almost every continent

I haven't been to that many continents. I was born and raised in New York. I've been to a few countries in Europe. That is it. I am not complaining. I am lucky to have traveled at all. My dream is to visit most, if not all, continents before I die and am reincarnated into a beautiful and graceful pegasus, able to soar among the stars and than gallop into the sunset when I land in a peaceful meadow (should there be any left; realistically speaking).

So, maybe this is the reason I am so obsessed with seeing where the people that read my blog live. I check almost every day and I have had someone from six of the seven continents read my blog at some point or another. I'm just missing Antarctica... so you scientists out in the freezing land of Antarctica, I'm calling for YOU! so, the fact remains, I get really excited that I seem to have a few faithful readers in Russia, Germany, and sometimes, France and Australia. I don't have that huge of a following and I don't need one. I just love seeing readers from interesting countries pop up. I would love to hear their stories. Like the person Ukraine, Bulgaria, or Latvia! I want to know what life is like in these countries, why they read my blog and what their daily lives are like. What other blogs do they read? How did they find mine?

I started out writing this blog as a way for me to simply write more. I do a lot of journal-writing but it is so different. That is way more private and based on feelings rather than opinions and observations and experiences. I never in a million years thought that anyone besides my good friends on Facebook (which is where I post my blog) would read, so when I started noticing all the countries that I don't know people in represented in my statistics, it made me wonder: how?

So, if anyone from anywhere other than the US (or in the US, hell, I'm an equal-opportunity-writer) wants to follow my blog and comment to tell me about themselves, I think that would be so amazing! Don't be shy- I'm not! I know that before I lived in New York City, I was completely fascinated by it. People are fascinated by things they've never experienced. I'm fascinated by daily life in Latvia and would love to learn more about it and I promise to share more about life in New York City.

December in Montauk

Yesterday, I was supposed to have lunch with a coworker at delicious Pies and Thighs. I don't go to Pies and Thighs very often for fear that if I did, I would gain 45 pounds and have to have a triple bypass by the time I hit 37. So, when I do go, I am completely looking forward to it, ready for it, and it is oh so worth it. However, I forsake eating a delicious buttery chicken biscuit with honey and hot sauce at Pies and Thighs to take a road trip with some friends, thinking in my head the whole time: this better be worth missing pies and thighs for!

What can I say? I love food. I love eating food in. I love eating food out. I love meeting up with someone who is equally as passionate about food and eating together. Though I am becoming astutely aware that food doesn't need to be a hobby and I don't need to indulge quite as often as I do. So, what was the thought that finally brought me to my decision to cancel the buttery indulgence I had planned and head to Montauk? Well, I can't remember building the best memories ever whilst stuffing my face. It feels wonderful at the time and is a lovely way to pass an afternoon, however, the times that are etched in my memory as times well spent are those times I get out. They're the times that my friends randomly rent a car and we just go, with little plans, if any. And that's what yesterday was. My friend suggested it and I decided yes. I packed my cameras (one that I would soon find out had a dead battery) and hopped in the car with my bagel sandwich for what would become a lovely, relaxing, refreshing, head-clearing day.

In two words, I could sum it up:
WORTH IT.

We headed out in our Zipcar and ate breakfast right away. Opening up the day with sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches on toasted sesame seed bagels proved to be a very smart decision. Again, I don't eat sausage very much for the same reasons I don't indulge in Pies and Thighs very much, so it was a lovely little treat. We drove the few hour drive through Long Island, all the while listening to excellent music. I loved that we mostly listened to music from my high school and college days... Paperboy, Snoop Doggy Dogg, The Breeders, then, finally: A Tribe Called Quest. Most of the good music was from a mix called Forgotten Fresh- amazing.

The thing that was cool about the music (which I had nothing to do with until the very end, suggesting A Tribe Called Quest) was that we were driving through my island... my stomping ground. I grew up on the west end of the south shore of Long Island. Us Long Island kids drove around listening to music in our teens. It's what we did. And that was the music we listened to, amonst others: Digable Planets, De La Soul, Del the Funky Homosapien, Grand Puba, Wu Tang, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins...

We drove through small towns that had a charm completely opposite of anything considered charming anywhere in New York City. We stopped for hot chocolate and snacks and then soon parked the car.

We walked a short distance on the beach, taking in the view, talking, taking pictures, and breathing in fresh ocean air. It was way windy and the cold air was hurting my ears- but I managed to get some beachy footage.

All in all, our Montauk day was lovely:

the one you really love

I very recently swore off television. Not 100%. If I am looking forward to watching something, I will watch it, but I'm not going to just sit and watch tv because I've got time on my hands. But I am a person who loves background noise. So, now, when I get home from work, I put on music.

I aways forget about Pandora. Mostly, I make playlists from my iTunes library. Pandora is a little too all over the place for me (that's not at all true; that sounds better than saying the real reason, which is, I am a control freak and I like to know what I am going to hear next.) But the thing is, when you only listen to your own music from your own library (or cd collection for those of you who still listen to cds), you never hear anything new. So, the other day, I was feeling a little wild and daring and I put Pandora on. I put it on the Magnetic Fields station. I love that song, All My Little Words. It's really sad and beautiful. So, I'm listening to the station and it's playing all this music that's good. I'm liking it, but then...

A song comes on that stops me. I loved this song. So, since I heard this song, I've been slightly obsessed with it, which is how I am with songs that I love- I become slightly obsessed. On occasion, I've become full-blown obsessed and listened to a song that I loved over and over and over and never got sick of it. So, this song that I'm just now discovering and that I am slightly obsessing over is called The One You Really Love and it, too, is sad and beautiful. And it reminds me of love at its most painful. Ugh. But it hurts right in that spot, that spot that reminds you that you are alive, you can experience feeling emotions and love and heartache, and although it hurts like a batshit crazy mother fucker, it's better to love and feel and heal than not to experience this experience at its fullest at all.

Here are the lyrics:

I do believe our love's in danger- I might aas well be loving air
You look at me like I'm a stranger- You look at me like I'm not there
I gaze into your eyes of blue but their beauty is not for mee
You're thinking on someone who's gone- You're dreaming of the one you really love
I made you mine, or so it seemed- Though he is dead, he haunts your dreams
I might as well be two feet tall- You never will love me at all...
You're dreaming of the corpse you really love

So short and so poignant. What the fuck?

WATCH AND LISTEN.

dating: for dummies?

Let's be real. Nobody really likes dating. I haven't talked to anyone in years who has said that they thoroughly enjoy dating. I was recently set up by a really good friend of mine. I was ok with it because she is tight with this guy and I had met him and believed him to be a bonafide babe. I pretty much couldn't wait for that date. And after a month or so... I knew in my heart, as awesome (and adorable) as this guy was, we weren't right for each other. So, pretty soon, the dates became not fun, just like all the others.

A first date holds a lot of anxiety and hope, dread and excitement. I have been on all types of bad dates: there was one with a guy I had met sitting down at a bar. When he came to pick me up, I noticed he was about 6" shorter than me... and I'm short! I went on a date with a guy who kept touching my arm and my shoulder and my back and the small of my back, and trying to hold my hand. I pretty much wanted to kick this guy square in the pants. I went out with a guy who left me at the bar ordering a drink and disappeared for about 20 minutes or so. When I found him, he was talking to a girl that was a "family friend." Or how about the guy who thought it was appropriate to bite me? That was fun. I went on a date with someone who made hiking plans with me and never showed up. That was even funner.

I also know that there have been a few dates with people that I knew I never wanted to see again and so I went the distance to make it horrible, usually by getting really drunk, laying all my worst cards out on the table, talking way too much about things that I usually would never talk about, just so the guy would not ask me out again and I wouldn't have to worry about that awkward conversation explaining that "it's just not there between us but I would really like for us to be friends."

And while it may be true that the bad dates far outweigh the good, let's remember that they haven't all been bad dates. I've been on neutral dates (most are neutral, aka, forgettable) and I've been on dates that make me want to shout out of my window how much fun Ia had. Hell, some of those dates even turned into, gasp, relationships, one even turning into a brief engagement.

So, why are the bad dates the most memorable? Well, I have a theory: you know how we like to talk about our problems? Or is that just me? (horror). Well, maybe we remember these bad dates to laugh about them, to tell our friends and compare notes, and to wear as a badge of honor. It's like earning the Purple Heart. (If either one of my grandfathers heard me say that, I might have to get the boot surgically removed from my ass.) But the truth is, a bad date is painful.

We go on dates because we hope. We go on dates because we think something amazing could come out of it. We go on dates because you just never know. It's like working out- you grunt and sweat and push yourself until you think you might collapse, but you do it because you know there will be a pay off in the end.

And usually, I end up learning something about myself, about people, and what I want out of dating and the world of relationships. With every date, I get closer and closer to figuring out what it is I am searching for and why it is that I am so incredibly picky. And I realize more and more that it is worth it to wait for that one quality person with whom you click so well that the dating can stop and the relationship can begin.

my luck will get better soon... if i'm lucky!

Do you ever wonder why you could be flying high and hitting every stroke of luck you possibly can and then, one day, something unlucky will happen and it's just a string of luckless crap from there on out. And luck is luck. You can't do a thing about it. You just have to do your best to ride out the shit storm that has gathered above your life and hope, like all storms, it will pass soon enough without any casualties (casualties, of course being people I may have to murder to keep sane).

Now, I know I'm no cheerleader-type, peppy girl who goes through life with a smile on her face all the time, always assuming everyone is amazing and with every rainstorm comes a rainbow. I can be grumpy. I can be cynical as all hell. I am snarky and quick with a sarcastic comment or retort. However, I feel like I've been giving this looking at life through rose-colored glasses thing a real shot. What gives? Isn't it supposed to be that you think positive thoughts and transmit positive energy to yourself, thus surrounding yourself with positivity? Am I doing something wrong? Is it possible that even when I think I am being completely thankful and graceful and happy that my negativity may be spewing from some unknown orifice? Can your energy trick you? You can think you're happy and trying to be positive and your energy that is coming across to others is coming out and shape-shifting, like, "we're free! let's turn bad!" Does my energy feel like I'm too strict with it so by the time it leaves, it rebels? Jeez. I already have to deal with 130 rebellious 12 and 13-year-olds five days a week. Isn't that enough?

I'll tell you in September, I had quite a few things happen that I saw right away was a lucky gift and I thanked the Universe up and down. And then, from then on, I was in a pretty consistent upswing. Then, a bad luck occurrence, followed by another then another then ... pretty soon, it felt as though someone had stuck a pin in my optimistic attitude balloon and popped that shit hard! Once the bad luck happened, it was on. The Universe against Laura. And guess who's winning?

I am trying to keep a super positive attitude even with what seems to be a bad luck charm I seem to be carrying around and laugh all these little incidents off. I keep telling myself that, like everything else, it'll pass soon enough, but man! It's been weeks of this. And I'm at my rope's end. And it's all at work. I just feel like I'm constantly in trouble, in the doghouse. And I hate it. At work, I feel the best strategy is to lay low and walk softly, and unfortunately, I am not too gifted in either of these areas. I am getting better every year, though. I know that for a fact. And the thing is, I like my job. But just like that student that can't handle failing a quiz or getting reprimanded, I want to be appreciated and that's it. I don't want to be in a negative spotlight ever. I want my bosses to trust in me and respect me and see the good things that I do. I think this is pretty normal, right?

I guess the moral of the story here is that I can't let it knock me down. I've got to keep the ol' chin up, a smile on my face and not lose my cool. No matter how many unlucky little crappy things may happen, I've got to remember all the good that lies below the surface that I may forget about from time to time.

sundays are for flirting

Today, I made apple-parsnip soup and it was the kind of Sunday that makes me wish that there were more Sundays in the week. It is cold out (38 degrees today) and I am sore as a mother fucker from yesterday's sadistic workout. It's the kind of sore that makes you feel like you did something really good for yourself. So, although I look like Frankenstein when I go up and down stairs and I groan every time I go to sit or get up, it feels good. And, like most Sundays, the best part of the day is the movie I'll usually see in the evening.

I'm going to see Melancholia in a little while with a friend of mine. We love to see movies at this fabulous theater blocks away from me- no subway, no fuss. It's just a short walk down a few blocks from where I live. This theater is so popular that the movie tickets often sell out hours in advance. I've had that happen twice where there are no tickets left for the entire night. I don't like ordering tickets over the computer. It's annoying for several reasons:

1. I like dealing with people, that personal touch is comforting to me. Let's say I lose my ticket, I can go talk to the bartender who sold me my ticket and say, "remember I bought the ticket at 4pm?" Yes, there is a bar at our theater and the bartender is pretty amazing. More on him later.
2. The second reason I don't want to order over the computer is that they charge $1 more. I know that this is not going to break my bank, but think about it: would you take $1 out of your wallet and burn it for no reason at all? No. Probably not. That's what it feels like to buy movie tickets online. If it's sold out, maybe that's the universe saying, " you're not meant to spend you time this way, Laura. Go, fly!" And if I really want to see something, I'll walk there a few hours prior and buy my ticket.

I like going to this particular theater for so many reasons. It is close, clean, cool, they have the best popcorn in the universe, table (or seat) service in the theater, and two bars outside. Working the bar on my lucky nights is Eric*. Eric is a flirt. He is extremely good at it. He makes killer drinks, comps them, and talks to me in between customers, throwing in flirty comments all the while. I feel like a teenager when Eric is working. I don't think I'm capable of having even a halfway intelligent conversation with him because I can't think straight. My heart races and out of my mouth comes ridiculous little things. I try to be cool and have a seat and take it easy and it just doesn't work out very well. After I bought our tickets tonight, I sat down for a second, told him about my work out and then proceeded to talk about brandy. I don't even know. Then I told him I had to go, walked down the stairs, thought I didn't pay, so went back up, told him how I did that the other day at my friend's cafe, and then finally left. Now, I am an intelligent woman. I stand in front of 30-something students a day and haven't felt at a loss for words in years. I am a talker, can hold a conversation about most things (not politics. I hate politics) and the fact that I turn into a giggly, giddy mush around this person is hilarious. Especially because I am 35 and he can't be anything over 26. It's borderline dirty-filthy.

So, in a few minutes, I have to go back to the theater and sit at the bar and pretend that I'm cool while Eric smiles that smile and flirts with me. I know bartenders, I'm no dummy, but I'm so not immune to a cutie. Nuff said.

* Eric is a fictitious name to protect the privacy of the innocent... although he is so not innocent!

slow down this old train

I've been thinking a lot about things that I overlook because they happen all the time in the place where I live. When you're on vacation, you are forced to stop and examine, appreciate, smell, savor, enjoy. Every little thing, when you're a traveler seems so fresh. I have pictures of No Smoking signs from Alaska and cologne ads from London in the late 90s. Why do we not stop and savor everything in life though? Life goes so fast and things change in the blink of an eye.

We should be appreciating everything that we like while it's around and while we are near it, like that cafe that I sit in to write where my friend works. It smells like heaven, they play soft music, and it feels like I'm sitting in a cafe somewhere in Europe. And I should enjoy every second of that because my friend won't always work there or maybe I'll move or have a child and suddenly have no time for cafe dwelling or (horror of horrors) they shut down or change locations. The point is, you don't know how long you have something so we should all just slow down this fast train...

Aren't we all travelers on this trip called life, anyway?

I made this video two years ago. October of 2009. Things were the same, yes. But some things are so different now. Everything was shot in a single Friday afternoon within a five block radius of my home and there is so much going on. There are so many people moving so quickly. Some are having a lazy afternoon like my friend and me, just skipping stones at the river. And then, there's a shot of adults engaged in a conversation and a child off just a little apart from them, throwing stones in the river. It's interesting because that afternoon, when my friend (who bought me that video camera for my birthday) and I went on that walk, he was encouraging me to look around with different eyes. Initially, I wasn't seeing how special these moments were. Once I opened my eyes and started to film, I saw how interesting the world around us is. Faster, Pussycat! Kill!... Kill! seems disjointed there, but it was on when we went to pick something up from the bar he manages. At the time, I thought it seemed fitting.

And I had to show off my many-in-a-row-cartwheel skills...

I'm moving to Kepler 22b

Rumor has it that after years of combing outer space looking for Earth's long lost siblings, NASA has finally stumbled upon a new planet that they say could be just right for life. This planet, which is referred to as Kepler-22b, is within what they refer to as the "Goldilocks Zone," which is the band of distance away from a star which could allow for liquid water.* Kepler-22b circles a star much like our sun, has a year of 290 days and has a temperature of about 72 degrees... sounds like Los Angeles. And I have some questions about this:

1. Are humans going to rush into inhabiting and then, quickly, deplete it of all of its resources and trash it like a bad frat party the way we did with Earth?
2. Is there going to be some kind of lottery for the lucky few who get to go and start a new life on Kepler 22b like in the movie, Another Earth?
3. Can I have in because I would like to go.

It's funny, all these movies are coming out lately about another Earth being seen and a planet set to collide with Earth and the imaginings of what could happen if this were a reality. And now it is. My father has always told me, since I was very little, that science fiction is just getting us ready for reality. When he was very little, before man ever went to the moon, my father watched Buck Rogers and never in a million years thought that this science fiction show would ever be something that he would witness in his lifetime. And here we are, just a few short years later, finding out that NASA is looking, no, racing, to find another planet that could be right for life (because we done fucked this one all up and need to start again) and they've found one.

I have a vision of what needs to go down in order to restore justice in the world and for Earth to have a chance to purge itself of all of the garbage it has had to endure for as long as humans have discovered how to play with fire. Here's what that vision might look like, as it plays out in my mind:

There is a highly intelligent system for choosing people who get to start a society on the Kepler-22b. These people who get to go are forward thinking, noble, and driven toward sustainable living. They have a working knowledge of how to live with a light footprint and in an eco-friendly way. These people who get to start the new society understand that everyone needs to live within their means and work with what foods are available and in season and there is NO factory farming and no large corporations belching out chemicals into the land around them. People will go back to a simple way of life and not compromise our health for ease and comfort, nor will we compromise the happiness of the world in which we live. We would instill that value in everyone who lives on this Kepler-22b.

All people who work as a higher up for a corporation or in some way screws the environment and compromises the well-being of other humans for a shit-load of cash must stay on this Earth in which they have screwed. Bye-Bye, heartless, soul-sucking assholes! I'll see you in HELL!

Around the time that all the forward-thinking people who care will be put upon a rocket ship that is environmentally sound and doesn't rip apart the ozone layer or contribute to smog or pollution in any way. Once all us smarties who care are safely up in this new world (and yes, I put myself in this category) creating our own personal Utopia, the Earth will exact its plan of vengeance. An ice age will begin. In order to replenish itself, the Earth will have to spend a long time under ice. And somehow, the Earth will win.

Wouldn't that be nice? This is what I'm picturing.

Do you think if I proposed this plan in a letter to President Obama, he'd go for it?

*http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/nasa-finds-new-planet-kepler-22b-outside-solar-system-with-temperature-right-for-life/2011/12/07/gIQAPfzFdO_story.html

toning up my happiness

Today, work started out on a bumpy road. I thought to myself, "this day is shit." As soon as I had a minute to breathe, I walked into my friend's classroom to commiserate, as she was having a rough time last week. I figured she'd have something to add and we could bitch about how we both feel bad together. Why is it that I really feel violent towards an outwardly happy person when I'm feeling bad? Why can't I let their mood rub off on me instead of wanting to drag them through a muddy puddle by the feet, the whole time thinking: "that oughta wipe that shit-eating grin off their stupid face!"

It's because being in a rut, wallowing, feeling sorry for yourself, and throwing yourself an all-out pity party takes a lot less energy than turning your thinking around, forcing yourself to make healthy decisions for yourself, no matter what. It's easy to wallow. It's easy to put your pajamas on, flop down in front of the tv with a pint of ice cream or a chocolate chip cookie the size of your head, and give a giant middle finger to the world, surrendering your power to the darkness. It's a lot harder and takes work and tons of character to pull yourself together and remind yourself that this too shall pass and you will still live your awesome life with a smile.

Anyway, I walked into my friend's room and we talked about how times is hard. (No. That is not a typo- I prefer the saying 'times is hard.' It reminds me of Helena Bonham Carter singing to Johnny Depp in Todd Sweeney, while rolling the roaches out of her dough for her grotesque meat pies.) After we discussed what was going on for us, my friend, Sue, who is wise beyond her years and always has been, even in college when we were throwing up in alleys after drinking too much and spending money on bad tattoos and belly button rings, Sue went mountain biking on weekends, swam during the week, and studied a little bit every night at the same time. Sometimes, I wanted to kill her for having it all figured out. Now I see that I am lucky to get to talk to this wealth of amazing knowledge every weekday! So, this wise friend of mine made one statement that made me think about bad moods and crap days and shitty luck for the rest of my Monday and right up until now, early evening. She said, "... this morning, I decided to be in a good mood." It was in the context of what was going on for her and it stuck with me. She decided to be in a good mood. It is all in our power to change our moods whenever we want.

The thing is, I get into modes where I don't want to change my mood and that's when it feels like it's less of a choice and more of a jail sentence. "I hereby sentence you to three weeks of a crappy mood and you will feel down, your luck will be bad, and your friends won't understand you." Great. But this mood of mine, this fragile state, as I like to call it, has been hanging around for about a week and after Sue made that simple statement, I realized that I want to, have the power to, and will get myself into a better state of living.

In The Art of Happiness, the Dalai Lama talks about how serenity and happiness are a choice but it's a choice that you have to work at. It doesn't come naturally and easily every day to everyone. To be truly happy from within, to smile with your mouth, heart, brain, liver, skin, and every other fiber of your being takes dedication, work, and practice. That's the thing. You have to make a concentrated effort to look at what is bad and find what is good. One of the nicest and happiest people who works in my building said just that one day. Because I asked him. I asked, "How do you manage to stay so happy and graceful when things can be so annoying and crazy sometimes?" and he said that old cliche that is 100% true. He said, "whenever that stuff happens, I look until I find the good in it. I look at the glass as half full and not half empty."

And that, my friends, takes work. But like all work, in the end, you feel like you did a job well done when you put your time in.

i am here, dammit!

I want to live in Iceland.

I think about it all the time. When people find out that I spent a week there this past summer and ask me how I liked it, I feel like I'm talking about a past love when I answer wistfully, "amazing." as I shake my head in wonder of it all. Iceland has it all, beautiful people, fashion, art, music, nature, pools, excellent bread and cheese, which is all I care about, really. I wonder what would have happened had I been born to an Icelandic family with strong Viking roots and grew up on that tiny island that's just hanging out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Well, based on what I know of myself and my history of moving around, I'm willing to put money on the fact that I'd probably make a play for NYC.

Isn't it funny that you could wish so badly that you're anywhere else in the world but where you are? Whenever I travel, I picture myself living there. When I was in Barcelona, I tried to imagine myself speaking fluent Spanish and riding my motorbike to the American School for another day of teaching cute Spanish children. I imagined myself meeting up with my circle of cool, international friends after work for wine and dinner, staying out way too late and it not effecting my work performance because, for some reason, in Spain, everyone is supposed to stay out really late on weekends AND on weeknights.

But the thing is, I know that all the bajillions of tourists who circulate my neighborhood every single day are doing it too. When I come out of my cute little brownstone with my dog on my lively, bustling street, I bet tourists are looking at me and thinking, what if I lived there? What would it be like?

There are special things about every place (well, not every place; I've yet to find one redeeming quality for Hempstead, Long Island.) but what am I missing out on while I fantasize about getting an apartment overseas and sitting in a cafe talking to a Scandinavian man over coffee and cake? Probably not that much, really, I mean, this imaginary Scandinavian man is quite beautiful.

sandpaper morning

Remember how awesome October was? Well, it's been over now for a while and I'm still trying hard to ride that high. All that motivation I had- where did that go? I actually considered myself a bit serene during that time... SERENE! ME?

Here we are, getting to know December of 2011 and so far, December, you're not doing it for me the way October was...

This week has been rough. Some shit went down at work that had me feeling on the spot and..., well, shitty. I've been turning much more introspective, which is never a good thing for a person like me. I believe that staying far out of my mind and not examining my feelings under a microscope is a far better strategy for me; easier said than done, right? I have been feeling a bit fragile- fragile, emotionally, fragile, physically (ate junk food for EVERY meal yesterday and haven't had a good work out since Wednesday night), and fragile, psychologically (why don't I want to work out? why am I eating like shit? why are you doing this to yourself, Laura???!!!) I am also in a mode where I am constantly questioning myself around people, probably because I have no filter right now.

It's funny, I do have a filter and I use it. I will use my filter for a long period of time and everything is fine and then every few months or so, it's like, one morning, I wake up and I go about my usual routine and then I come across a person that I know. In the course of our conversation, I will begin to notice that my filter is missing! OH NO! SHIT! It's alright, I'll find it later; I must have left it at home. And when I get home it's not there. It's gone! WHERE'S MY FILTER?!

After a week or two of going throughout my life filter-less and having heads turn toward me, eyes wide after I make a comment or two, I decide to stay home until I find it. And then one day, it shows up, and it's back to normal.

This is the best way that I can describe it. Right now, my filter is missing. And the things that are coming out of my mouth are alarming to me. So, I have decided that I will only go out when necessary. I need to reteach myself how to think before I speak. I believe this to be the cause of 99% of my anxiety. When Amelie first came out, I was living in Portland and took myself to see it... three times, by myself in the theater until I bought it. I like the story and the cinematography and all that but I was head over heels in love her character. And I wished really hard that I could be more like that. Introverted. I wish that I was more introverted. There. I said it. I wish I could sit down, shut the fuck up, and quit needing attention and adoration.

Sometimes, I feel like I need a person, a cheerleader/ coach alongside me all the time telling me how amazingly talented and wonderful I am.

This is how it goes down in my mind:

Me: "Look at the way I put my shoes on and walked out the door! That was good, right?"
Cheerleader/ Coach: "I've never seen anyone do it quite that well before, Laura. You have this really unique way of picking up your feet and stepping when you walk. You should see if you can become a professional walker. I mean, maybe you could be cast in movies to walk in the background."
Me: "Thanks! You're right! I'm gonna do it!"

And then, for a solid two weeks, that's all I will talk about, write about, post on facebook about- how I am looking into breaking into hollywood movies to be a person who walks in the background.

I truly don't know how I got off on this tangent. The point is: right now, I am feeling a bit fragile. I think I need to think before I speak, gain some perspective, and get back on my positive up-swing where it's all work outs and sunshine.

watch it!

My trusty watch of five years can't keep time anymore. It's a sad thing. It was one of those accessories that I threw on every day that I go to work (being that we don't have bells that dismiss, nor do we have clocks in the classrooms... oh Board of Education: when will you wake up and get your act together???) and it has been trusty AND looked good with all my work outfits. So, when it started to lose its ability to keep time and I knew it wasn't the battery, I quietly and sadly put my watch aside and began keeping my eyes peeled for a new watch.

Thus, I am in the market for a new watch and I have no idea where to begin.

See, here's the thing. While I don't have tons of money, I do have tons of taste (at least I like to think I do). I want a watch that will:
1. stand the test of time
2. look fabulous on my incredibly tiny wrist (aka no LARGE FACES)
3. be tough enough to endure my sometimes clumsy actions

My ex-boyfriend had this ridiculously expensive, but beautiful watch that I could never afford, but for that reason, will forever admire and pine over . How do people know what makes an amazing watch. I used to have a fossil because it is relatively inexpensive and also looks pretty cute- they have tons of cute style faces and bands. But I want something different... maybe a little more tech-y. I have this appreciation for tech-nerdy items. This guy who works at this awesome electronics store told me that Braun makes an excellent watch that is super-techy. I liked the face a lot; I just don't know that I loved the band. Hmmmmmm....

Another friend of mine who is on the up and up in the fashion world and frequents trunk shows has a watch that is more fashionista-y and oh so cute... but again, a little more expensive and I dont' know if it is great technology-wise. Casios are awesome, but when I put one on my wrist, I feel like the world's biggest poser. For a minute, I considered getting one of those watches with the calculator that was super high-tech in the eighties, but it just didn't go with ... well, me.

So, what's a girl to do? Tell me, people. I can't afford the Swiss Army Watch I would really love.

And, yes, I recognize that this is a total dorky post.

I want to get back together

Dear Ryan,

Spending time with you the other night brought back all the memories we have shared over the years. I've realized I've made a huge mistake and I want you back.

I understand that you needed space to do things in your life that I didn't approve of. And I gave you that space in the past few months. It's just that visiting with you during your crack-addicted years as a middle school teacher for the New York City Board of Education has made me remember the times we've had and it's made me want to take care of you and be there for you as you get your shit together.

I'd be happy to get you a new cat and to help you remember to feed it this time. I'll cook pasta with sauce from scratch with you and go out with you on weeknights. Just stop picking up the first girl you see alone at the bar. I'll also make us a pot of coffee in the morning before we both trot off to our respective middle schools so that you don't have to drain the pot in the staff room and have all the other teachers look down their noses at you. In fact, why don't you just stay out of the staff room altogether?

I'll help you write your lesson plans so that you can stay on track (which I know is hard because I like going into depth with my lessons too, but it is important in 7th and 8th grade history to stay on track because the curriculum is packed so tightly). I'll help you through that Civil Rights binder that your department head gave to you and you never opened being that I'm very interested in learning more about Civil Rights and the two of us can geek out together in the evenings while we read and write lessons about history over a glass of a nice French wine. Because responsible adults drink red wine from Europe or a good cocktail made with high quality liquor. They don't smoke crack, especially not on a school night, Ryan. Come on. You know better than that.

I'll make you forget your ex and the fact that she's getting married because the two of us are two cool middle school history teachers living in NYC. We are the dynamic duo and our friends will say things like, "Laura and Ryan are coming out tonight! I love when they come out- they're so cute together." I will make you ever so happy, Ryan. And don't worry about it, you will make me happy, too. You will tell me every day how hot I am and how much you love that I am a history teacher. You will make the bed every morning because it is a habit you have. I will watch you do push ups every morning and I will sweep and you will mop because you like mopping better than sweeping.

On weekends, you will tinker around our apartment, fixing things that need fixing and building things just for the fun of it. You show me how to do things, like change a tire and keep plants alive.

Ryan, I've made a big mistake. I don't mind that you dabbled in being a driver for movies or for the mob in LA and I totally understand why you veered off the teaching path to try out politics. Just go back to teaching history so we can be a cute history-loving-middle school-teaching couple and just end it there. We will put money into our retirement and bask in our tenure together. We will appreciate the fact that if you break your arm, I can take you to the hospital because we both have insurance.

And if we ever have adorable little Martinez-Goslings, we will never mention to them those dark months you had of throwing a ball at the coach, punching a wall, befriending and buying crack from your student, and trying to force yourself on your coworker at 2:30 in the morning on a school night. Because, since then, you've changed so much. And I will help you through it.

Let's go for it. I miss you.

xoxo
your (hopefully) girlfriend again,
Laura

everyone's got a story

I spent the day yesterday with my family and there were two moments that I feel the need to remember. So, I am going to take a minute and write about it.

My grandfather (Luis, my mother's father) died in November of 2005. My mother was the first daughter born and her father was very important to her. My mom is a tough lady. She's strong-willed, has strong opinions, and doesn't often let her emotions show unless those emotions are frustration or anger. Only when something is super intense have I seen my mother cry. In fact, I can only vividly remember her crying three times in my life. She cried when her grandmother died, she cried when I graduated from college and was getting on my one-way flight to Oregon, and, lastly, when her dad, my grandfather died. I always saw her as way stronger emotionally than me, who cries if someone looks at me cross-eyed. I well up when someone mentions something that triggers half a sad emotion. I am a raw, emotional, weepy woman who wells up at the drop of a hat. My mother is much more contained than I in the crying department.

But last night was different. My grandmother and aunt (my mom's mom and little sister) were over for Thanksgiving and we were sitting around eating dinner and talking and something about ghosts came up. My family is really into all things other-worldly, which is where I get it from. She started to talk about how Papa, right after he passed, would send little messages to her in life and in dreams. Then my brother mentioned how right around her birthday a few years ago, my grandfather came to him in a dream. He saw my mom as a little girl wearing a tiara and the whole family was around. My grandfather walked over to my brother and said to him, "don't forget it's your mom's birthday. please tell her she'll always be my little princess." And, in the way my grandfather always did, he said, "I have to go," and very quickly walked away. My mother eyes welled up as she was telling this story, her face getting red and her voice cracking. In that moment, I felt like I understood what was going on in her heart and in her mind.

I very often feel like I don't get my mom. We are as different as night and day, so for me to say that I understood how she felt is big. I finally got that her dad was the leading man in her life just the way my dad was for many years. She felt special to him and for him to make his way to my brother on her birthday was huge for her.

That same night, my sister had a similar dream, but my mother wasn't a child in this one. It was similar in the way that everyone was around my grandfather came over to her and left very quickly. But I'm getting off-track here. The focus is on how, in that moment, I related with my mom. I saw her as, not just my mother who supports and loves and helps and pesters and judges and takes care of me but also as a daughter who misses her dad. And for the first time, really, I related.

My other grandfather, (Arthur, my father's father) died in July of 2006. I was in the car with my dad, telling him about the Holocaust class I just took, forgetting all about the fact that my grandfather had fought in the Army during World War II. My father began telling me things I had no idea happened. He told me that his dad was a Sergeant and that his Army buddies would come over when my dad was a kid and call him Serg... they told my dad that his father was a real hero and they probably wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him, and my grandfather (who I don't remember that well because I didn't really know him) didn't like to talk about the war and would tell them to stop talking about it.

He told me that during the war, my grandfather was trapped in a fox hole in the dead of winter for days and got frostbite and that they fought in the Battle of the Bulge. They also found a concentration camp and my grandfather, Sergeant Arthur Martinez, was one of the people who opened the gate and helped free the Jews being held prisoners. Apparently, there was this shoe store close by that was selling shoes that the Jews were forced to make, so my grandfather brought them over to this store and told them to go in and grab whatever shoes they wanted, being that they had none. My father is telling me these stories as we make the short drive to my childhood home and I'm thinking, I wish I'd heard these stories from him and I could ask him a million questions!

In that moment, I recognized the pride that my dad felt in his dad. I know how much my dad loved his parents and misses them. I wish I had known them better and feel lucky that I get to know my parents they way I do.

It's crazy. Everyone's got a story. No matter how mundane things may seem, there's always something underneath it and no matter how tough and unemotional somebody acts, they're still touched deeply by something. You just have to be around and open to seeing it.

a little thanksgiving pause

Yesterday, jokingly (well, half-jokingly), I attempted to get people to say what they were grateful for. Both times, different groups of people made snarky comments and evaded the "thankfulness" talk. It's funny; I mean I get it. I get that people would generally rather hide in the comfort of a few sarcastic comments and laughs than being sappy, aka: vulnerable and real. I was that way for years; Still am, at times (especially around my family). Maybe we envision happy sunshine hippies going around saying what they are grateful for. Not us, though! Not us realists who live in the real world, for God's sake!

But what is wrong with us all when we are so afraid to let our walls down and to genuinely stop for a minute and say something out loud to the people around us that we appreciate? There's totally nothing wrong with taking a second with our friends or our coworkers (or those that we like, anyway) and say, "Hey, I like you. Thanks for being cool. I'm glad I get to hang out with you."

And when it comes to being even the tiniest bit sappy, why am I so much more comfortable with friends and coworkers than with my family? My family loves me to pieces; there's no doubt about it. Every time we see each other, they talk about how proud they are of my achievements, how funny I was as a kid, the crazy things I got into, etc. And I sit there with very mixed feelings: sort of one part curiosity (wow! was I really that little and crazy? tell me more!) one part sheepishness (ok, can we talk about something or someone else now and stop focusing on me) and one part thankfulness (my parents loved me and thinkI was funny and worth the trip down memory lane). All this love and I feel the most like a sarcastic and quiet and brooding teenager around my family.

I think Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday if you take it for what it is: a holiday where work (well, my work at least) says, "hey, take two days off and enjoy!" It's a day to appreciate the simple things in life, like slowing down, spending hours in the kitchen smelling good smells, cooking, talking, and, finally, eating homemade turkey, mashed potatoes, yams with mini-marshmallows, the best stuffing in the universe, warm and cozy with your family and friends, eating as much as you like until the button on your jeans might burst and then topping it off with warm pie with vanilla ice cream and a cup of strong coffee.

And I am going to take a few minutes to think about what I am thankful for in my life and everyone should do the same. Because, although I think that sarcasm is great fun, I also think I need to hang up my cloak of sarcasm for at least this day and just be in the moment. As much as a snarky comment rocks, I also believe that being grateful and real is completely healthy for us, emotionally. God, I am a friggin' dork.

Right at this very moment, this is what I am totally grateful for; tomorrow it could be different:

1. I have a family that likes spending time with me.
2. My mother does a mean thanksgiving.
3. I have a job that I can enjoy having a few days off from.
4. Last night, my friend invited me to their apartment to eat a yummy pre-Thanksgiving dinner, drink spiced apple cidar with rum, and watch Black Christmas, which is a fabulous movie!
5. One of my coworkers introduced me to these amazing pretzal bits and cheese sauce at a bar nearby.
6. The other day, I had a "holiday lunch" during the work day with 2 of my friends at work and it was so nice to sit and relax over arepas and not have to rush back right away.
7. I was a bit cranky yesterday, totally woke up on the wrong side of bed, and everyone just let me be cranky.
8. Leslie and Ben might be getting together for real in Parks and Rec.
9. I have a new pair of shoes that I am in love with and am planning on wearing today.
10. I am planning on working out like crazy tomorrow and coming up with a good way to spend my weekend.

It's funny, but I don't think my sarcasm comes through in my writing, but believe me, I am a sarcastic mother fucker in my every day life... that's when I am most comfortable. But maybe I'm learning that that isn't the only thing that I have to be.

sierra leone

Today, I looked at my stats and I had the usual visitors to my blog from the US, one reader from Germany, and one from Sierra Leone. It blew my mind... even more than Russia or Sweden. SIERRA LEONE?! A person from a high-risk country dealing with famine and reconstruction is reading I've Got Something to Say! and possibly thinking, 'life must be pretty cushy for you, you spoiled, American brat!'

I can't imagine living in a place like Sierra Leone or the Congo, Somalia, or, tragically, Darfur. When I think about the fact that these people are being wiped out by their own government because they are a different race, their wells of precious drinking water being bombed and poisoned, it makes me, once again, feel so thankful for everything that I have. As a teacher, I get to remind my students of this whenever I get the chance; that they are lucky and should really appreciate what they have, whether it's a warm bed, a new cozy sweater, a smart phone, or a loving mother who works hard to put food on the table.

When people think about the fact that there is a HOLOCAUST going on in Darfur, many people respond with this inevitable question: "How is our government just letting this happen?" I asked the same thing. But aren't we already putting too much money into war efforts? How can we put more money into fighting on behalf of the Darfuris and still have money in the budget for social security (what? social security; what's that?) and, most importantly to me, education?

I'm wondering these things. I'll be the first to admit that I definitely don't know enough about the problems that Africans in these particular regions are dealing with and I need to read more. I went onto a website that said the first step is to educate ourselves. The other thing that we can do is to send messages (emails, letters, call hotlines) to our representatives. I'm thinking that since I have access to 127 young minds and I teach Social Studies, that's a slam dunk.

All I know is that it is miserable and sad and unfair. I want to help and I want to make my little 12 and 13 year olds help. So, there it is.

white sneakers

Last night, I took myself home at a decent hour. I'd had all the fun I wanted to have and I wanted to be able to wake up the next day (today) and go work out without feeling like I might keel over. While I was on the train, I found myself staring at these insanely white converse sneakers. I looked up to see whose feet they were on. They were on the feet of an attractive Latina woman who looked a little bit younger than me. She was standing in front of the door staring off into space. Then the funniest thing: another pair of insanely white converse caught my eye! They were on the feet of a man a little bit younger than me. He was standing on the other side of the same door staring off to the side.

I thought to myself, not only do you not see WHITE (not off-white, but white) converse very often these days, but to see two pair is strange and I wondered if they knew each other. But they weren't talking or looking at each other or anything. Then, before I could think about it anymore, here's what happened:
-he quietly and slowly turned his body toward the girl's
-he steps on her perfectly white converse with his mostly perfectly white converse
-she ignores him and continues to stare into the same non-space she'd been staring into since I noticed her
-he steps on her sneaker again
-barely breaking her trance-like stare, she mouths "stop!" to him
-as she's doing this, doors open up and people get off.
-she walks over to sit on a seat near me
-with a really sad look on his face, he follows her
-they continue to sit there, for the duration of the ride, him with his body turned slightly toward her, a twisted, confused, and miserable look on his face; her exactly the same stare into nothingness, blank look and "you don't exist" body language

This is like, literally, a minute or two view into these people's lives. For some reason, that moment has stuck with me since last night.

My first thought was that they were a couple and she was just over him; not into it. I don't know if everyone experiences this, but when you are in this place of "I'm just over you and we are still together," the other person can't do anything right. No matter what they do or say, it is annoying and terrible. And this is saddest space in any relationship for two people to be in. If this were the case for them, then I saw him just completely still in love with her, making this elementary school, "please pay attention to me!" scene heart-breaking. Because she never even broke her space-gaze to look at him for one second.

My other thought was that, maybe they were a couple and that they just found out something terrible (a family member or close friend was terminally ill or their house had burned down). He wanted to bring about some sort of playfulness and she was having none of it.

The other thought was that they were a couple and they were in love, but she just found out that he had done something terrible, like he'd been cheating on her throughout most of their relationship or this was the first time and she didn't know if she wanted to stay with him or not because he swears it meant nothing and he LOVES her and would never do it again. And maybe I was catching this volatile situation in the moments where they were both just checking-out and silent, where he wanted to feel some type of connection between them again and didn't know how, so he tried to dirty up her perfectly white sneakers for her because perfectly white converse look better when they're not perfectly white.

Of course, and some people might be thinking this: maybe they were simply tired...

I'll never know what has come of this couple. I'll just be left here to speculate based on my two-minute-long observations. I do know that what I saw, for some reason, was intense to me. Of course, everything we see is through the lens that is shaped by our own worlds and experiences. I know that I almost wanted to run up to her and say, "he really loves you! don't you see that?" and had to stop myself because it is none of my business and this isn't an episode of Sex and the City.

All I know is that I went home from spending a few hours with my family and then having some drinks and doing a little improv with my friends, to watch Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, eat ice cream, and fall asleep. And somehow, to me, this seemed magical compared to the weirdness that happens when you're in a relationship.

analyzing my movement

Over the course of the past month, I've gotten pretty cozy at Breakin' Boundaries, on N 10th street. This is a studio that offers all different types of classes. I typically take Zumba, abs, sometimes Cardio Jam, and I've taken Jazz Jam and IMX-Pilates. Because I'm there so often, I get to talking to people, one of the people I talk to a lot is the owner, Renee.

I've gotten to know Renee over the course of the past month. I've talked with her on several occasions about my goals, my hopes, how exercise is, literally, changing my life for the better, and she has spoken with me about her theories and beliefs when it comes to exercise, our bodies, and movement. For Renee, she doesn't just own a studio and teach classes; she is dedicated to what she practices and teaches. She gets to know us as people with unique needs and limitations and strengths. She also educates us about our bodies and how they function to better help us with our practices. It nearly blew my mind during our abs class, when I was doing forced exhalations and she said, "do you have your period? you look more bloated than usual." Then she very quickly had me switch my breath and said, "yep, you were forcing your breath too much. I knew that wasn't right- you don't normally look like that." When do you get this type of attention? I mean, unless you're a celebrity and pay really big bucks for personal trainers, you're not getting that kind of attention.

Not only do I enjoy the class, but I know that she won't let me do something the wrong way, in a way that might hurt me. I mentioned once that my knees bother me sometimes after cardio and she asks during class how they're doing at least once a week. I've come to trust her when it comes to movement, in all forms.

One day, I noticed a class on the schedule. All it said was, BF/LMA. I asked Renee about it after one of my Zumba classes. She told me it's a way of using movement analysis in a therapeutic way. I was very curious. I'm very open to all things with the word "therapeutic" that don't involve sitting in an office and forking over my insurance card.

I showed up tonight and it wasn't at all what I expected, which is totally fine. It was interesting. The best way that I can explain it is to call it a guided tour into your heart and your body while attempting to connect everything together. Believe it or not, in this day and age, and especially in NYC, many of us live largely in our minds and pay very little attention to our bodies. Muscles hold onto memories and we ignore it. Our bodies often can inform more than our heads. So, why are we always listening to our heads?

Part of the Laban practice is playing with sound. I might be exurberant and outgoing and I love being the center of attention, but when I'm not acting and it comes down to just me; skin and bones and voice, I hold back a lot. I feel inhibited. It's like there's this little thing inside of me that always says, "don't do it that way- it's WRONG!" and it's no coincidence that that voice might be that of my mother and grandmother. Just a critical thought that rings through my head. I've learned not to listen to it as much, but tonight, even though this class was just about me and the way that I do things, no wrong or right, save for some adjustments Renee might make, I still couldn't shake that feeling that my voice sounded funny; that the way I was moving was strange. And at one point, I couldn't make the sounds we were playing with anymore because I choked up and had tears running down my face. It was that intense.

There were many other exercises that we did; some of them were a little bit more free-moving and, guess what I discovered about myself once again, I felt inhibited. I felt silly moving around the room, even though it was a totally safe place and the other person was allowing herself to do this. I'm not saying this in a judgemental way about myself. It's just important to notice and to work through if it presents itself as a problem.

Renee had a student who was visiting from Italy for a while. She began taking a tribal fusion dance class and one day, the teacher wasn't there. The girl went to put her coat on and leave, but Renee being the way she is, insisted she stay. This girl ended up being a loyal student to the BF/LMA class and wrote an article to be published in Italian. She also said that she is going to study at the Laban institute because it was such an amazing experience. Renee believes that all of that happened for a reason. Sometimes, you are faced with something you didn't think that you wanted, only to discover that it is just what you needed.

I will be going back, for sure. When you find something that makes you feel so good about your entire day, your week, your month, why wouldn't you? And it's rare to work with someone who believes with such an intensity in what she is teaching. You can't pass that up. It's too good.

this is halloween

In Halloween world, the best thing that could possibly happen is that Halloween falls on a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, or Monday. Personally, I like when it falls on a Monday. People are festive all weekend long and bring it on in for Monday. Good stuff. Last night, I went to a Halloween party where there were great costumes, tons of booze, good music, good times.

The house itself was amazing. That makes a huge difference right there. When you go to a party, any party, you want the space to be nice, clean, and have good energy. This house was all of those things, complete with a really open floor plan, tons of space and a back yard! It's not often you get to hang out in a back yard in Brooklyn. So, I was quite pleased when I realized that if I started to feel crowded or hot, I could simply step into a very cute and well-taken-care-of back yard.

A really important (and potentially dreadful) aspect of a party is the company. You've got to figure out who you will know there. Sometimes, you go to a party where you know tons of people and so it's a non-issue. I was invited by one of the party-throwers/ house-dwellers and a good friend of mine would be there, but that was it. You know that feeling where you know the party will be fun and you want to go but you also don't want to hang on your friend too much and you can never rely on the person who's throwing the party because they're busy shmoozing. This was not any type of issue here. First-off, within twenty minutes of getting there, in walked two other friends of mine, so that was wonderful. Second-off, everyone was really easy-going and open. It was fun; not at all cliquey. That's not always the case. And it could lead to an uncomfortable, low-level-stressful situation if it IS cliquey and not fun and inclusive. So, I was very relieved that everyone was cool.

I walked in bearing a six-pack of Smuttynose Pumpkin beer. I was told by a skeleton that there was a bucket in the backyard and I could put my beers in there. I walked out back and saw that it was a nice metal bucket and right next to it was a bin for recycling. When I realized that my beer was not a twist off, my friend pointed at the bar, and there was everything you might need for drinking- bottle opener for your beers, cork screw for your wine, they had all types of cups, liquor, mixers, ice... everything was right there for you.

And the snack table!!! You know this is what I was most excited about, right? People who know me or, maybe don't know me but have read a few of my posts, would know that when my eyes rested upon this fully-stocked snack table, they would light up like a jack o'lantern. They had salty snacks over on the left side, potato chips, cheese puffs, peanuts, and olives and on the right side, cupcakes (my weakness), candy, etc. A good party has a good variety of snacks.
End of story.

And lastly, the costumes. I really liked the costumes that people came in. I think one of the simplest and cutest costumes for me was the girl who dressed as a voodoo doll. There was also a barbie doll who came in a box, which was funny and won the contest but you're in a box all night. There was an owl, a siamese cat, a man from the press, Dexter, Day of the Dead skeletons, a sexy nurse (he was a guy) and my one friend had a costume that I don't know how to describe. He had a Nasa shirt and laser guns? I think. I don't know what I was, other than I got to wear my wig with a lace dress. It wasn't my most awesome work, but I got to have long, luscious, curls for an evening, and that's all I really care about.

When it comes to throwing a party, these people know what they're doing. Good people, good food, good drinks, good time!

ripped

It's been nearly one month since I've started working out. Zumba at least, at LEAST three times a week, topped with a few sessions of abs and IMX-pilates. I thought, for sure that by this time, I'd be wearing belly shirts and tight jeans showing off a lean and muscular midriff and tight, toned thighs. So, why am I still mushy???

Do I have to work out MORE? Will I ever look like this girl on the left? Is it possible that my results are being stunted by the fact that I've been eating more because now I'm exercising.

I don't think I have it in me to control myself when it comes to cupcake sales and all the Doritos that are busted out every day during snack in my classroom. I never used to take my kids' food when they offered me some of their chips or cookies and lately, I troll around doing "poison checks" to make sure that it's safe for them to eat!

Ok, so now I'm thirty-f .... in my thirties and I am recognizing that by body will change, is changing and there are things that I can do to slow it down. I am going to have to learn how to eat like a normal and heathy adult. I will eat no more bags of popcorn for dinner. Tonight, I will make myself a salad. I will cook more, learning good recipes for vegetables, because the thing is, I actually love vegetables when they're prepared in a creative and tasty way. I will resist the baked goods and chocolate that practically spill onto my desk during my work day.

I think, now that I found something that I love to do, it's time to set a goal. My goal could be something like resistance training at least twice a week. My roommate, who is a dancer and really into fitness, explained that your body has many layers- it's going to take time and dedication to see any type of change. I have to be patient. That's the hardest part about something like this; the patience thing.

October was for getting awesome and working out and writing a blog: mission accomplished. So, November will be dedicated to adding taking care of nourishing myself... and since it's October 27, I have a few days to binge out on chips, cakes, and french fries!

mixtape: a character study

Years ago, a very good friend of mine named Laura, moved into her new house in Beaverton, just outside of Portland. Upon moving in, a young couple brought over jars of homemade jelly (or jam; I never know the difference between the two). Because I came around a lot to hang out with Laura, I became friends with Sara Sjol and her husband Nate. They're good people and our friendships have lasted through me moving 3,000 miles away to Brooklyn.

Sara is an amazing artist. Her style is colorful, bold, and whimsical. She wrote to me about this new project she was doing: she would paint portraits of friends while listening to their favorite music for inspiration. I was super-ultra excited when she asked me to send her a mix of some of my favorite songs to inspire her while she painted a portrait of me.

She got my cd in the mail and must have started immediately because within days of receiving it, I was tagged in a photo and there it was. And here it is.

I love it! I love the colors she chose for me, the shapes, and how it's all put together. And I love the name she gave it: Light of Knowledge. Every time I look at it, I see something different or interpret something differently. I can't wait until I go to Portland to see this in person.

So, here's to Sara the artist! I'm happy to have been a part of such a cool project. Keep creating, Sara, you are amazing!

a quiet routine

I've never been one to be comfortable doing mundane things. I like to be really busy, my calendar completely filled up with events, movies, plays, phone dates, coffee dates, road trips, etc. And the fact is, lately, life has been so mellow. I've gotten into a quiet routine during the week of staying late at work to tie up all my loose ends, walking Finn, eating, watching TV, running errands, and working out. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm rather enjoying it.

I've gotten so ridiculously organized at work that it scares me a little. I've never been so organized. My grade book/ plan book is so neat and all binder clipped and divided and filled out perfectly that I actually look for reasons to open it. I've gotten compulsive about doing things right away, knowing that if I shove it in a bin, it'll get lost and forgotten. I'm an efficient grading/ planning/ filing machine. Every day this week, I got absorbed into whatever I was doing and looked up at the clock to realize it was kind of late (for me) and I pushed in my chair and thought to myself, "What if I become a workaholic?" That's far-fetched, I know, but still a thought; a thought I'd never in my life considered.

And then I come home and I don't really have spending money at the moment, so all I'm doing is working out (because it's already paid for). Stupid me called Janet the Psychic the day I was paid without considering that I'd be short again this month. Why didn't she tell me I'd be in financial doom this month?!

The funny thing is, this used to happen to me all the time in Portland and I handled it many different ways- sometimes, I'd rationalize that everyone was in the same boat and use my credit card to get everything that I wanted ($500 left on that card and I closed it years ago.) Another thing I'd do is play the pity card... "oh, I simply cannot afford to do anything. Being a teacher is so hard!" or I'd throw temper tantrums in the privacy of my bedroom, burying my head in my pillow, clenching my fists and screaming with tears streaming out of my eyes like a four-year-old. Yes, that happened. One time, and I'm not kidding, I lost weight because I ran out of money and lived on apples, instant coffee, and 1/2 of a $.99 frozen bean and cheese burrito a day. (for those of you looking to lose weight fast, there's your trick!)

Things are different now. I'm not going to freak out or play the victim. I'm not going to throw a tantrum. I'm not going to allow myself to waste away on a diet of cheap food. I'm a rational adult. I just won't buy those new clothes I was looking forward to buying this weekend and I guess I can forget all about that tutu I was going to treat myself to for Halloween.

Of all the things I will have to go without for the next week and a half, I think it's the tutu that kills me the most. Beyond that, luckily for me, I'm in a quiet routine that doesn't require much money. Otherwise, I'd be fucked...

And luckily again, I have my new wig I bought at the wig shop a few weeks back, so I know I'll be fine.

what's up with my future?

I'm kind of obsessed with all things new agey. I love reading about astrology, and talking to people who have that sixth sense. I also visit psychics quite frequently. Call it a hobby; I love it. When I meet someone new that I take a liking to, one of the first things I like to find out is that person's sign.

Knowing the sun sign is interesting, but the real information comes from knowing his or her ascendant and moon signs. That's super telling. And when I call psychics (I like to talk to one of my three psychics a few times a year, sometimes talking to all three and comparing notes), I think it's funny that the things they pick up on usually have to do with the attributes of my rising and my moon (I am a Leo with a Scorpio rising and a Gemini moon... in other words: I. Am. Fucked. The Scorpio side of me takes no bullshit, sees through the games people play and calls people out, in other words, fucking scary. Scorpios also don't know how to let go of things and are extremely sensitive, moody, and brooding. We are also great leaders, loyal companions, and have good character. Enter Gemini. This is the moon talking. The Gemini side of me is really flighty, talkative, and high strung, anxious, if you will. We can live inside our heads a little too much and rationalize away our bad habits. We can also be our friends' biggest cheerleaders, funny, and airy. But the Leo in me usually wants attention and love and affection and for all to admire my very existence. Do you see what I mean? I am fucked.

And that is what psychics pick up on and I find it fascinating. They usually can tell (and I've never met Janet, my phone psychic who lives upstate) that I am very sensitive but really analytical. It's very difficult to live that way- being so split.

I wish that Janet would tell me the wonderful things she picks up on and it would come true within weeks or months. Sometimes, it takes a year before I remember things that she said. And, if that's the case, is it just a matter of piecing things together? For example, if she says, "there's a friend of yours that's upset, I see an M... do you know someone with an M?" and I think of Maria, chances are, Maria may have been upset about something or will likely get upset about something anyway. So then I'll notice in a few weeks that Maria is upset over a fight with her boyfriend. This may have been no big deal, but since my psychic pointed it out to me, I'm taking notice more. I don't know if this is real or fake; good or bad. I just find it interesting.

The other thing that I was wondering about is how much of it I am forcing to come true. The first time I saw Diane from Queens, she honed in on someone I was dating and she said, "you'll have a fun relationship. It'll be nice but it won't last. I see a big six... something to do with six" This is what she said. So, of course, for the entirety of that relationship, I'm asking myself, what is 6? Does it mean that we'll only date for six weeks? When we got past the six week mark, then I began looking for other clues having to do with six. I eventually found an answer, which is a little too private to share on a blog, but still to this day wonder if I made that six as big as it needed to be because the psychic brought it to my attention.

Also, the foreign travel. Diane, in one of my reading says, "I see a lot of travel for you. You'll be going out of the country this year." I hadn't been out of the country since 1998 except to go to Canada a few times, which I hardly consider foreign travel. Now, did she put it in my head that I need to do this? Did she give me that push that I needed to renew my passport and finally book those trips I had wanted to go on for years? At any rate, I did travel abroad this year. Twice. Alone. And I'll never know whether Diane put that in my head or if it would have happened anyway.

I guess, for me, a psychic helps me sort things out in my mind. She gives me hope; something to look forward to. Sometimes, she gives me a nudge in a good direction. The thing that they always say (and this is probably why I keep going back; because I love and need to hear this) is, "don't worry because you are exactly where you need to be in life. You're in exactly the right place."

I know this is the case... but sometimes hearing it from someone else makes it so much more powerful. Even more so when you're paying them to hear it.

believe it or not, we are a lucky generation of people

It's so hard to remember this little fact: we are lucky. And today, I was faced with this realization in my class: Meeting Hate with Humanity: The Holocaust. This class is housed in the Jewish Heritage Museum and hosts a living memorial to the Holocaust.

When I was eight, I read Judy Blume's Starring Sally Jane Freedman as Herself. It was about an elementary-aged American girl who lived during World War II. To her, the war was a world away and she and her friends would play a game called Concentration Camp where one person would be a prisoner and a few would be the guard and they would send each other to the showers... She would have nightmares about it and try to make sense of it, as did I. It was bizarre to me. Even the name, Concentration Camp. Being eight, I didn't get it and I believed that this was made up so I asked my fourth grade reading teacher. She told me that these camps did exist; they were real. My whole world was shaken.

Today, in my class, a woman named Sally Frishberg (once Sarah Engelberg) came to talk to us. She, basically, was a younger Anne Frank without a diary. Living in Poland during the 1930s, her and her family complied with all the new laws being passed every few months or so and for years, they just hoped that things would get better; that the badness would go away and take the fear with it. There was a soldier being quartered in her home who spoke Yiddish (as did her father). The confusing thing to Sally was how kind the soldiers were. She watched as him and her father played chess and talked late into the evening. He warned her father that this war was different. It wasn't just the soldiers that would suffer. He needed to think and listen to things that happen. And so, the final direction from the nazis to the Jews in her small Polish town: all Jews must report to the train station on this day at this time. Her father said to his family, "we are not going." To this day, Sally wonders to herself constantly why some people resist and some people don't. Where does this decision come from and what is the difference from person to person? In her case, it came down to circumstance. Her grandfather loved Germany, being a World War I veteran and he believed her father to be crazy. He showed up to the station and Sally never heard from him again.

So, her family of six, her aunt, uncle and their three children crept out into the farmland of Poland and, for a time, their life consisted of running by night, shaking trees for food, and hiding under bales of hay by day. One day, a family friend found them and agreed to hide them in their attic so that they wouldn't freeze to death with the coming of winter. The eleven family members lived in that attic together in silence for two years, clamping their hands over the infants' mouths the entire time. At one point, they were joined by four of Sally's uncles who were alive and on the run as well.

Sally spoke of the will of her family, the different ways that it effected each member of her family (her sister, very full of fear and insecure to this very day; her mother, very much effected by this experience) and I watched her speak of her life, her own will, and her family while her eyes twinkled with the look of absolute wonder and love, the tiniest bit of tear lingering along the bottom, and falling down her cheek; barely perceptable until the light hit in the right place.

This woman was living proof of the power of a person's will. She demonstrated the ability to live through these experiences and to come out of it by rising above and not hating. When I was in eighth grade, we read The Diary of Anne Frank and my English teacher, Miss Inglima asked us why we thought this was such an important book and why we continued to read it today. I raised my hand and answered the question with this answer: the fact that Anne Frank watched her own people be killed by the thousands while she hid away and wasn't filled with hate made it amazing.

I believe that Sally Frishberg, who is 77-years-old and gets driven around by her loving husband to speak on behalf of her experience is amazing. The difference between her and Anne Frank is that Anne Frank wasn't as lucky as to come out of her experience alive.

Thank you, Sally.

on giving birth

I, like most women my age, have been wondering more and more if being a mom is in the cards for me. When I see expectant new mamas with their pregnant bellies, I think that I would not want to miss out on that experience. When the newborn baby cuddles into you, it's such a love and a peacefulness that I will only comprehend from the outside. Today, I visited an old friend of mine from high school and her insanely cute four-month-old baby. I definitely left with some thoughts.

For one thing, that baby is cute. All the other babies that my friends have had over the years are too. Those parents are going to have the luxury of watching him/ her grow up, through all those amazing phases every human goes through. When you have a baby, you are forced to put stupid thoughts/ problems on the back burner. This little person needs you, so petty things don't rate as high in your life anymore, they can't because you're too wiped out from breast-feeding, swaddling, laundry, burping, and diaper changing.

Having a baby also means that you get to experience the kind of love that you didn't know existed until the baby came along. This is one of those life-altering events that babyless people will never have the opportunity to experience.

But, we've got a lot of pros for babies here. There are significant downfalls as well and let's not forget them. For one, going out to eat is hard. You've got to find a place that's not too small, so you can fit yourself, baby, stroller, diaper bag, etc. If the baby starts crying, you've got to stop eating... and then guess what happens after the baby is done crying and other patrons have given you annoyed looks... YOUR FOOD IS COLD! That is some heavy shit right there, huh? What about when your baby shits while you're shopping... what then? You also don't get to go to the movies as often (and if you're like me, you like to go to the movies, like, once a week) This would seriously bum me out.

Your needs no longer come first. When you venture out, it's with, like, a hundred extra pounds of crap; and when you live in NYC, that's an even bigger deal. Every little thing has to be thought through just a little bit more; taking a shower, having enough food in the house, having all the right items in your diaper bag, sleeping, etc. This seems particularly daunting to me: a person who puts minimal thought into how I live my daily life.

I am by no means trying to point out that having babies sucks. I don't think that to be the case. This seems to have turned into my little way of trying to figure out if this is something I might want someday or not; sort of like a public pros & cons list.

And the truth is, child birth is beautiful. Being a parent is beautiful. It's the type of experience that we'll never understand until we're in it. All those difficulties that come along with it fade into the recesses of your memory because when you look into the eyes of a brand new, innocent, beautiful baby who looks up at you, their mom or dad with that look of love, wonder, and amazement, everything else seems like nothing but petty nonsense.

And, hey, I bet hearing how cute your baby is never gets old.