom she went for assistance - he said he would take her to her aunt's if she pleasured him. She ran away again, hopped the turnstile and tried to figure out the subway maps to get to her aunt's. She had nowhere to go to the bathroom, so she urinated on herself. She arrived sometime the next day, dirty, urine-soaked and scared, but in one piece. She said somewhere along the way she adopted a Jamaican patois accent. When her aunt opened the door, she literally didn't know who she was, but she quickly took her in. She enrolled in school there and this is where our conversation was interrupted by the therapist coming back to get us.

I know that she got pregnant for the first time at age 14 (the aunt she was living with told me at one point that she had her first child, of five, at age 13) and either terminated or miscarried that baby, as well as at least one for age 15, 16, 17 and 18. MD was a second pregnancy at age 18, the first to be born. I know that since MD's birth there have been many other pregnancies, and at least two miscarriages in the almost-two-years I have known her.

We left the therapist's office in what seemed a very light and honest mood. She was happy to be on their list, getting the help and knowing where to go next. She told me she was committed to following up with an in-take appt to get on their waiting list. I felt like the drama had been almost happily resolved and I was content with my participation in it, though I knew MD would in no way stop her tantrums, outburts and angry assaults any time soon. Nevertheless, this was one huge step forward.

Late Paperwork Means...

2006-01-10T13:06:00.000-05:00

I sit at home and try to catch up on a MONTH of stuff I was supposed to do and keep procrastinating. This is NOT how it's supposed to be. Really, not. Luckily, it's all written down in my little book, so it's not like I'm making things up or anything, but I'm supposed to turn these things in WEEKLY. I can't believe I haven't been fired based on my crappy paperwork skills alone. And I mean, the irony of it is that I'M A WRITER. Good god, woman, get it together.

Even right now, for example, I should be finishing Dec prwk, and I'm updating here. I didn't write yesterday, because it would have just been my rambling, not unlike now, but less interesting. I am worried (why spend time worrying about something so lame?) that I will write totally lame, overly-personal information in this blog, that no one will ever want to read anyway. And then there will be no cohesion, nothing worth attaching one's self to and this whole thing will be for naught. Why, more relevantly, am I worried about a three-day-old blog falling apart when I've only written in it twice? I'm a freak.

Tuesday is my back-to-work day, and it always makes me feel like I haven't really had any kind of weekend, and I just want to sit at home and curl up on the chaise in a fleece blanket and make love to my computer. I have so much SHIT to do - a book review that is 1.5 months late (oh yes, I'm a procrastinator), checks for a credit card I've been meaning to mail for, oh, about four months, a diet not to break (which means food to make, which I hate), blah blah blah. I'm always in a state of Total Mess, Complete Chaos or Hyperventilating Hysteria.

On a good note, yesterday was my day off, and I managed to spend some of it on myself! I ran on my treadmill in the morning, worked up a hearty sweat, showered and clothed myself appropriately (sometimes that's an achievement, okay?) and went off to therapy to deal with my issues. I then, amusingly, met one of my girls and her mom to introduce them to therapy. I was more than a little apprehensive, given that the last comversation I had with this particular mother was kind of an hour-long screaming match. Yes, Friday evening I call to let her know the address of the place, time, etc and she mentions that maybe things are getting better with MD. I mention that I had in fact been in MD's classroom the day prior, and her teacher (hereafter "t.") was still having problems. In fact, the t. told me that MD was her second largest problem in the classroom, on the heels of a violent autistic child...this turned into the most intense conversation I"ve ever had without freaking out myself.

The mother was totally fed up, pissed off and borderline out of control. She's cursing up a storm - I'm FUCKING SICK OF THIS, I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING DEAL with hearing that MD did this, MD did that. I'm SICK OF IT! Etc. And of course this is all going on with the child in the background, plaintively trying to claim she hasn't done anything wrong at school and it's always another child's fault. To which her mother screams "I tell you every FUCKING DAY not to FUCKING DEAl with those other FUCKING little KIDS!" Which results in MD wailing and pitching one of her tried-and-true hysteria sessions. Awesome. This call has devolved into Grade One Chaos. I have to practically yell at MDMom to send MD into her bedroom so that the two of us can talk, and that it doesn't help to scream at her. I'm not sure MDMom even heard me. I had to keep yelling, "I HEAR you, but listen to me, No - LIST- LISTEN TO ME!" Because MDMom's feeling is that she should "take MD outta that school. I'm sick of these people who can't even work with my child, who always blame her. I'm gonna take her out and put her in a BLACK SCHOOL, where they know what to do with my child!" I assure her that leaving the school will make no difference, and that she was already in a "Black School" and the issues were exactly the same. Except it was more like, "MDMOM! THAT'S NOT - NO, HEAR ME- NO, THAT'S NOT THE ANSWER. LISTEN TO ME! NO, LISTEN TO ME!" Because she was deep in her rant she couldn't hear me.

This went on for an hour, and the more she ranted and raved, the angrier and more emotional and FUCK-laden the conversation became. Finally my phone died and I ran into the other room to get J's cell to call her back. I was panicking she thought I hung up and her! When I got her back on the line she was practically silent, would barely answer my questions or respond to me in any way. When I asked what was up she just said, "I have a headache, a really, really bad headache. I'm just TIRED of this. I'm TIRED. I can't be HEARING this anymore, I'm TIRED." (eye roll - shocker - you have a headache? So do I now.)

That was the end of that. I managed to get her to agree to meet me at the therapist's office on Monday - MY day off - and that I would pick up MD to meet MDMom there.

I hung up and just cried. It was too much. How much sympathizing and helping and prodding and trying to help can you do before you just have to say, "well, that's it. I can't do anything more." I flopped on my bed and J came into the room and said, "So, no Brokeback Mountain tonight?" Which at least made me laugh.

After all, what's worse:

a)an overwrought, angry, young single-mother who works hard to make shitty money, lives in the projects and whose denial results in the belief that her child's punching/choking/screaming issues are really all in the mind of the white professionals at her school,

OR,

b) being a gay cowboy living in Montana?

I think that really puts things in perspective, right?