She got no game

I got no game. There, I said it. As much as I like to fancy myself a smooth, with-it, self-assured female, the truth is that when a perfectly perfect opportunity for flirting drops itself in my lap (metaphorically and/or literally speaking), I choke.

Case in point: My mom and I had returned from a shopping jaunt to Home-Depot. Cute little stackable cube furniture--check. Tough girl and bargain huntress that I am, we decided that playing $10 for a cab was a much better deal than $25 or whatever they charge for delivery. We got to my apartment, and I carried the two fairly heavy boxes over to the elevator. A very nice looking young man was waiting by the elevator.

"Do you need some help there?" cute boy asks, all chivalrous-like.
"No, I think I'm OK. They're not that heavy, just a little bulky," replies the Game-less Wonder Girl.
"Are you sure?" So subtle.
"Yeah, I got it, thanks. I haven't been to the gym today, so this is a good workout!"
We rode up the elevator, and he got out on his floor, somewhat awkwardly as he was watching me struggle to keep my boxes from dropping.

My mom nearly slapped me upside the head when we got upstairs.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Why wouldn't you let him help you?"
"Uh, because I'm a dumbass?" At least now I know why I'm still single.

Hard to read

Some people say that there's no such thing as a person who is "hard to read," only a person who is "disinterested, but not blatantly so." In other words, if you can't figure out what he is thinking about you, it probably means that he is not thinking much of you at all. It's not that he is hard to read, it's that you don't like what's written on the page. As some would say, if a guy likes you, he will be Dr. Seuss-easy to read.

I've been told that I'm hard to read. Granted, sometimes it's because I'm not interested. But other times, it's because my nervousness and discomfort level around new people lead me to close myself off. I don't say the silly comments that I would if I felt more comfortable. My body language is not as open and relaxed as it should be. I'm stiff and ill at ease. It all comes from a fear of rejection, really. If you don't get to know the real me, you can't reject the real me, right?

Where is all this leading? The other night I had a second date with a (so far) great guy. He's smart, cute, funny, not-short, and we seem to have a bunch of important things in common. But something was holding me back all night. I couldn't tell if he was interested in me, just tolerating me until he could end the date, or looking for an opportunity to get some from a girl he thinks is cute but not very interesting. And of course my insecurity about the situation only made it worse. Am I talking too much? Not enough? Think of something funny to say, Hap, think! At moments like that, my brain literally freezes. By the time I put a coherent thought together, the moment is gone. I'm like George "The jerk store called and they want you back" Costanza: three hours too late. Did he think I was 'hard to read'?

I'm not. I'm just shy. Ok, and maybe just a teensy-weensy bit socially awkward, at least around new people. If you had met any of my grandparents, you would totally get it.

Maybe this writing thing will help exercise my communication muscles so that I'm more articulate and charming in the moment. I need to practice speed-blogging. This post took me three days.

You gonna let some 30 year old beat you?

R. and I ran a respectable race the other night. I received lots of birthday shout-outs, thanks to the dorky sign I was wearing. (I'll post pictures once I actually figure out how to do it on here.) Considering I've never run that far before, I was proud of myself for finishing strong. I ran with R. most of the way (slowing down to slinky pace when she stopped to walk for a bit), and then sprinted the last 400 m or so. My pace was on the slow side (11:30 min/mile), but there's always next year, right?

High points:

• Many birthday shout outs.
• Realizing we had only a mile left!
• Hearing the Fountains of Wayne play "Radiation Vibe" for about 20 seconds.
• Finishing strong.
• Seeing one of my former students and running alongside her.
• Meeting up with some friends afterwards for a celebratory/birthday drink.

Low points:

• Hearing the Fountains of Wayne play "Radiation Vibe" for only about 20 seconds.
• The guy who said to his running partner, "You gonna let some 30 year old beat you?" That guy should know that I look and feel better than I ever have. You don't want to mess with this thirty-something, because she really is something.

Off to make sangria for the birthday picnic...

I used to be a lot more sentimental. I used to get teary-eyed while reading the box full of notes-passed-during-class-in-7th-grade. Yep, for a long time I kept a box of old notes. And every letter I ever received at Sleepaway camp. And the book reports I wrote in 5th grade. Ok, I still have those, even though they are not at all well-written.

Nowadays I don't keep so much stuff. I just don't have the room anymore, for one thing. But maybe it's also because I've become better at just keeping the things that really matter, or remembering things without tangible evidence.

There are 18 minutes left before my 30th birthday. What am I leaving behind in my 20s that I want to remember? When I turned 20, I was in Israel. I was so insecure about myself that I chased after boys who clearly didn't appreciate me. I made bad choices about who I spent my time with. Has that changed? At least a little bit, I think. I think I'm able to recognize more quickly now if a boy doesn't deserve my affections. I'm a lot more confident in myself, and I hope it comes through in my words and actions. I'm realizing that I have a lot to offer the right person, and most of the time I'm ok with the fact that I haven't found him yet.

I want to remember getting my first job. I was so excited to find THE PERFECT FIRST JOB FOR ME. I want to remember moving out of my parent's house, feeling VERY GROWN UP. I want to remember living in Hoboken, those years when it was always fun and full of friends and spontanaeity. I want to remember losing my virginity to someone who showed me patience and care. I want to remember everything about September 11, because even though it was horrible, it's too important to ever forget. I want to remember my first apartment in Manhattan--a dream come true. I want to remember the day I looked at myself in the mirror and really really liked what I saw for the first time. I want to remember completing my Master's Degree. I want to remember being depressed, because even though it was difficult and scary, I want to be able to recognize it if it ever happens again. I want to remember jumping out of an airplane, because it will remind me that I can be brave. I want to remember being in love and giving myself completely to someone, because even though my heart got broken, it was a wonderful feeling for a time and I want to remember how wonderful it was so I will always want it again.

My life is very different from how I thought it would be ten years ago. I never thought I would become a teacher. I'm a TEACHER. It still sounds weird to me, like it's a job for people who are not me. I've been a teacher for the past three years. And I actually kind of like it. But I'm nowhere near where I thought I would be financially or personally. If you told me ten years ago that I would be deeply in debt, living with three roommates and completely single at the age of thirty, I probably would have just cried like a big fat baby. Sometimes I wonder how so many people I know climbed aboard the Get-Married-and-Have-Kids train and I still don't even know where the station's at. Some people make it look so easy: You meet someone, you start dating, you get engaged, you get married. And you live happily ever after. A couple of years ago, I thought I had found that. And when we broke up I was so angry because that dream had been taken away from me. But enough things in my life have happened to make me believe that everything eventually works out the way it's supposed to. I now have a job I really like, an apartment (and roommates) I really enjoy, I like myself more than I ever have in my whole life, and the rest will fall into place.

I'm afraid to look too far into the future, because the truth is that things might not fall into place for a very long time. But the important thing is to find happiness in every day, to try to bring happiness to someone else every day, and to make the most of what you have. I have learned that I cannot look for someone to fill a void in my life. I can only look for someone to give me a turbo-boost, if you will. But the car still has to be able to run boy-less. And it does. I learned that medication or situations can make me very very sad, and if I feel very sad something needs to change. And I learned that I can make a big change and not only be ok, but be great. GREAT. These days, I am feeling great. I can say that honestly. If this is the way being thirty is gonna feel, BRING IT THE FUCK ON.

It's already been brought-en. 12:05 a.m. Happy 30th birthday to me.

Thank goodness I teach 6th grade

Just when you thought it couldn't get any more difficult to be an adolescent, Mayor Bloomberg announces that he's going to make it harder to get to 8th grade. Again with the tests, as if those really measure how much someone knows and is able to do. Certainly I agree that the quality of teaching in most middle schools needs to be improved. Clearly something is not as it should be. But I think most people really miss the boat when they continue to assume that what works for 8 or 9 year-olds will also work for 12 and 13 year olds.

On the other hand, the way some of my kids respond to the weight of the test, this might actually give them the impetus to focus on their work and do their best, rather than do as little as they can to pass.

Still glad I am not teaching 7th grade, though.

The Alien

One of the reasons why I like teaching middle school (and why I suspect many other people don't) is because it's such a difficult time in kids' lives. They have so much emotional and social angst going on, sometimes their academic work is simply the last thing on their mind. Other times, it's a welcome respite from all the other drama. Rich or poor, loud or quiet, every kid has issues. Many times being around my students gives me uncomfortable flashbacks to my own difficulties as a child. Other times, I feel relieved at how much more secure I feel about myself now; I survived middle school, and they will, too.

And some days, it all comes screeching back. I was selected to be part of a group of teachers who are writing "interdisciplinary" units for the DOE. Now, I've heard some exciting (to me) things coming out of Tweed-- they want people to move towards using the workshop model and inquiry for social studies. I was feeling very fired up about the opportunity to share some of the things we've been doing with a larger audience, a nod back to my life in ed. reform a few years ago. But, I ended up missing the first day of the project, where topics were decided and groups were formed. As I listened to the explanation of the work my group had done thus far, I felt my face scrunching up and my eyes narrowing in that "What the fuck are you talking about?" kind of way. It was one of those instances where voices inside my head were screaming, "This sucks! Let me show you how we should do it! Let me take control!" It reminded me of my own life in middle school, working in groups on projects where I felt frustrated and powerless. I was such a control freak and had a bit of a superiority complex that I couldn't easily compromise or see the value in another's perspective.

Group work, I realize, doesn't come naturally for many of us. It's a skill that needs to be taught and practiced like any other. I want my kids, even the brilliant ones, to be able to compromise and see the value in another's work. I have to teach them how to do that, and why it's important. But how does one teach something that one is not very good at herself?

Oh, and by the way, when I mentioned to my principal what my group had decided, let's just say that she agreed with me. Wholeheartedly. Hallelujah, the alien has found her mothership.

mixed signals

Recently, N. and I had an interesting discussion. One of her co-workers has a condition known as synethesia (rhymes with anesthesia). When she reads or hears letters or words, she sees different colors. Every letter has a unique color. Whoah. Eventually N.'s and my conversation turned to how we see calendars in our minds. Apparently (this was news to me), everyone sees the year differently in their heads. For me, it's a clock running counter-clockwise. New Year's Eve is at 12, while June is somewhere around 7, and my birthday is kind of around 6. Labor Day (and the beginning of school) is 5 o'clock-ish. So, like, if you tell me that your wedding is taking place on December 10th, say, in my head I will see a spot about halfway between 12 and 1 o'clock. Though, for me, it's really somewhere between 11 and 12 (because my calendar-clock runs counter-clockwise). Get it? Doesn't matter if you do, 'cuz it's MY calendar, see, and everyone sees it differently.

How do you see your calendar?

First official non-work day

Two of my summer-job plans fell through. One of those prospects I was really disappointed about. It was a curriculum-writing/proposal reading/workshop-delivering position at the Dept. of Education. All stuff I've done either as a teacher or while at the non-profit I used to work for. The other one was summer school. (I have to admit, I'm secretly very happy the summer school gig didn't work out.)

So, plans for the summer include: training for the Nike Run Hit Wonder, taking on some new hobbies (knitting?), polishing my cooking skills, organizing my files (oh, exciting), writing a kick-ass social studies curriculum, and reading.

First book up: Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. Those Mongolians kicked some serious ass. As long as you surrendered to them and allowed them to conquer you, you enjoyed religious freedom (nearly unheard of at the time in other places), free trade with the rest of the Mongolian Empire, which was most of Eurasia, and protection. If you resisted, you suffered astonishing defeat. They were merciless. Like I said, they kicked some serious ass.