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.