Commence Breakdown

How many things would be different if I didn't care about what others thought of me? I'd probably still be fat, but I guess I wouldn't care? That'd be nice. Today I wore a skirt I've owned for five years that's a size above my jeans. My hips were barely contained by its delicate seams; my stomach pudged over its edges, creating soft pink lines that are currently being nourished by my underwear (not panties because 1) gross word, and 2) panties don't come in my size). Aside from the fatness, I've been seriously thinking about my life and how much it would be different if I weren't constantly imbuing everyone around me with negative thoughts about me...Perhaps I should ponder my life without its egocentricity.

Specifically, if people's perceptions didn't matter to me, would I be a teacher? Some days I hate it; other days it's so exhilarating that I am stunned into a semi-permanent smile. Every day I am tired. Every day I think about getting out. Every day I feel trapped. There is no getting out. Because I am supposed to be a professional. Women fought for eons to obtain the jobs and degrees I want to snub my nose at in favor of something so-far intangible (but probably involves tv, free time to work out, and lots of day dreaming). I'm trapped because I am in Cleveland for the duration. Setting aside the husband who managed the job of his dreams, I have a fractured family that would haunt me wherever I went if I ever were to go away. A large part of me feels like I would be happy if I quit my job and worked a low-stress, low - prestige job. But, of course, I wouldn't. I'd immediately set to becoming a manager or starting my own thing, all the time lengthening my 30 minute lunches to 45, 60, 80 minutes. I have to wonder how much my urge to get ahead and be in charge has to do with the fact that I've decided people expect me to do just that. Probably no one gave a shit that I worked as a legal assistant at a law firm, but in my head I had reason to be deeply ashamed.

The job was super easy, interspersed with incredibly stressful days, and paid more than I'm making two years after my Master's. Yet I felt the need to leave because I hated telling people what I did. I have friends who are lawyers, for christsake. So I went back to grad school and became the only viable thing I felt capable of becoming: a high school English teacher. And now, not only am I just a teacher, but an unhappy one at that. If my family's predicament has taught me anything, it's that we do not have infinite amount of time on earth to be happy, even if we're technically alive. So why am I at a job that makes me terminally stressed?

Perhaps because the only other jobs I'm qualified for involve name tags and time cards. And frakkin hell, that wouldn't make me happy either.

Honesty Is Usually Not The Best Policy.

Thankfully, Tudor Rosy declared me a winner of the Honest Scrap Award. Here's how it works: Once awarded, thank the person that gave it to you, list 10 honest things about yourself on your blog, pass the award on to 7 other bloggers and don't forget to let those 7 bloggers know you've chosen them.



Now, that I finally have something to write about, here are 10 honest things about me:


1. I primarily want to lose weight so that if something were to happen to me and I came up missing, the newscasters wouldn't have to say 5'6'', 400 pounds for all the people who don't know me to hear.

2. I would take being fat my entire life if I had about 35 more IQ points.

3. I love whenever people crack their backs or necks. Like...when my students do it, I esteem them more.

4. Super Mario Brothers 3 is my bitch.

5. I'm really afraid that I am not cut out for life. Having kids seems too tiring, as does going to work every day until I'm 65.

6. I am probably an alcholic.

7. I was once locked inside a library after it closed because I was too busy going through Rolling Stones for pictures of Noel Gallagher.

8. 60% of what I say is total bs, even though I don't realize it until later.

9. My second worst injury was caused by my flying over a car after the bike I was standing on crashed into it. Okay, after I crashed into it while standing on said bike.

10. I spend most of time fantasizing about my life as a writer even though I haven't creatively written in years. Just so you know, the fantasy deals with a movie deal or two, buying the library house in Lakewood and quitting my job.

Snog Does TV

I've been complaining lately re my lack of quality tv time. Basically, I'm too tired(tipsy) and busy(eating)to watch my shows when they're originally scheduled. That doesn't mean I'm not watching my shows. Let's just say...I owe my DVR a few dirty things. If you get my drift....Which, if you do, please tell me what the hell I mean.

Anyway, here are my thoughts, as I'm sure you've been hankering for them.

"House" - Good grief. Does anyone care anymore? For the first time ever, it seems like Hugh Lurie sure doesn't. Over it.

"Fringe" - God...After I'm done with the DVR, I plan on hunting Pacey (Joshua Jackson) down and letting him have his way with me. I'm sure he'll be happy to have a second chance, since he accidentally ignored me on my honeymoon the day NAWC and I witnessed His Hotness shooting the season premiere. Also, it is so good and keeps getting better.

"How I Met Your Mother" - Somewhat rocky start saved by Robin 101. It makes me feel gross that people are comparing it (sometimes favorably, sometimes not so)to "Friends." I'm not going to pretend I never watched that show, but I will always pretend I'm better than it. Is HIMYM pedestrian, and I'm just not seeing it?

"Modern Family" - Sometimes tries a little too hard, but it's quickly become our new must-watch of the week. It never fails to make me spray popcorn/wine/porkchops out of my mouth because I'm laughing so hard. Doesn't have as many awkward moments as "The Middle" or

"The Office" - Jim and Pam's wedding is basically one of the best/sweetest hours of television I've ever seen - and I've seen the entire series of "Everwood." Sadly, I missed a few parts and ruined the same ones for NAWC when I, with eyes squeezed shut, jammed my fingers in my ears and made him pause the show until I could gather the courage to watch or just babble to myself so I couldn't here the cringe-inducing scene accosting me through my sweet little innocent tv. I really am a pussy; I cannot handle awkward. This can be traced back to watching "The Cosby Show" episode where Rudy gets her period while sitting with my parents in our old basement. Parents as in both of them. Shudder.

All for now...I have to go complain to NAWC about all my work while watching "Big Bang Theory" and hitting refresh on EW.com.

And Yet He Still Slept with Us in Bed

Last night was just crisp and lovely enough to entice me to put down my wine, stop pretending to be just-about-to-do work (that same bag is still sitting in my car)and take the Snoodle-Do for a walk. I traipsed out of the house in sneakers, sweatpant capris and a Notre Dame hoodie sans bra. I'm sorry...I should have just said I left the house looking mighty fine. Anyway, I took him to Lincoln Park to play fetch Snood-style, which basically entails him licking his lips maniacally whenever I put a stick in the air, running in the general direction to which it's thrown and never, ever finding it. Even if he's actually standing on it. My puppy is sort of a genius. We were having fun playing around, Snood running all over the place, me trying to run while avoiding my bra-less-boob jabs to the face when I nearly doubled over in laughter and had to soak in the adorableness of it all when Snood stopped mid run to burrow into the grass and roll around. It was so cute and suddenly I was taken with my life and living in Tremont. I loved that it occurred to me to take him to the park at 10pm when no one was around and not be afraid. That this is enough my neighborhood that I feel comfortable walking around in pajamas moms wear. I love nothing more than patting myself on the back for generally unimpressive things. After I'd had my fill of Smiths and Sigur Ros fall music, we headed home and directly to bed to snuggle. Sighing happily at my husband and puppy sharing a pillow, I pulled the covers over me to go to sleep. And then I smelled something really bad. Not, holy crap, what did you eat bad...Worse. Like, what is coming out of you bad. I threw back the covers; at the same time NAWC urgently asked, "What the hell is that smell?" We both looked at Snood and realized he was dirty. And not just from burrow-dirt, but dirty from poop. As in the poop he was gloriously rolling around in while I was busy complimenting myself on my nice little life.

What does it say about us that we just looked at each other before silently going back to bed? The Snoodle was completely nonplussed by the whole situation and arranged himself so that he butt was rammed up against my nose. I didn't move it; it was probably cleaner than the rest of him.

Ramblings of a Tired Old Person

Life has become so real and anchored for me lately. I have somehow turned into a real adult with a job that has a 30-year end date, a marriage with no end date, and a puppy whose end date almost arrives nightly when he chews on my toes as I'm trying to sleep. I am going to bed at 10 every night and waking up at 5:30 am for work, where I spend anywhere from 10 to 12 hours every day. TV watching has become something I try to fit in, but my DVR list just keeps getting longer. I'd rather go to bed early so I can wake up on time and be prepared to 'teach' the youth of America than watch tv. As you can imagine, this particular situation aggrieves me to no end. What's worse is that I haven't picked up many new shows (just "Community" and "Modern Family"). If I'm not staying up to watch at least 4 hours of tv a night, who am I? AND if I'm waking up at 7 am on a Saturday because I was in bed by 10:30, am I still everything I've always thought I was? Grave questions, indeed.

What I do know,after a year of agitating for a proposal and the following year spent pretending I would lose weight and chronicling twee wedding details from StyleMePretty.com, is that I need a project. That project could be becoming a better teacher, going back to school, training my dog not to bark at the walls or tear at my clothing as I'm putting it on, finally actually losing weight, or just plain keeping my house clean on a daily basis. But I'd prefer to focus on talking NAWC into have a baby. Everyone in the entire world is pregnant. Which means their babies will be grown adults when we finally have kids. KC and Kara are preggs, and I want my kids to either date or be best friends with their kids; ergo, I should have been pregnant since before the wedding. I feel good about this project. It's the first one in awhile that, should it come to fruition, I will actually be allowed to gain weight.

This is also obviously genius because when you're freaking out about adult responsibility, secretly researching doctorate programs in other states, and coveting your single friends with their single-friend lives, what's a better idea than having a baby?

Best Laid Plans

NAWC and I decided last night, as we ate our fifth Kit-Kat - purchased strictly for Halloween purposes despite never having had a trick-or-treater - that we were finally going to get our shit in gear and stop being fat asses. This is more my thing than his. I have gained 10 L-B-S since the wedding and have two weddings very soon; one is less than 4 weeks away. So anyway, we're going to lose weight! Eat right! Salads! Chicken! A pox on sugar and eating after 8!

Well...that was 24 hours ago. And in those 24 hours, I have started the day by spilling diet Coke on my khakis in the car on the way to work. And work. WORK. Work is with kids, most of whom hate me. Those that don't merely, clearly, tolerate me. My department may or may not hate me. I am starting to think of law school again. I haven't worked out in forever. I don't even have a gym membership anymore. Whatever. Long story short, I ended up letting NAWC know I would not be coming home for a healthy chicken salad. No, I wasn't going to work out. Actually, NAWC, I'm going to have dinner with my parents at Red Lobster. Where I will try to fill up the empty part of my soul that teaching creates with rubber seafood and butter.

Lots and lots of butter.

I Will Make It Through This Year If It Kills Me

I've been at school until at least 5 every day since school started except for last Friday.

I feel weird, dirty, hard working, and confused.

Somehow,I'm actually having fun with my students. I have a mixture of honors and regular classes. My regular classes remind me so much of my classes at Rhodes; except I'm not physically afraid of any of the students. At first I was ambivalent about teaching honors. At my last school, those students always seemed to me to be pretentious, unforgiving and slightly annoying. At my new school, most of them might be a little bit below the previous district's honors kids, but they are rather awesome. The regular kids are everything purported to be close to my heart, but once I got my Purelled hands on those honors kids, I fell in love. Planning for my regular classes is almost an afterthought.

I just used a gerund. My honors kids could tell you that now. My regular kids? Not so much.

See? Swoon.

But It's A Growing District.

Do you know what my title means? It's code for "You're going to have large classes, no classroom of your own and little resources, but you should be happy that you *probably* won't be laid off any time soon." No, you'll be stuck here for the rest of your stinking life, traveling with your stupid little cart, fumbling with the outdated technology in one room and the trying to figure out the SmartBoard in the other room you're supposed to be teaching in. Homework for tonight is look up the definition of bitter and write a fucking poem about it.

Every time I go to my new school, I come away from it with less dignity and twenty times more whiney. Internets, do you know how whiney I am already? I don't need more of it in my sad, black, fatty heart. I will be traveling between three classrooms; one of which is two and a half football fields away from the other two. I am lucky enough to spend three classes in one room, which is where I keep my desk. I share this room with another new-to-the-district teacher. We have two teacher desks and no filing cabinets. According to our contract, we are entitled to either a desk or a filing cabinet. Because I guess having both would spoil us beyond recognition. Seriously, who participated in those negotiations and drew the line at a simple teacher having such ostentatious luxuries. Bastard.

I hope somewhere he's sitting in his garage-cum-house because the bank decided he didn't need both.

Somethings I Need

Something that painfully zaps me whenever I put anything but celery and water into my mouth.

Something that throws me off the couch after an hour...especially when I find myself watching Sabrina on AMC while my dog carpets the house with dozens of chewed dirty socks and not a few pairs of my, and ONLY my, underwear. The perv.

Something that overpowers the first something and makes everything I eat taste like red wine so that I am always red-wine-happy.

Something that makes me stop lying to NAWC and telling him I can take it back and instead just open a secret account so that we can stop having these silly fights. Case in point:
NAWC: Why were you at Crocker Park?
Snog: I need a new pair of jeans because I'm a fatty again.
NAWC: So why do you have bags from DSW?
SnogInHerHead: I couldn't bring myself to go the next size up (read: two sizes up) so I got some work shoes.
SnogActually: Because they're pretty.
NAWC: I'm pretty sure I hate you.
Snog: Kisses!!!

This is going to sound weird

and it's making a long story short, but I just got my nads-less puppy to hump my leg so he'd stay by me, thereby forcing NAWC to change the "Everwood" DVD and get momma a glass of wine. Okay...that's a pretty short story.

One week from today I will be finished with my first day at my new school. We've been having new teacher orientation this week, so I've been hrmphing out of bed at an ungodly hour and arriving at my place of new employ surrounded by fresh-faced, earnest teachers dressed nicely when I haven't even looked in the mirror and am wearing jersey, spandex waist skirts from Target because that's how my waistline's rolling. It's really been inhibiting my nightly wine intake. Sad face.