My school has Character Counts days each month in which we discuss and do activities related to the "Pillars" of Good Character. Tomorrow's theme is "Responsibility." While doing an online search, I came across this video. The sportmanship and responsibility to one's fellow man is astounding. I suggest everyone watch it and ask themselves what would you do in this situation?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Stephenie Meyer is a phony
Dear Stephenie Meyer,
When you appeared on the scene with Twilight, I took notice. Suddenly, your book started appearing on all my high school students' desks regardlesss of whether they were in my junior advanced American Literature students to my freshmen low-achieving group. After SSR, the girls would close their books gently, all resembling the elation a teenage girl has after her first kiss. My students begged me to read the book too and I was only too happy to oblige-- I'd do anything to encourage my reluctant readers to read. Like my students, I enjoyed the book and wished that my boyfriend would act like Edward. His response, " You want me to bite you?!?" Missed point aside, it was as an enjoyable a read as any of my beach reads.
I wouldn't extoll its literary merit. Her syntax and sentence structure are abominable-- she enjoys long, confusing sentences when a short one would suffice. Her vocabulary doesn't fit in with the rest of her writing style-- you can tell she obviously used a thesaurus for some words. Example: The gloominess of Forks isn't persistent, overwhelming, or depressing, it's "omnipresent." Omnipresent is definitley the wrong word choice here. As for grammar, Meyer seems to enjoy passive voice just as much as Edward enjoys Bella's smell. Her storyline is predictable; it's a storyline seen throughout literature, just with vampires. To me, it's a "beach read" and therefore not true "literature".
When Breaking Dawn broke, I bought it the first day and eagerly consumed it. Like my students, I was dying to know how it would end. I was extremely disappointed. For one, the book is much too long. The real conflict is Bella's abnormal pregnancy. We want to know if she lives or dies. Once it's clear that she in fact does both, we are left expecting a much bigger climax. After all, books are comparable to earth quakes. There are always warning rumbles before the real damage. Not so in this book. The conflict between the Cullen's and the Volturi is anticlimatic. It is a storyline that has been repeated throughout the series.. enough is enough! End the book with Bella becomes a vampire, THE END. In addition, the book was written as if Meyer was anticipating being asked to turn it into a screenplay and wanted to save herself some work. That is the ONLY reason I can give for certain scenes, such as the busted headboard and pillows. The characters also have had personality implants. Edward, all that is male, offers up Bella to Jacob for the sake of procreation? I don't think so. More realistically, Jacob could be a sperm donor and God knows that the Cullens have enough money for IVF. But the physical act, nuh uh. Jacob falls in love with Bella's baby? Awkward! I can see that Meyer wants Edward to be sweet and Jacob to be happy, but it just doesn't work. The last thing that really bothers me is the gratuitous sex scenes. As a teacher, I recommended the Twilight series to my students because it promoted abstinence and morals. I read book 4, and was appalled by the content! It is a book that is NOT appropriate for the middle school age bracket.
Meyer's greed also bothers me. She is taking this Twilight thing for all that it's worth: rock concerts, movies, speaking gigs, and action figures. Her other book, The Host, is being made into a movie. While Twilight had some light plot pleasure, The Host has no redeeming qualities. I can't say that I blame Meyer for capitalizing on her 15 minutes of fame. She knows that she can't write worth a lick. The jig soon will be up, and she will fade into obscurity like every other flavor of the week.
Just don't ever compare her to J.K. Rowling or incur that wrath of Stephen King. This is from a recent interview with USA Today. "[J.K.] Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good." King says Meyer's secret is "writing to a whole generation of girls and opening up kind of a safe joining of love and sex in those books. It’s exciting and it’s thrilling and it's not particularly threatening because they’re not overtly sexual."
King obviously hasn't read Breaking Dawn.
When you appeared on the scene with Twilight, I took notice. Suddenly, your book started appearing on all my high school students' desks regardlesss of whether they were in my junior advanced American Literature students to my freshmen low-achieving group. After SSR, the girls would close their books gently, all resembling the elation a teenage girl has after her first kiss. My students begged me to read the book too and I was only too happy to oblige-- I'd do anything to encourage my reluctant readers to read. Like my students, I enjoyed the book and wished that my boyfriend would act like Edward. His response, " You want me to bite you?!?" Missed point aside, it was as an enjoyable a read as any of my beach reads.
I wouldn't extoll its literary merit. Her syntax and sentence structure are abominable-- she enjoys long, confusing sentences when a short one would suffice. Her vocabulary doesn't fit in with the rest of her writing style-- you can tell she obviously used a thesaurus for some words. Example: The gloominess of Forks isn't persistent, overwhelming, or depressing, it's "omnipresent." Omnipresent is definitley the wrong word choice here. As for grammar, Meyer seems to enjoy passive voice just as much as Edward enjoys Bella's smell. Her storyline is predictable; it's a storyline seen throughout literature, just with vampires. To me, it's a "beach read" and therefore not true "literature".
When Breaking Dawn broke, I bought it the first day and eagerly consumed it. Like my students, I was dying to know how it would end. I was extremely disappointed. For one, the book is much too long. The real conflict is Bella's abnormal pregnancy. We want to know if she lives or dies. Once it's clear that she in fact does both, we are left expecting a much bigger climax. After all, books are comparable to earth quakes. There are always warning rumbles before the real damage. Not so in this book. The conflict between the Cullen's and the Volturi is anticlimatic. It is a storyline that has been repeated throughout the series.. enough is enough! End the book with Bella becomes a vampire, THE END. In addition, the book was written as if Meyer was anticipating being asked to turn it into a screenplay and wanted to save herself some work. That is the ONLY reason I can give for certain scenes, such as the busted headboard and pillows. The characters also have had personality implants. Edward, all that is male, offers up Bella to Jacob for the sake of procreation? I don't think so. More realistically, Jacob could be a sperm donor and God knows that the Cullens have enough money for IVF. But the physical act, nuh uh. Jacob falls in love with Bella's baby? Awkward! I can see that Meyer wants Edward to be sweet and Jacob to be happy, but it just doesn't work. The last thing that really bothers me is the gratuitous sex scenes. As a teacher, I recommended the Twilight series to my students because it promoted abstinence and morals. I read book 4, and was appalled by the content! It is a book that is NOT appropriate for the middle school age bracket.
Meyer's greed also bothers me. She is taking this Twilight thing for all that it's worth: rock concerts, movies, speaking gigs, and action figures. Her other book, The Host, is being made into a movie. While Twilight had some light plot pleasure, The Host has no redeeming qualities. I can't say that I blame Meyer for capitalizing on her 15 minutes of fame. She knows that she can't write worth a lick. The jig soon will be up, and she will fade into obscurity like every other flavor of the week.
Just don't ever compare her to J.K. Rowling or incur that wrath of Stephen King. This is from a recent interview with USA Today. "[J.K.] Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good." King says Meyer's secret is "writing to a whole generation of girls and opening up kind of a safe joining of love and sex in those books. It’s exciting and it’s thrilling and it's not particularly threatening because they’re not overtly sexual."
King obviously hasn't read Breaking Dawn.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Frozen Fire
What do Casanova, James Bond, Bill Clinton, Sex and the City's Samantha, Mae West, Don Juan, and I have in common?
Answer: an insatiable sex drive
After a Puritian adolescence, I had my first kiss at the age of 18. At 19, I lost my virginity. In a few short years, I had morphed from a shy, overweight girl scared of all things masculine to a Lolita- of-sorts eagerly making up for lost time. I've done it in my childhood bed, in my dorm room, in my parents' bed, in my grandparents' bed. I've had sex in a trailer, a car, on a cruise ship, on the floor of my dorm room, in a tent, on my mother in law's living room floor, in a shower, in a tub, the back of a pickup truck, and in a hot tub. I've fucked boyfriends, exes, engaged men, married men (technically Jay was married when we got together-- it was a week before his divorce finalized), & single men. My lovers include doctors, gang members, Navy, Marines, Army. It wasn't all one-night stands or fuck buddies however. I had several long-term "relationships" and one serious relationship. Despite my overactive sex drive, I have always been faithful, even if my partner was not ( a story for another time). I was so bad that friends nicknamed me "Twinsie Immorality".
Now, on the verge of 24, I've reached a standstill. It's not for lack of opportunity-- Lord knows that I have options. It's that I no longer want to "worship the priest instead of the God", I no longer want "accept a false Messiah," to borrow words from Sharon Olds's poem "Sex without Love". I've reached the state where emotional security and "making love" is simply more desireable than "having sex" or "fucking." I miss the emotional connection; the connection of soul, heart, and mind that is consumated by a joining of the bodies. I miss laying in emotional bliss in another's arms afterwards. I miss being able to murmur "I love you" at the moment of passion.
I've had that once in my life with Trevor, and started to have it with Jay, before I recognized his true colors. With Jay, there was a physical need associated with it. I was addicted to his pheremones. Probably why the sex was out of the park amazing. With Trevor, it was emotional. The first time we made love after we had broken up, I cried because the passion we had for each other was emotionally overwhelming. He wasn't the best love physically, but he was my best emotionally.
I'm at the point where satisfying the physical desire simply isn't worth the emotional complexity, paranoia about STDs and pregnancy, and awkwardness. I've recognized that the trysts that I've had in the past few months are becaus I was searching for lost emotions. I miss the things about making love that simple sex doesn't offer.
So, I'm done. Honestly and as a seriously as a heart attack, I am done having sex. I'm declaring my celibacy until I find or return to someone worthy of not only receiving my body and my mind. Instead of chasing relationships that are never going to work, I'm going to expend that energy fostering a relationship with myself.
I recognize that for those people that have read my blog that know me in real life, this basically means that Hell has frozen over. Some may even be skeptical. To those people I say, "start knitting a sweater and mittens for Hades because it's going to be cold there for a long, long time."
However, as my best friend Tom so fittingly put it, "God help the man that you do find, because he has no idea what he's in for, if your sex drive has been bottling up for a long time." True.
"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you that you love, well, that's just fabulous." –Carrie from Sex and the City
The Road Less Traveled
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both...- Robert Frost "The Road Less Traveled"
Like all English majors, I have a few poems and books that I feel that I could have written because they echo the feelings in my heart. I return to Frost's poem every time there is a divergence in my life, where I have to ponder which road to take, and the implications of both. I'm at fork in the road right now, looking down the paths of two lives that I could easily lead. One leads me to attend Lesley University's MFA in Creative Writing program. I found out Friday afternoon that I had been accepted. The other is an online MEd program at the University of New England in Literacy.
There are merits to both programs. Learning about Literacy would directly help me in my classroom experience by introducing me to strategies I could use to help struggling readers. It might open more doors for me in this district to advance to a full-time Language Arts position. However, it is not where my heart is. I am interested in it only because of its affordability, easiness, usefulness, and the fact that two of my other friends are attending the same program.
The MFA program offers me the opportunity to work on my own writing, which I neglect in favor of responsibilities, and the promise that I could teach college Creative Writing classes. The MFA is where my heart is, though it is going to be a lot of work, and a bit more money than the other program. All told though, both programs are going to be be less than a year at Assumption. If I have to take a loan out for that much, it is not going to be as much of a burden. The MFA is the "road less traveled" for me. I know of no one who went to Lesley's MFA program, though I have several relatives who attended there for MEds. As part of thier interdiscplinary component, I can also take Education courses to satisify my MFA requirements.
I've decided to do the MFA program. As I told a friend last evening, its time I start riding with my seat, allowing my true feelings and forces of nature to navigate the direction of my life, and accepting that change, rather than jerking on the reins all the time to force my life back onto a path it would rather not go. Had I done that in March, when Trevor came back to me, I would still be with him. Instead, I was scared, unsure, and selfish...I wanted both worlds. Instead, I lost them both. The MFA program is what I want to do, and I'm disregarding everyone else's opinion in order to stride convidently down the path that is "grassy and wanted wear." Like Frost, I know that I can keep "the first for another day!/Yet, knowing how way leads onto way/I doubt I should ever come back."
And sorry I could not travel both...- Robert Frost "The Road Less Traveled"
Like all English majors, I have a few poems and books that I feel that I could have written because they echo the feelings in my heart. I return to Frost's poem every time there is a divergence in my life, where I have to ponder which road to take, and the implications of both. I'm at fork in the road right now, looking down the paths of two lives that I could easily lead. One leads me to attend Lesley University's MFA in Creative Writing program. I found out Friday afternoon that I had been accepted. The other is an online MEd program at the University of New England in Literacy.
There are merits to both programs. Learning about Literacy would directly help me in my classroom experience by introducing me to strategies I could use to help struggling readers. It might open more doors for me in this district to advance to a full-time Language Arts position. However, it is not where my heart is. I am interested in it only because of its affordability, easiness, usefulness, and the fact that two of my other friends are attending the same program.
The MFA program offers me the opportunity to work on my own writing, which I neglect in favor of responsibilities, and the promise that I could teach college Creative Writing classes. The MFA is where my heart is, though it is going to be a lot of work, and a bit more money than the other program. All told though, both programs are going to be be less than a year at Assumption. If I have to take a loan out for that much, it is not going to be as much of a burden. The MFA is the "road less traveled" for me. I know of no one who went to Lesley's MFA program, though I have several relatives who attended there for MEds. As part of thier interdiscplinary component, I can also take Education courses to satisify my MFA requirements.
I've decided to do the MFA program. As I told a friend last evening, its time I start riding with my seat, allowing my true feelings and forces of nature to navigate the direction of my life, and accepting that change, rather than jerking on the reins all the time to force my life back onto a path it would rather not go. Had I done that in March, when Trevor came back to me, I would still be with him. Instead, I was scared, unsure, and selfish...I wanted both worlds. Instead, I lost them both. The MFA program is what I want to do, and I'm disregarding everyone else's opinion in order to stride convidently down the path that is "grassy and wanted wear." Like Frost, I know that I can keep "the first for another day!/Yet, knowing how way leads onto way/I doubt I should ever come back."
Thursday, September 17, 2009
I'd give anything...
Before I begin the meat of my post, I want to let everyone know that I lost 3 lbs! I celebrated by sharing a piece of baklava with my mom.
I eat lunch every day with a collection of teacher assistants. I do this for two reasons. 1) the 8th grade team, with which I am close with, eats lunch after me. 2) I cannot stand the seventh grade team, that has lunch the same time as me. One of the teacher assistants, Jo, spent lunch complaining about how insensitive and annoying her long term boyfriend is. As in, "he gets home at 3:30 and I get home at 7, and he asks what's for dinner! Couldn't he have made dinner while I was away?" and other things of that nature. Don't get me wrong, I can understand how totally frustrating it is. The other TAs bemoaned their husbands' collective ineptness.
I kept quiet through most of it. Only two of the TAs I consider "friends" and am wary of the rumor mill small school I teach in. My lunch group knows that Trevor and I had broken up, knew about Jay, and that we were no longer together. I never mentioned exactly how much I miss him-- other than my parents and his family, few people know that I want him home. Part of the reason we broke up is that everyone in town it seemed had to put their input in about our relationship, whether we were friends with them or not. I do not want to listen to lectures about how much they disliked Trevor.
It wasn't all of Trevor's fault that they didn't like him. My town, like most small mill villages in Connecticut, consists of people, who like their fathers and fathers' fathers, are born, live, and die in the same town. With only one elementary, middle, and high school in town, you literally grow up together. The same friends you have as a child are usually your friends in adulthood. It makes people wary of outsiders. Trevor wasn't from the town, CT, or even from a small town. That made him an outsider, which almost ostracizes you from the "good ol' boys club" down at the fire house. Another thing that didn't help was that several of the firefighters had their eyes on me, and I had been talking to a few of them when Trevor and I met. Trevor also talked a lot and had tall tales to tell, I think, in part, to impress his new friends.
As these women bemoaned their husbands' mild cases of forgetfullness, messiness, and lack of consideration, I couldn't help but wish how I could be right there with them, affectionately complaining about my pet peeves with Trevor. At a lull in the conversation, I interjected, "It's funny, I would willingly accept his faults if it meant that Trevor would come back. You ladies don't know how lucky you are." The table grew quiet after that. It wasn't my intention to chastize them, just to let them know how lucky they are they have husbands that love them. I would give anything to have my "husband" home.
I'd give anything to have the collection of Mt. Dew cans on his nightable, to be able to wash his dishes, and take out the trash when he forgets. I'd give anything to drive by the fire house on my way home from work, see his car in the FD driveway, and catch him smoking a cigarette out back because he doesn't want to upset me. I'd give anything to work two jobs if it living in our own home. I'd give anything to be woken up at 3 am by kisses on the neck because he wanted lovin' even though he rejected my earlier advances because the game was on. I'd give anything to constantly be paying off a Frederick's bill so I could surprise him after a hard week at work. I'd give anything to be able to have to buy clothes, boxers, and tank tops for him. I'd give anything to wake up to pizza crumbs in the bed because he ordered out while watching hockey on the humongous plasma tv screen that he insisted hang in our bedroom. I'd give anything to lay on his chest at night and smell his distinctive aroma of sweat, cigarettes, and dirt. I'd give anything to playfully fight with him and make up after. I'd give anything to have to pick up his dirty clothes that he dropped next to the hamper.
I'd give anything to have him back, even if that means putting up with the little things that annoy me. For all the things that he does wrong, he put up with my moods, supported me in good times and in bad, loved my animals because they were ours, loved me beyond compare, let me know that I was his world, and was my best friend through it all. Without him, I feel like a ship that has lost its anchor and is slowly drifting from port to port, hoping to find the same easy comfort, support, and affection as before.
I'd give anything to have him home.
The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings- Eric Hoffer
I eat lunch every day with a collection of teacher assistants. I do this for two reasons. 1) the 8th grade team, with which I am close with, eats lunch after me. 2) I cannot stand the seventh grade team, that has lunch the same time as me. One of the teacher assistants, Jo, spent lunch complaining about how insensitive and annoying her long term boyfriend is. As in, "he gets home at 3:30 and I get home at 7, and he asks what's for dinner! Couldn't he have made dinner while I was away?" and other things of that nature. Don't get me wrong, I can understand how totally frustrating it is. The other TAs bemoaned their husbands' collective ineptness.
I kept quiet through most of it. Only two of the TAs I consider "friends" and am wary of the rumor mill small school I teach in. My lunch group knows that Trevor and I had broken up, knew about Jay, and that we were no longer together. I never mentioned exactly how much I miss him-- other than my parents and his family, few people know that I want him home. Part of the reason we broke up is that everyone in town it seemed had to put their input in about our relationship, whether we were friends with them or not. I do not want to listen to lectures about how much they disliked Trevor.
It wasn't all of Trevor's fault that they didn't like him. My town, like most small mill villages in Connecticut, consists of people, who like their fathers and fathers' fathers, are born, live, and die in the same town. With only one elementary, middle, and high school in town, you literally grow up together. The same friends you have as a child are usually your friends in adulthood. It makes people wary of outsiders. Trevor wasn't from the town, CT, or even from a small town. That made him an outsider, which almost ostracizes you from the "good ol' boys club" down at the fire house. Another thing that didn't help was that several of the firefighters had their eyes on me, and I had been talking to a few of them when Trevor and I met. Trevor also talked a lot and had tall tales to tell, I think, in part, to impress his new friends.
As these women bemoaned their husbands' mild cases of forgetfullness, messiness, and lack of consideration, I couldn't help but wish how I could be right there with them, affectionately complaining about my pet peeves with Trevor. At a lull in the conversation, I interjected, "It's funny, I would willingly accept his faults if it meant that Trevor would come back. You ladies don't know how lucky you are." The table grew quiet after that. It wasn't my intention to chastize them, just to let them know how lucky they are they have husbands that love them. I would give anything to have my "husband" home.
I'd give anything to have the collection of Mt. Dew cans on his nightable, to be able to wash his dishes, and take out the trash when he forgets. I'd give anything to drive by the fire house on my way home from work, see his car in the FD driveway, and catch him smoking a cigarette out back because he doesn't want to upset me. I'd give anything to work two jobs if it living in our own home. I'd give anything to be woken up at 3 am by kisses on the neck because he wanted lovin' even though he rejected my earlier advances because the game was on. I'd give anything to constantly be paying off a Frederick's bill so I could surprise him after a hard week at work. I'd give anything to be able to have to buy clothes, boxers, and tank tops for him. I'd give anything to wake up to pizza crumbs in the bed because he ordered out while watching hockey on the humongous plasma tv screen that he insisted hang in our bedroom. I'd give anything to lay on his chest at night and smell his distinctive aroma of sweat, cigarettes, and dirt. I'd give anything to playfully fight with him and make up after. I'd give anything to have to pick up his dirty clothes that he dropped next to the hamper.
I'd give anything to have him back, even if that means putting up with the little things that annoy me. For all the things that he does wrong, he put up with my moods, supported me in good times and in bad, loved my animals because they were ours, loved me beyond compare, let me know that I was his world, and was my best friend through it all. Without him, I feel like a ship that has lost its anchor and is slowly drifting from port to port, hoping to find the same easy comfort, support, and affection as before.
I'd give anything to have him home.
The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings- Eric Hoffer
I learned about teaching in the aisles of Staples
There is great article published by the National Writing Project entitled Everything I Know About Teaching Language Arts I Learned at the Office Supply Store. The author, Kathleen O'Shaughnassy, is both funny and practical as she gives tips on helping students to learn using the most common office supplies. I love the article and have even used some of her tips.
I would like to add one of my own, Magnetic Tape strips. I use these babies for everything. I blew up a list of my students vocabulary list, printed it out, and cut them individually. I then affixed them to the white board at the back of my room, that I never use for obvious reasons to form a vocabulary wall that can be added to as my students learn new words. Most teachers know that tape and other such things do not work well on white boards. I also used printed out our schedule in the same manner, which can be easily rotated to accomodate the changing dates. There are a million other uses too. Best of all, it was 0.99 for 18 adhesive strips (.5 in x 4 in) at Walmart. Score!
By way of a disclaimer, I am not recieving any compensation for this tip. I simply wanted to share it with fellow teachers who read this blog in the hopes that they too can be awed by the sheer awesomness that is magnets. No, seriously.
I have weigh in today (cue Jaws theme song) though I am making a pit stop at the store to pick up a pregnancy test. My period was really light month, and kinda brown. My period is usually pretty light (so light I don't even need a tampon), so I'm probably overreacting, and I'll kick myself later for wasting the money, but I need to stop the worry warts bouncing around in my brain. I'll letcha know.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Ghostly Equestrienne
I was shopping in Stop Shop last night for healthy lunch options after discovering that 2 slices of bologna was 5 pts (!!!), when I discovered the Martha Stewart Halloween Magazine. Despite all her legal troubles, I am in love with her sense of chic style that I aim to imitate. I had always known that Martha's style edges towards country chic, but I had no idea that she was a fellow horsewoman!
The cover (which is Martha herself with her Friesan) caught my eye because the horse looks like Magic.
The Halloween edition consists of several easily made costumes, including one of a "Ghostly Equestrienne" straight out of Edwardian England. My costume usually consists of girly/sexy costumes, but this season I might make this costume and take Magic trick or treating with me! At the very least, I can get some cool Myspace pictures out of the deal, and enter in a local costume contest!
Enjoy the pictures below!
Briefly Back On (the) Chase
"Men are not against you, they are merely for themselves"- Gene Fowler
I met Chase* in 2004. He was the one that enticed me with his tall, dark, and handsome complexion to leave the land of virginity, and cast aside my Puritanical beliefs. He was the first one, after I lost weight to pay attention to me, and make me believe that I was sexy. As his name denotes, being with Chase was a constant battle. Our on-again, off-again relationship was legendary, as was our passion. There were nights that I would wake up to him calling as he got out of work (he worked 2nd shift) asking me to come down. Even though I was at school a half hour away, I'd quickly shower and shave, and drive to his house. The next morning, I'd stumble into class, exhausted with the goofy smile of someone who had spent the night being ravaged. My friends, especially Twinsie, would shake their heads, knowing that I yet again hadn't learned my lesson.
When I met Trevor, however, I finally cast aside my obsession with Chase for the quiet comfort of love, even though Trevor wasn't as great in the sack as Chase.
Three years went by. I randomly bumped into Chase at the gym one night earlier this year. We started talking again. We always were best friends, even if Chase's inability to commit kept us apart. We've remained friends and supported each other through the various relationship problems we've encountered. Through this all, it's been platonic, even though I drunkenly texted him for sex one night. Don't get me wrong, even though Chase is now 28 (a fact which boggles my mind), he still is insanely sexy. However, now that I know what it means to "make love," and not just "fuck," I don't crave that anymore. I don't even hold Chase as the "best ever," though he is second only to Jay.
Chase texted me last weekend, and I could sense things were different, yet familiar. Conversations started to spiral into what could only lead to an invitation to come over. Last night, I got exactly that. Out of the clear blue, he started talking about how much he missed my mouth..... Even though I am pretty much done with dating because I'm tired of being hurt, and I've decided to not sleep with anyone else lest I find myself with the "slut" label, I decided that sleeping Chase might not be a bad thing. After all, I was over the emotions for him; he's a guaranteed good fuck; and since he's already on my list, he wouldn't add to my number.
So I invited him over to my apartment. I gave him head, like he wanted, and then he wanted to fuck me. I was punch drunk with desire for him at that point. Chase has an inmistakable allure. Thirty seconds later, it was over. As I lay there, wondering what the hell just happened, he sat up and said that the night was just for him, and not for me, and he wasn't even going to pretend like it was.
All I could do was laugh. It was so like Chase-- so unabashadly selfish that i couldn't even be upset with him. I should have learned from my three years with him that he was capable of it. The thought even crossed my mind as I waited for him. But I pushed it aside, too excited for the thought of reliving the past nights of passion.
So, dear Readers, what lessons have you thought you learned, only to go back to your old ways in a moment of weakness?
I met Chase* in 2004. He was the one that enticed me with his tall, dark, and handsome complexion to leave the land of virginity, and cast aside my Puritanical beliefs. He was the first one, after I lost weight to pay attention to me, and make me believe that I was sexy. As his name denotes, being with Chase was a constant battle. Our on-again, off-again relationship was legendary, as was our passion. There were nights that I would wake up to him calling as he got out of work (he worked 2nd shift) asking me to come down. Even though I was at school a half hour away, I'd quickly shower and shave, and drive to his house. The next morning, I'd stumble into class, exhausted with the goofy smile of someone who had spent the night being ravaged. My friends, especially Twinsie, would shake their heads, knowing that I yet again hadn't learned my lesson.
When I met Trevor, however, I finally cast aside my obsession with Chase for the quiet comfort of love, even though Trevor wasn't as great in the sack as Chase.
Three years went by. I randomly bumped into Chase at the gym one night earlier this year. We started talking again. We always were best friends, even if Chase's inability to commit kept us apart. We've remained friends and supported each other through the various relationship problems we've encountered. Through this all, it's been platonic, even though I drunkenly texted him for sex one night. Don't get me wrong, even though Chase is now 28 (a fact which boggles my mind), he still is insanely sexy. However, now that I know what it means to "make love," and not just "fuck," I don't crave that anymore. I don't even hold Chase as the "best ever," though he is second only to Jay.
Chase texted me last weekend, and I could sense things were different, yet familiar. Conversations started to spiral into what could only lead to an invitation to come over. Last night, I got exactly that. Out of the clear blue, he started talking about how much he missed my mouth..... Even though I am pretty much done with dating because I'm tired of being hurt, and I've decided to not sleep with anyone else lest I find myself with the "slut" label, I decided that sleeping Chase might not be a bad thing. After all, I was over the emotions for him; he's a guaranteed good fuck; and since he's already on my list, he wouldn't add to my number.
So I invited him over to my apartment. I gave him head, like he wanted, and then he wanted to fuck me. I was punch drunk with desire for him at that point. Chase has an inmistakable allure. Thirty seconds later, it was over. As I lay there, wondering what the hell just happened, he sat up and said that the night was just for him, and not for me, and he wasn't even going to pretend like it was.
All I could do was laugh. It was so like Chase-- so unabashadly selfish that i couldn't even be upset with him. I should have learned from my three years with him that he was capable of it. The thought even crossed my mind as I waited for him. But I pushed it aside, too excited for the thought of reliving the past nights of passion.
So, dear Readers, what lessons have you thought you learned, only to go back to your old ways in a moment of weakness?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A Thousand Words Thursday
"All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to be loved by a little girl."
In this picture, I'm sitting on the ground waiting for our next class to be called. Magic was standing there, originally sleeping, as I stroked his muzzle. My cell phone rang, and he perked up. So he started nibbling on my helmet because he wanted me to pay attention to him.
Note: It is EXTREMELY dangerous to sit on the ground in front of a horse. They are unpredictable. I, however, trust Magic completely. I've had him since he was 1 (he's now 4); I can read his moods better than I can read my own. I was perfectly safe.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Leader or enemy
At 7:20 this morning, the loudspeaker crackled. I was in my classroom sucking down a large iced coffee in order to combat the exhaustion of my 4-day weekend. The principal's voice whined over the intercom.
"There is a mandatory meeting for all staff in the library, beginning immediately." His voice was grave, and I felt the flutters of panic. This Labor Day weekend had been tragic in our area-- several young people had gotten into horrific accidents. A friend's younger brother was crushed by a train when his car stalled on the tracks. I hoped that none our staff or students had been injured.
The assembled throng of staff wore the same expressions of sleepy dread, exchanging looks, mentally taking attendance of faculty and staff. Our principal rushed to the podium, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
"As many of you know, President Obama will be speaking to the nation's students this afternoon. Under no circumstances are you allowed to show this speech to students. As a school, we are comitted to remaining poiltically neutral. That is all." He walked away, leaving all of us to stare around the room in shock.
It has been on my mind all day. As my fellow teachers know, teaching is more than just the curriculum. Teaching is about "teachable moments," those unplanned events that open a possibility for meaniful discussion and applied curriculum: the hatching of a chrysalis in a classroom window, a story in the room that fits into your curriculum. Today's speech by Obama was a teachable moment. Instead of teaching our students about respect, we instead reinforced the message that authority figures should not be respected. In a time when parents are being usurped by children and teachers are being considered no more than glorified babysitters, to show students that the highest elected official in our country does not deserve respect is more damaging than we know.
Our students, despite their age, do know what is going on. They have an access to current events that we cannot fathom. They know about the controversy of Obama's speech, from Tweets, news updates, or even dinner time conversation. What message are we sending our students?
My administration, like many others around the country, refused to show the speech in order to appear neutral. What they did, however, was make a different political statement.
I admit, that I am a Democrat and did vote for Obama in the election. I know, however, that my personal political feelings would not change my feelings about this. I did not appreciate President G.W. Bush's decisions. However, he was my President, and elected by the majority of this country. Therefore, I would listen to what he had to say.
I talked about narcissism several posts ago in relationships. This narcissism extends now into the political arena. Many people now believe that "because I didn't vote for him, I shouldn't have to listen to or support him". This attitude is so different from that of our forefathers, parents, and grandparents. I'm concerned about what this means for the future of our country; this saying keeps repeating in my mind: united we stand, divided we fall....
"There is a mandatory meeting for all staff in the library, beginning immediately." His voice was grave, and I felt the flutters of panic. This Labor Day weekend had been tragic in our area-- several young people had gotten into horrific accidents. A friend's younger brother was crushed by a train when his car stalled on the tracks. I hoped that none our staff or students had been injured.
The assembled throng of staff wore the same expressions of sleepy dread, exchanging looks, mentally taking attendance of faculty and staff. Our principal rushed to the podium, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
"As many of you know, President Obama will be speaking to the nation's students this afternoon. Under no circumstances are you allowed to show this speech to students. As a school, we are comitted to remaining poiltically neutral. That is all." He walked away, leaving all of us to stare around the room in shock.
It has been on my mind all day. As my fellow teachers know, teaching is more than just the curriculum. Teaching is about "teachable moments," those unplanned events that open a possibility for meaniful discussion and applied curriculum: the hatching of a chrysalis in a classroom window, a story in the room that fits into your curriculum. Today's speech by Obama was a teachable moment. Instead of teaching our students about respect, we instead reinforced the message that authority figures should not be respected. In a time when parents are being usurped by children and teachers are being considered no more than glorified babysitters, to show students that the highest elected official in our country does not deserve respect is more damaging than we know.
Our students, despite their age, do know what is going on. They have an access to current events that we cannot fathom. They know about the controversy of Obama's speech, from Tweets, news updates, or even dinner time conversation. What message are we sending our students?
My administration, like many others around the country, refused to show the speech in order to appear neutral. What they did, however, was make a different political statement.
I admit, that I am a Democrat and did vote for Obama in the election. I know, however, that my personal political feelings would not change my feelings about this. I did not appreciate President G.W. Bush's decisions. However, he was my President, and elected by the majority of this country. Therefore, I would listen to what he had to say.
I talked about narcissism several posts ago in relationships. This narcissism extends now into the political arena. Many people now believe that "because I didn't vote for him, I shouldn't have to listen to or support him". This attitude is so different from that of our forefathers, parents, and grandparents. I'm concerned about what this means for the future of our country; this saying keeps repeating in my mind: united we stand, divided we fall....
Monday, September 7, 2009
Rock Bottom
You know hit rock bottom when you scroll through your phone and there is not one single person you could call to hang out with at the social event of the season. I walked around the fair with some of the younger girls who ride at the barn.
You know you hit rock bottom when there is no one there to wipe your boots, hold your horse, or cheer you on the rail on one of the best days of your life. My trainer and barn friends don't count.
You know you hit rock bottom when you walk around the fair, and have to control yourself from crying every time you pass a place that you "made a memory" with your ex-- the grass in front of the grandstand where you danced to "your song" while Lonestar played it for you live, the midway where we went on the Tilt-a-whirl. The First Aid booth that your ex worked at during the fair. The empty place at the rail where he would have been smiling, making you relax as you came around the ring.
You know you hit rock bottom when what should have been the best day of the year, the day you showed and was in the ribbons with your horse, you cry all the way home because you miss him so much.
You know you hit rock bottom when you have no desire to meet or date anyone else because there is this huge cavernous hole where your heart is.
You know you hit rock bottom when your ex "fuck buddy," who you had the most amazing sex with, propositions you and you decline because you just don't feel like dealing with another guy's bullshit. And you still feel like you are "with" someone, and therefore not free to date.
In a mopey mood. Will update about the fair tomorrow.
You know you hit rock bottom when there is no one there to wipe your boots, hold your horse, or cheer you on the rail on one of the best days of your life. My trainer and barn friends don't count.
You know you hit rock bottom when you walk around the fair, and have to control yourself from crying every time you pass a place that you "made a memory" with your ex-- the grass in front of the grandstand where you danced to "your song" while Lonestar played it for you live, the midway where we went on the Tilt-a-whirl. The First Aid booth that your ex worked at during the fair. The empty place at the rail where he would have been smiling, making you relax as you came around the ring.
You know you hit rock bottom when what should have been the best day of the year, the day you showed and was in the ribbons with your horse, you cry all the way home because you miss him so much.
You know you hit rock bottom when you have no desire to meet or date anyone else because there is this huge cavernous hole where your heart is.
You know you hit rock bottom when your ex "fuck buddy," who you had the most amazing sex with, propositions you and you decline because you just don't feel like dealing with another guy's bullshit. And you still feel like you are "with" someone, and therefore not free to date.
In a mopey mood. Will update about the fair tomorrow.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
It's a small world after all
There's a theory out there that if a person is one step away from each person they know, and two steps away from each person who is known by the people they know, then everyone is, at most, 6 steps away from anyone on earth. Also, known as six degrees of Kevin Bacon.
I met Trevor at a party. He was there with his cousin Jeff, his cousin's girlfriend, and this girl--let's call her Amy. I thought Trevor and Amy were together.. turns out they had just met that night. Trevor "took one for the team" and called me the next day. We were together from that day on.
Amy, as you can understand, was not too happy about this. Trevor and I would run into her at different places around town. It's a small town, there's not alot of places people our age hang. At one point, she accused me of "stalking" her (she was working at Blockbuster's).
Fast forward three years. I start coached middle school softball this past spring and one of the parents helped me coach. I had her daughter, Lela, in two of my classes. Lela's mom friended me on facebook today. When I was looking through her profile, I noticed something. She has an older daughter: Amy.
Awk-ward.
I met Trevor at a party. He was there with his cousin Jeff, his cousin's girlfriend, and this girl--let's call her Amy. I thought Trevor and Amy were together.. turns out they had just met that night. Trevor "took one for the team" and called me the next day. We were together from that day on.
Amy, as you can understand, was not too happy about this. Trevor and I would run into her at different places around town. It's a small town, there's not alot of places people our age hang. At one point, she accused me of "stalking" her (she was working at Blockbuster's).
Fast forward three years. I start coached middle school softball this past spring and one of the parents helped me coach. I had her daughter, Lela, in two of my classes. Lela's mom friended me on facebook today. When I was looking through her profile, I noticed something. She has an older daughter: Amy.
Awk-ward.
Drive Myself Crazy
So I gained 0.8 this week. Why? Not sure... I had a pretty good week OP, with the exception of Sunday. I ended the week with Flex Points left. I am however, riding alot more than normal and my legs hurt-- I usually gain a bit the first week I start to work out. At the hospital Tuesday, they gave me three tabs of Prednisone, which may have something to do with it.
Plan for the fair: I bought FiberOne bars, WW muffins, water, and eggs to hardboil for breakfast. I am planning on picking up some fruit, low-cal bread, and cold cuts tomorrow after I drop off the cats at my parents. It's a trial run for when I move back in; Dad is not exactly happy about having three cats in his house in addition to the dog.
So we will see..
I'm going to be obviously away from my computer this weekend. I hope everyone has a great Labor Day rest! I won't be resting, but I'll be having a great time!
Plan for the fair: I bought FiberOne bars, WW muffins, water, and eggs to hardboil for breakfast. I am planning on picking up some fruit, low-cal bread, and cold cuts tomorrow after I drop off the cats at my parents. It's a trial run for when I move back in; Dad is not exactly happy about having three cats in his house in addition to the dog.
So we will see..
I'm going to be obviously away from my computer this weekend. I hope everyone has a great Labor Day rest! I won't be resting, but I'll be having a great time!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
...She got a divorce and a black horse...
This weekend is going to be both joyful and heartbreaking. Each year, in the next town over, there is a large county fair. It is THE social event of the season. As a child, the Fair was the weekend before school began, and you would beg your parents to show off your newest and coolest school clothes. As a teen, the Fair was the time when couples would stroll together, announcing their relationships to the world. As an adult, the Fair was my time to go with Trevor. We would walk around the fair, sampling the foods, playing the games, riding the rides, and looking at all the home improvement vendors and dreaming. It will be the first time since I was 19 that I will be walking around the fair without him.
For me, it's a huge deal. The Fair was one of the happiest times we had together, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. To add insult to injury, Jay will be there-- the Boy Scout troop he is still involved in works as security throughout the day. I'm sure DogFace, knowing I will be there, won't be too far behind. I've already given explicit instructions that she not be allowed NEAR my horse.
For me, the Fair also is the biggest horse show of the season. It is a four day event, and EVERYONE is there. This is the first year that I will be showing my own horse under saddle. After a summer of hard work, it will be a triumph for me to ride him past the judges' booth in front of all the people who told me it was crazy that an intermediate rider own a young horse of his caliber.
Trevor and I raised Magic together. Though my name is only on his papers, Magic is as much Trevor's as mine. I know that no matter how he feels about me, he would be amazingly proud that Magic is here doing what we both dreamed about doing.
I'm toying with the idea of emailing Trevor with an invitation to come down and watch the show, no pressure. However, he is still with his girlfriend, and I'm sure the invitiation won't be welcome.
Thoughts?
For me, it's a huge deal. The Fair was one of the happiest times we had together, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. To add insult to injury, Jay will be there-- the Boy Scout troop he is still involved in works as security throughout the day. I'm sure DogFace, knowing I will be there, won't be too far behind. I've already given explicit instructions that she not be allowed NEAR my horse.
For me, the Fair also is the biggest horse show of the season. It is a four day event, and EVERYONE is there. This is the first year that I will be showing my own horse under saddle. After a summer of hard work, it will be a triumph for me to ride him past the judges' booth in front of all the people who told me it was crazy that an intermediate rider own a young horse of his caliber.
Trevor and I raised Magic together. Though my name is only on his papers, Magic is as much Trevor's as mine. I know that no matter how he feels about me, he would be amazingly proud that Magic is here doing what we both dreamed about doing.
I'm toying with the idea of emailing Trevor with an invitation to come down and watch the show, no pressure. However, he is still with his girlfriend, and I'm sure the invitiation won't be welcome.
Thoughts?
Who is your daddy, and what does he do?
Pull up a chair for another entertaining episode of American Stupidity.
When we last left our heroine, while applying her makeup in the rearview mirror, she discovered that her forehead suddenly had more acne than that of a pubescent male. Her co-workers, however, informed our fearless Aurora that she had a case of the dreaded poision ivy.
This evening, I was sitting down to eat dinner (WW past with low-cal meatballs and sauce), when I noticed that my tongue and the roof of my mouth was itching. My chest also had begun to feel tight. Since I had never had Poison Ivy before, and I am susceptible to asthma episodes, my mother suggested that I go to the hospital to get checked out, in case I had inhaled the poison ivy oil somehow.
Now, I understand that triage nurses deal with hundreds of patients a day. But, c'mon, Poision Ivy is pretty distinctive looking. That didn't matter to her. In the span of five minutes, Miss Triage nurse diagnosed me with chicken pox and heartburn.
In addition, she seemed convinced that I was pregnant. She must have asked me 50 times if I was. Finally, I gave up, and told her a lie, and that I was carrying the son of Christ. She wasn't too pleased with my "mockery of the miracle of Immaculate Conception," but she didn't ask me again if I was pregnant.
I do have poison Ivy in my mouth so I'm a wonderful bout of prednisone. I felt so puny though. In the section next to me was a 9-year old boy who had fallen thorugh a glass table. He was screeching bloody murder as the doctor cleaned and sutured it. After, however, he started watching Animal Planet, and finishing his Happy Meal. The resilency of children, physically and mentally, never ceases to arrange me.
When we last left our heroine, while applying her makeup in the rearview mirror, she discovered that her forehead suddenly had more acne than that of a pubescent male. Her co-workers, however, informed our fearless Aurora that she had a case of the dreaded poision ivy.
This evening, I was sitting down to eat dinner (WW past with low-cal meatballs and sauce), when I noticed that my tongue and the roof of my mouth was itching. My chest also had begun to feel tight. Since I had never had Poison Ivy before, and I am susceptible to asthma episodes, my mother suggested that I go to the hospital to get checked out, in case I had inhaled the poison ivy oil somehow.
Now, I understand that triage nurses deal with hundreds of patients a day. But, c'mon, Poision Ivy is pretty distinctive looking. That didn't matter to her. In the span of five minutes, Miss Triage nurse diagnosed me with chicken pox and heartburn.
In addition, she seemed convinced that I was pregnant. She must have asked me 50 times if I was. Finally, I gave up, and told her a lie, and that I was carrying the son of Christ. She wasn't too pleased with my "mockery of the miracle of Immaculate Conception," but she didn't ask me again if I was pregnant.
I do have poison Ivy in my mouth so I'm a wonderful bout of prednisone. I felt so puny though. In the section next to me was a 9-year old boy who had fallen thorugh a glass table. He was screeching bloody murder as the doctor cleaned and sutured it. After, however, he started watching Animal Planet, and finishing his Happy Meal. The resilency of children, physically and mentally, never ceases to arrange me.
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