Titles

Today, I ran my first ever 5K. A few months ago, if you'd have asked me if I could do this, if I could run a race without stopping, without walking, without wasting away, I would have chuckled and changed the subject. You see, I am not a "runner." I will never be a "runner." Don't get me wrong; I run. But for me, "run" is a verb. It's not an identity. It's not a part of who I am. "Runners" live in Under Armour and Saucony's. "Runners" have long, sinewy legs devoid of cellulite, taut arms and tummies, and perpetually determined looks on their faces, right? How could I ever include myself among this exclusive pack?

Except, somehow, I think I am. One race down - 31:44. A respectable time for a someone who couldn't run a half mile without stopping a month ago. On top of that, I have two more races (so far) lined up for the next few months, and a goal of a half-marathon in December. Sure, I still have some cellulite to speak of, and probably will for life, and I tend to prefer Nike to Under Armour. But I ran a race today. I finished a race today. Without stopping, without quitting, without ever even entertaining the thought that it couldn't be done. Suddenly, the whole concept is morphing in my mind. Perhaps it's more than a verb for me, this "run" word. Perhaps it's actually a growing part of my identity.

Kind of like how I'm almost a "teacher" now. (Yes, you had to know a runner/teacher analogy was well on its way.)

Over the past few months, when I've been introduced to someone new and they've asked me what it is I do for a living, I've responded with some sputtering, random variation of the following: "Well, I just finished up a year-long teaching internship and I will eventually be an English teacher." And just like that, I throw all potential recognition of how hard I worked last year, how much I've actually taught thus far, and what I have become out the window. Am I not an English teacher because I have yet to find full-time, permanent employment? Does the paycheck define me more than the work I've put in?

Well, no. Of course not. But if I say that I'm a teacher, won't people ask me where I work and what grades I teach and all sorts of perfectly logical questions that I am not currently in a position to answer? Well, yes. Of course. And then I'll eventually have to back up and tell them that actually, I don't have a "real" job yet. Granted, I'm locked in for two long-term sub positions next year, for which I interviewed and was selected from among a pool of other applicants, and for which I will be paid (although sadly not in the realm of what permanent teachers make). But still...does this count? Am I a  fraud if I call myself a "teacher"?

These are the thoughts that have been permeating my brain all summer, and they haven't been put to rest with the acquisition of the subbing opportunities. Similarly to my inner fear over calling myself a "runner" as opposed to "someone who runs," I find myself unnerved by the thought of labeling myself a "teacher." It seems ludicrous when you consider the time, money, effort, and desire I've invested in this whole thing for the last ten years, but there it is. After all this time, I just don't feel worthy yet. My whole life, I've put real teachers on pedestals, admiring their tenacity and struggles and triumphs and thus raising them to a bar that is near impossible for me to reach even now. The same way I've cruised down local surface streets just past dawn and felt pangs of inadequacy watching "runners" go by, I think of all my great "real" teacher friends, most of whom are former colleagues I've watched in action, and worry I'm sort of a fraud. "Teachers" live in comfortable shoes and drink more coffee than I ever could. Their students are devoid of wonder over where their lessons are going, they are always on top of their grading, and they know how to unjam copiers. I mean, I can teach, but I will never be a teacher. Right?

[Insert the sound of every experienced teacher letting out a hearty, collective "BWAHAHA."]

Except, somehow, I think I am. You see, being a runner and being a teacher have more in common than a required affinity for comfortable shoes. Just as the thought of myself as a "runner" has been difficult to come to, the thought of me as a "teacher" is too, because it demands a gradual change. One job offer or paycheck or similar factor does not the title create, and a little piece of me thinks that even if I had a full-time, permanent job in my dream school, I wouldn't yet feel 100% confident in using that term just yet - and that's okay. It'll come naturally, in its own time, when I feel I've sufficiently earned it. Until then, I'll continue plodding away at my training miles, increasing my pace every so slightly over a number of weeks, and eventually, I'll arrive at the first of many finish lines. Without stopping. Without quitting. And without ever entertaining the possibility that it can't be done.

Gosh, I need new shoes.

To Suggest > To Dogmatize: Goals For My First Year

One thing I've noticed as a prospective teacher for the last 7+ years of my life is that there are tons of popular quotations out there which sing the praises and profess the pains of the profession. Everyone from Albert Einstein, JFK, and Khalil Gibran has had something to say about the "art" of education and the artists who work its magic. Most imply not that the job in and of itself is a difficult one, but that doing it well (the measurement of this being a wise, eager, educated group of students) is a major challenge. For instance, consider the following from Dr. Haim Ginott:

"Teachers are expected to reach unattainable goals with inadequate tools. The miracle is that at times they accomplish this impossible task."

Now I only have a year's worth of student teaching and a handful of school placements under my belt, but I completely agree with this assessment. To use a completely non-descriptive, simple and blunt statement (for which I would chastise a student because I am an English teacher!): Teaching is hard. Allow me to break the rules of good writing and fragment that for emphasis: Teaching. Is. Hard. Actually, perhaps the best way to effectively get this point across is to place the adjective before the noun, as is rarely done post-19th century:


HARD IS TEACHING.


If that sentence appears odd to you, bear with me and consider this: Is it possible that anything which we find to be "hard" involves either learning, or facilitating the learning process in another?


But I digress.

The truly amazing thing is that often times, the same people who belittle this profession (why yes, I have heard that those who can't do teach...how clever!) simultaneously hold some pretty heavy and (truthfully) unrealistic expectations of those they deign to look down on. Everything from budget crises, unconcerned parents, and unmotivated students who would rather plug into one of their eleventy bajillion tech gadgets than turn a single page of required text can provide a roadblock to success for any student. And yet, we're still expected to make it happen, against all odds. Truly, I believe when you look at the big picture, the barrage of bad news, the incidental circumstances, it's easy to become jaded, thinking that it's easier for a student to fail than to succeed. And truly, I think it is.


Of course, I'm too young in my career to be jaded. I have yet to enter my first classroom as a real, live (and by that I mean "paid, non-indentured") teacher, have yet to utter my first "Good morning, class" or dole out my first detention. However, those milestones are just around the corner, as I will be subbing long-term in 10th, 11th, and 12th grade English classes for the upcoming year. How do I feel? Excited. Nervous. Humbled. Anxious. But mostly, especially when reading through collections of quotes about teaching and how, well, hard it is, I feel intimidated. After all, JFK thought teaching was hard, and he had arguably the most challenging job known to man (and paid dearly for it).


Luckily for me, there are also those words that inspire. Those encouraging words that infuse me with confidence and a sense of purpose rather than fear and a sense of inadequacy. These are the quotations that shift the focus off of the inherent difficulty of a teacher doing good (noun, not adjective) and instead concentrate on the magic that happens when that occurs. Words like this:

"The best teacher is the one who suggests rather than dogmatizes, and inspires his listener with the wish to teach himself."

Edward Bulwer-Lytton - he sure knew his stuff. In addition to the above-quoted, he gave the world "the pen is mightier than the sword." Truly a man after my own heart. What he's basically saying in much prettier terms is that good teachers make students want to learn authentically, organically, for their own purposes and needs rather than the expectations of some stodgy old teacher or standardized test. A truly beautiful concept, especially when you consider that one of the greatest mysteries befalling teachers today is how to motivate students, not just to learn but to want to learn. I questioned this daily while in my teacher education program and will probably continue to do so forever. I'm positive I'll never have "the answer," mostly due to students all being motivated by different factors such as parental expectations, personal goals, and cultural backgrounds. Every student is different, so common sense tells us we'd be remiss in expecting all students to want the same things for the same reasons.

A possible means to an end, not a solution or answer but a simple possibility, is to provide as many motivators for self-education as you can to your students. Consider that many are motivated by relationships, many by grades, and most by a connection between what they're learning and what they care about. That said, this endeavor is a lot easier said than done when you consider the rigors of standardized tests and following a curriculum, but I've developed some personal goals for my first years of teaching and beyond that will hopefully help:

1. Get to know my students. The more I know about their interests and what they want out of my class (just "to pass it" will simply not fly) and their lives in general at that point, the more I can connect ideas to real-life interests, and help them see how what they're learning is applicable.

2. Work with other teachers. It can be easy for teachers, especially newbs like myself, to forget that their students only spend a small fraction of their day in each teacher's classroom. The student who is sullen and morose in English can be alive and interested in Trigonometry (or vice-versa, as is my biased hope). I plan on keeping up with my students' attitudes by talking to their other teachers about what works and doesn't work in their own classrooms. Teachers are each others' best allies.

3. Start a creative writing club. Last year, I was floored by the number of students I had who were poets, short-story writers, even novelists, purely for pleasure. I even worked in a classroom where a tenth-grade student was writing a novel on his TI-84 calculator! As much as I would love to assign this kind of creative writing more often in my classes, it's not always possible. The demands of research papers, analyses, and journals, unfortunately, come first fairly often. However, I would love interested writers to have a place to share and receive constructive criticism, to know that the writing they do for no grade at all still matters and the writing they do on which they are graded can help them improve what they do for fun.

4. ??? This is where I welcome advice/experiences/suggestions from fellow teachers on how they motivate and inspire their students "to teach themselves." English teachers, math teachers, science teachers - we all have one thing in common. We teach people. How do you suggest? What do you do to inspire?

My Day in 10 Random Thoughts or Less (But Probably 10).

10. Why on Earth did I get a membership form and CARDS, FOR GOD'S SAKE, CARDS! for AARP? Why? I know I'm currently unemployed and thus frequently wondering where my next cheap cup of coffee is going to come from, and I'm also no longer a student and don't have that fabulous discount benefit any longer (although MSU student ID cards have no expiration date...tee-hee), but really? AARP? Whose sick, hilarious joke was this? I just turned 28 a few weeks ago. 28! You know how people say they have socks and underwear and other random and embarrassing forms of undergarment that are older than so and so and such and such? Well, AARP, I have socks younger than the piece of paper on which you printed my membership application. Riddle me that!

9. Why is everyone in such a tizzy about Chelsea Clinton's wedding? Her father was only sort of President and that was over 10 years ago, right? I don't recall this much interest in Jenna Bush's nuptials and she was a.) more recently a First Daughter and b.) kind of a walking shit-show during her father's duration as our nation's leader, while Chelsea was relatively boring and achingly toothy. However, I must say I can kind of see the appeal for her future hubby in that Bill Clinton seems like he'd be a positively bad-ass father-in-law. One of those that would take you out to upscale lounges to sip a few fingers of Johnny Walker Blue Label after a fight over finances with his little girl. Which would *almost* make up for having Hillary Rodham Clinton as your mother-in-law. [Shudder].

8. Is everyone around me really a Russian spy? Seriously. This movie makes me distrust a.) anyone who is almost inhumanly attractive (see above) and b.) anyone else for that matter. Plus, movies like this make me wonder what films the president sees for his own entertainment, since all of the coolest movies involves terrorism, plots to kill the president, or both, and I'm sure that pretty much sucks out any potential viewing pleasure for the sitting Commander in Chief. Sucks for him, of course, since those, of course, are usually the best movies ( i.e. Air Force Once, JFK, Die Hard). By my calculations, that means the poor president is left with swill like Step Up To The Streets and Bride Wars, since that's basically all that's left. I think I have new perspective on why our nation is in shambles. Which I won't expound on, since I am fairly certain my computer is wiretapped.

7. No pun intended, but is just about everyone and their mom pregnant these days? I know that the occurrence of visible buns in the ovens increases around this time of year, as everyone was busy knocking boots about 4-8 months ago in a feeble attempt to stay warm and entertained. But Holy hell, women be pregnant lately. Hmm...I wonder if this latest surge in pregnancies is related to a plot to create a united band of Russian spies and vigilantes who will finally succeed in making Russia the political and financial powerhouse she alw- nevermind. On a lighter note, how sweet is the anatomical accuracy of this Barbie doll? I mean, the baby is upside down and everything.

6. This actually happened. Yes, this is in fact the "cast" of Jersey Shore ringing the opening bell at the NYSE a few days ago. And we wonder why everybody hates us, America. Of course, we see the inevitable connection. Viacom owns MTV and, thus by default, this motley crew of tans and hair poofs and the deceptively human-like wax figures to which they're attached. This amuses me almost as much as that time years ago when Britney Spears said on some late-night talk show that as Americans, it is our job to put blind faith in our president and trust every decision he/she makes without remark or question (although mark my words, she didn't phrase is quite in that manner; there had to be a "y'all" or a "cheetos" in there somewhere). Which leads me to my next random thought...

5. Snooki was arrested today for public intoxication, which is odd to me, because I wouldn't even begin to know how to detect drunkenness in an Oompa Loompa/ muppet hybrid creature. Does it just make some odd gurgling noise and begin to shed uncontrollably? Does it turn an even orangier shade of orange? Does it begin acting wildly out of character by donning cashmere turtlenecks and refusing sex with men whose names end in "-ezzi," "-anni," and "-olo"? Hmph.

4. Since this posting might seem oddly riddled with anti-American sentiments (I just sort of noticed this and swear it is purely incidental and for comedic purposes only), I need to share just one small thing that is currently right with this country. And there he is. [Swoon].

3. Now, lets discuss something perfectly fun and American: Mexican food, namely fajitas. I had these for dinner tonight with my friend Julie at a corporate establishment for which I was formerly employed and wish not to mention, on her recommendation. This is after many unnecessary minutes spent picking apart the menu for anything not covered in any combination of cheese, bacon, and a breaded coating, yet refusing to settle for a simple, undressed salad. Guess what chicken fajitas are when you skip the flour tortillas? They're a sizzling plate of grilled chicken and vegetables, and they're out of this world. This is a great suggestion for would-be healthy eaters looking for creative ideas that don't involve a bajillion modifications and saying "on the side" more times than Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. What's nice about fajitas is that all the fixings already come on the side, so you can dip your fork in a bit of heart-healthy guacamole before spearing a slice of chicken for an added flavor punch, and skip the cheese if you just don't find it necessary (which tonight, I did not). Word to Julie for this fabulous recommendation. The worst thing about this meal was the bit of oil in which the meat and veggies were sauteed, and most of that was left on the plate anyway. I didn't even finish my meal and was thoroughly stuffed and satisfied.

2. This. Okay, before you think I'm a closet lesbian or now suddenly blond and a DD cup, I must tell you that this is the "bikini teacher" and I found this picture after conducting a Google Image search for "teaching job," since this list of my random thoughts for the day would be seriously inadequate without mention of the one thing I've thought about every day since, oh, May. Yes, THIS was the fourth result that came up on a Google Image search for "teaching job." I just ask that before you close this page to go elsewhere and verify the veracity of what I've just said (and I assure you, it is very much verace), you finish reading this posting. On a side note, maybe this is why I have yet to find a teaching job.

1. This is actually the first result of a Google Image result for "teaching job," which you probably already know because you probably opened a new window after reading number 2 and did the search yourself just to verify the veracity of what I said about that picture (totally verace, right?) But I must end on a serious note. Yes, I thought of teaching jobs today. It was a resplendent day filled with sleeping late, reading, an hour-long phone call with my mother, grocery shopping and the subsequent individual packaging of fourteen enormous chicken breasts purchased at $1.99 a pound, and ending with dinner and a movie with a good friend. And yet, I still thought about teaching jobs. If this photo is any indication, "bikini teacher" is irrelevant and I actually have yet to find the "teaching job of [my] dreams" because I have not read this snazzy book/pamphlet/leaflet which was apparently penned in crayon by either Picasso or a first-grader. Go figure. I can only imagine what is contained in this previously untapped resource:

Chapter 1: "Candy and Balloons and Strippers: How to Win Over The Finickiest Of Principals."

Beverly Cleary? Is That You Crying in Agony?

Imagine my simultaneous delight and skepticism when a recent scan of IMDB.com revealed that one of the Beverly Cleary "Ramona" books that I adored as a child is now also a movie, Ramona and Beezus. Isn't this always how we feel when we hear that one of our favorite written works is being made into a film? You get that little leap in your stomach ("Yay! I wonder who they cast in the role of ___________!"), which is immediately tempered with the dread that, as is typically the case, the film will in no way live up to its literary predecessor ("What? They cast Keira Knightley?! Good luck finding a corset to fit around a 4 inch waist!") Yes, that was a nod to Pride and Prejudice, and I still have yet to see the 2005 remake, Oscar nomination be damned. 

So, what do I do? I check the cast list. Usually, you can tell a lot about the movie before its released just by checking out the cast, and suffice it to say my skepticism is about to swallow my delight whole. When I read the books 20+ years ago, I imagined Ramona Quimby as a perpetually ruffled pip-squeak in mismatched clothes. You know, since this is how she was written. Apparently, she is to be portrayed by a child newcomer by the name of Joey King. That works. There's reason for hope. I'm just glad this won't be a vehicle for the practically elderly Abigail Breslin (as Ramona), who is superb but is really getting too old to play itty bitty wittle girls at this point.

The casting of an unknown in one of the two titular roles is the basis of the last shred of hope I hang on to that this movie won't be a big ol' joke, the reasons for which I will reveal below. A movie to be well-received almost entirely by a generation who will likely never hear of the books, never read the books, and will therefore always and most unfortunately associate the names "Ramona" and "Beezus" with a movie and not books.

Rounding out the cast:

Selena Gomez as Beezus: One of the young "It" Disney tween-cesses, her biggest claim to fame of late is having dated a Jonas Brother and playing an adorable, if not strikingly nubile, TV witch. THIS is Beezus? She of the relatable angst, the perfect embodiment of pubescent brattiness and begrudging sisterly love? Sad. Plus, Beezus was anywhere from 11-14 if I recall, depending on what book you were reading. Selena Gomez is 18 years old. [Insert me throwing a Ramona-esque tantrum at this casting travesty]. My choice: Abigail Breslin. In this role, she'd no doubt be perfection.

John Corbett as Bob Quimby: While normally, it would be with glee that I'd get to see one of my favorite underrated actors and Applebee's spokesmen on screen again, John Corbett, as Ramona Quimby's father, just seems wrong to me. Please, make out with SJP in another crapular Sex and the City movie! I'll see it any day (and I mean that literally...those movies are only worthy of matinee prices). But you are simply too gallant, too sexy, too rugged to be the affable, harried father of the best 8-year-old ever written. I know they call it acting, but we can only suspend our disbelief so much. My choice: Ed Helms. Warm and funny, yet still a bit of eye candy for the Mom crowd.

Bridget Moynahan as Dorothy Quimby: Don't get me started. My choice: Sandra Bullock. Yes, a hottie, but she can be made down a bit, and The Blind Side proved she's got the Mom chops.

Ginnifer Goodwin as Aunt Bea: In case anyone has forgotten, Aunt Bea is Ramona's favorite relative! She loves her Aunt Bea! Her Aunt Bea is much cooler than her dad, much calmer than her mom, and she's sh*tloads of fun (not a direct quote from Ramona). Ginnifer Goodwin, best known for her fantastic work on Big Love, has lately been filling the Farrow-esque "gamine" vacancy left by Michelle Williams. She might actually be a good match, if not a little younger than I imagine. But then, the hip younger sister to Bridget Moynahan's character is undoubtedly a tough role to cast. My choice: Maggie Gyllenhaal. This role probably doesn't call for Gyllenhaalian acting chops, but with her oddball style and warm smile, she'd nail this.

Josh Duhamel as Uncle Hobart: [See "Bridget Moynahan as Dorothy Quimby" for my reaction.] My choice: Justin Long. Because if I was gonna cast one actor in the role of my cool, hip, young uncle, it'd be Justin Long. Especially since he's finally starting to look post-pubescent.

Admittedly, it may appear that my opinions regarding the casting choices for this movie are decidedly anti-hot people, and perhaps they are. But I'm sorry, I just can't imagine the likes of Bridget Moynahan, John Corbett, and Josh Duhamel taking up residence on Klickitat Street in Portland, Oregon - at least not without causing a major stir in the neighborhood. Finally, I think if Ramona and Beezus had matching MILF and DILF parents, Beverly Cleary would have made this a central cause of their childhood stress. Well, that and 13-going-on-19 hottie Beezus fighting Henry Huggins off with a stick.

Final thought? I'll Netflix this. Streaming.

Ten Overrused Cliches/Proverbs/Platitudes By Which I Will Attempt To Live My Life

10. "Live every day like it's your last." Wise words, especially for someone who is currently unemployed and struggling to retain hope that she won't remain so for the entire upcoming school year. It's easy to get wrapped up in the issues that cause you the most stress and concern, but I will attempt to make every day...every monotonous, just-like-the-last day, important and significant for some reason. I will make each day count.

9. "Do unto others as you'd have done to you." I'm not at all a nasty person by nature, but I've noticed I've become unusually snarky and un-Christian in my comments regarding strangers and celebrities lately. It's not in the big things, but the little ones, like blaring my horn at the guy who cut me off - twice - while I was on my way home from the gym today. Upon further thought, I figured out the guy was probably unfamiliar with the area and confused about where he was going (judging by his slow speed). Sure, he was in the wrong for his less-than-stellar driving skills, but my blaring the horn didn't help him at all, did it? And it didn't help me one iota, either. If he was lost and confused, I just made everything worse. And in his shoes, I wouldn't have appreciated the hair-raising blare of my horn.

8. "Pick your battles." My husband and I are perfectly matched in that we're very similar in most ways, and the ways in which we differ, we create a nice, workable balance. We both talk louder when we debate issues. We're both creative and extroverted. We both love being outdoors as much as we love being indoors. We both like a wide range of movies and music. However, he likes cooking more than I do - which is great, because he cooks and then I clean the kitchen by my own standards (which rank on a totally separate scale than his). He gets easily heated, I remain calm. He's a planner (by profession and otherwise) and I'm flexible and open. He's an optimist, I'm a pragmatist. However, we have one thing very unfortunately in common - we're as stubborn as a pair of donkeys (mules are just too small to fit this analogy). We don't argue often, but we can have 5-10 minute spats on things that don't deserve nearly the amount of significance we grant them - namely things like what to have for dinner, how many WW points are in a food item, and what movie to go see. And for what? Neither of us ever wins...we both have our say until we feel like crap for how we mouthed off and inevitably apologize. By following the advice in the above-mentioned platitude, we could spend a lot less time sparring over food and more time consuming it. PS - I'm usually right about the WW points; he underestimates. ;-)

7. "What's meant to be will be." I say this a lot in regards to the job issue (or more specifically, someone else getting one that I wanted), but only recently have I begun to see the truth in it. Looking back on my life, I can't think of a single event or decision or circumstance that I would change if given the chance, even though many times I've been disappointed about the outcome of things immediately after they've happened. In the end, things really do seem to have a way of working themselves out, and I just have to keep that in mind as I truck my way through applications that harbor no responses and interviews that harbor no job offers.

6. "The best things in life aren't things." It's true. The best things in life are as follows: love, family, friendship, God, sunshine, cats, dogs, discounts, and sushi. Well, okay. SOME of the best things are things.

5. "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Keep it in your head and smile wickedly to yourself. When someone asks what's up with you, say you're just gassy.

4. "Make new friends, but keep the old." I've been fostering a lot of great new friendships in recent months, which is great! Yay me! I can't, though, fully relish in the feeling of my posse growing, because of one thing. I'm horrible - HORRIBLE - at keeping touch with people who are far away, since I'm not much of a phone or e-mail person when it's not for business purposes. I'd rather sit face to face and engage in conversations complete with eye contact, double entendres, hand-talking, and roaring laughter than tap out a mindless, one-sided e-mail. But, um, duh. Who wouldn't? How selfish of me. Furthermore, having grown up and spent 25 years roughly 800 miles from where I am now, I need to get it through my thick skull that the people who I care about, who care about me, want to hear from me and want whatever contact they can get from me, electronic or otherwise. All it takes is a few months of no phone calls, no cards, no-emails to make most people feel as if you don't care. I don't want to let any old friendships fall by the wayside. If you're reading this - and you know who you are - I do care. I promise.

3. "You never know what you can do until you try." This deals mainly with my newly acquired fitness pursuits. I am in the best shape of my life, and doing things I never thought physically possible. Yet I still hold stubbornly onto one irrational fear - running. I am terrified, to death, of running. I jog for shreds of time, I elliptical until my legs feel ready to detach from my hips, and I do just about everything else. Why am I so scared to run? Beats me, but I better figure it out before August 21st, the date of my first 5K. My goal? Run the whole thing...no walking or jogging. It's lofty, I know, but I feel the only way to get over my fear is to tackle it head on (oh look! Another platitude!). Plus, it'll make great practice for the full marathon I've already committed to running in Tennessee next April. I start training for the 5K after our camping trip. Wish me luck. :)

2. "No regrets." This one is tough for me, especially the part of me who likes to overanalyze every detail, each possibility, sucking every ounce of spontaneous enjoyment out of each decision until the whole thing lays limp and deflated in my memory. I regret drinking because it leads to hangovers. I regret pizza and cheeseburgers because they lead to gas and weight gain. I regret spending money because it (curiously) leads to having less. But for what? I don't ever drink enough to do something totally crazy, like grab the ass of an old man. I don't eat enough pizza or cheeseburgers to make much of a difference on the scale the next day. And as for spending money, Jim says I'm a dream wife (i.e. an afternoon spent strolling all of my favorite stores at Eastwood Towne Center and I leave with only a $25 pair of clearance capri pants from J. Crew that coordinate well with most everything in my clearance-and-outlet-filled closet). What's the point of regret? It defeats the purpose of making fun, impulsive and often selfish decisions - which I firmly believe everyone should do once in awhile.

1. TIE: "Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today"/"Actions speak louder than words." Part 2 is in regards to entries 10-2. None of the fluffy words and fun little anecdotes matter if I don't put the thoughts into action. Which I fully intend to. Starting tomorrow.

The Best Day, Part 1

In my opinion, there are two types of "best days." There are those that stand out because of the events and experiences that fill them - days spent on vacation in exotic locales, those consumed with joyous events like graduations, weddings, and births, days that are memorable for meeting someone who will change your life, etc. However, there are also "best days" that are wonderful for no one particular reason. These days can fall in any part of the week, can be spent alone or with company, and can happen anywhere at any time. Seemingly unremarkable, these are the days that wouldn't make for decent conversation topics, since you'd be the only one to understand and appreciate what made them so great, and yet regardless, you know you'll likely remember them for a long time just the same. Yesterday was one such day for me.

It started by being awoken at the crack of 9 (the latest I've slept in weeks) by Jim, standing over my side of the bed and cooing my name in the tone that usually means only one thing - he wanted breakfast. He suggested we finally try Golden Harvest, the little hole-in-the-wall place we'd been hearing about for months. This place is as famous for its studio apartment-esque size as it is for its creative, abundantly portioned breakfasts, so he thought a Friday morning might be a good time to get in without waiting. After a week of cold cereal and egg white on English muffin breakfasts, something with meat and potatoes did put a grumbling in my stomach. Taking a cue from the streams of sunlight that poured in from between our window blinds, I grabbed a blue cotton sundress, threw my bedheaded hair in a messy ponytail, and we headed out.

A half hour later, we were seated at Golden Harvest, awaiting the arrival of our Mar's Specials. Three eggs (or egg whites, as we'd requested) scrambled with smoked turkey, mushrooms, tomatoes, scallions, and Swiss cheese, with a heaping side of crisp and seasoned home fries and two slices of dry whole-wheat. Basically heaven on a plate at 10:00 a.m. on a beautiful, summer Friday. As an added bonus, we weren't alone. When we'd stepped inside earlier and seen all six (no joke) tables this place housed were full, a lone gentleman sitting at the table closest to the door noticed us and asked if we cared to join him. Touched and intrigued, Jim and I sat down with Other Jim, a retired Grand Ledge resident with a white high-and-tight and an affinity for decaf coffee. Between mouthfuls of the most delicious looking biscuits and gravy I'd ever laid eyes on, Other Jim told us about his children, meeting his second wife (in 1981, and we couldn't tell if he was a widower or not by the way he spoke), and his garden. We, in turn, just sat and listened. After awhile, I got the feeling that Other Jim wasn't the stereotypical lonely old person who just wanted someone to talk to. He was just a sociable man who had no problem sharing a small table and stories with strangers. In that way, he had a lot in common with a young couple whose combined ages likely didn't surpass his own. It was a random, yet nice experience.

After he gave us his address and phone number ("Stop on by anytime and pick up something from my garden!"), Other Jim left and Jim and I tucked into our own breakfasts (every bit as good as everyone promised they'd be). We marveled at the fact that sadly, things like that just don't happen anymore. Diners, even those eating alone, just don't offer up spare seats at their tables to strangers anymore. It's as if people took those cautious warnings from their concerned parents to heart...forever."Don't talk to strangers." Nope, no problem there. We don't trust anyone, we have no interest in anyone outside of our own circles, and we automatically feel sorry for retired old men who just want to tell us about their gardens. "Poor guy...he must be all alone." I feel bad now even having had that thought, but temper this guilt with the thought that many people, especially those our age, likely would have smiled and shook their heads at Other Jim's offer, preferring to wait an unknown amount of time for their own table than to take him up on his kind invitation. Sad, but true, I think.

Perhaps this is part of what makes the morning of June 25th, 2010 the beginning of a "best day." A nice conversation with a new friend over a steaming plate of protein and dairy goodness. What could be better?

"Reality "show" "romance"

So...they broke up.

If anyone doesn't who they are, you, my friend, have a lot more will power than I do. These two happen to be the product of the last season of the television show "The Bachelor," which I have tried many times to refrain from watching, but keep getting sucked into.

Do I think I'm watching a TV show about two people who want to fall in love? No. Do I think I am watching a show about two people who think they're going to fall in love? No. Personally, I think it's a show about 25 (well, 26 including the titular character his or herself) famewhores who want to parlay a stint on a show that presumes to be about finding love into a career filled with crappy TV jobs that are basically just handed out to people with little to no prior experience. Think jobs that have "correspondent" and "guest" in their names. But, watching the show happens to lead to two habits I not-so-secretly partake in - following "Hollywood" gossip and schadenfreude. And it must be said...good or bad, real or fake, the show is what people in the biz would likely call "good tv."

In the end, I'm sure I'm not alone in awaiting the fateful days when the resulting pairs which these shows manufacture inevitably split. I read the Us Weekly and People magazine articles that pit them against each other in rival interviews, allowing them to rehash the details on their relationship's demise in the same manner as that of its blossoming - publicly. And every time, with every couple, I am left with the same feeling.

I recall watching the second season of the Bachelor/Bachelorette installments what seems like many years ago, when a dancer named Trista Rehn searched for love among a sea of successful, attractive, available men. She was put up in a beautiful mansion, wined and dined on what most would consider "dream dates," swooned and fought over by multiple men at one time, and eventually proposed to by the "man of her dreams." I was young with a non-existent love life at the time, still living with my parents, working at a local convenience store, and putting myself through community college. In short, I was the kind of viewer who actually saw "reality" in this "show," a kind of reality that I desperately wanted and knew for certain I would never have. She found a fairy tale. Where was my fairy tale?

Fast-forward a few years later. I watch the show online a day or two after it airs on television. I am job-hunting and cleaning and running errands and doing laundry and everything I can to keep my mind off of how much I miss him, even though he's just at work and this is everyday life. There was probably a time when I would have been embarrassed to admit that I miss him after only a few hours, that no time compares to the time I spend with him, including the time I give up for him on Monday nights when the show airs, but know deep down he'd give right back to me if he truly thought it would make me happy to watch it then. Sometimes I wish we lived in a dream mansion, but many times, one bedroom, two cats, and a balcony that houses a few dead plants feels like one just the same. Because of him. Sometimes I think about how nice it would be to be constantly wined and dined in fancy restaurants, but many times, a buy-one-get-one dinner with coupon at Hershey's Steakhouse feels like the Ritz. And sometimes (rarely), I think about what it would be liked to be married to the strapping fireman and living a highly publicized, but "picture perfect" life in Vail, Colorado. Many times, though, I go to bed thanking God for my own Prince Charming, a government worker who wears Kohl's polos to work most days and leaves his socks around the house. A Prince Charming so great, he doesn't pick on me too badly for watching crap television like The Bachelor and getting all worked up over it.

My very own fairy tale. Resplendently ordinary and everyday, nothing that would titillate an audience save for two cats who are titillated by anything on a string, but it's mine. It's given me a lot of insight and experience so far, and left with me with my final impression of reality romance shows like The Bachelor - they're "good tv." Nothing more, nothing less.

Thanks, babe.

Am I The Only One Who...

Do you ever think about the strange, idiosyncratic behaviors you partake in every day and wonder if you're alone? Are you the only one who does these things? Typically, these are exactly the types of behavior about which one stays secretive, but because I'm brave (and I know of only one person who is following my blog, and he happens to see me do these things every day), I'm going to put 10 of my personal odd behaviors out there in the hopes that I am not alone.

Am I the only one who...

1. ...picks up and cuddles my cats after seeing one of those awful, emotionally manipulative ASPCA commercials?


2. ...peels grapes?


3. ...feels guilty about watching crappy reality shows like The Bachelorette and Keeping Up with the Kardashians, as well as the resulting schadenfreude when the lives of those fame-whoring people ultimately blow up in their faces?

4. ...sometimes YouTube's the most random things, like old music videos from the 90's or SchoolHouse Rock clips, when there doesn't appear to be anything better to do?

5. ...uses YouTube as a verb? I don't know if this has caught on the way the verb "google" has...

6. ...will go back and re-write an exceedingly long text message or e-mail from scratch when it doesn't come out exactly the way my right brain says it should?

7. ...still occasionally (and by that I mean seldom) buys fat-free potato chips made with Olestra?

8. ...will overload my arms and hands with grocery or other bags upon returning from a shopping trip, to the point that I'm practically opening my door with my teeth, rather than make a second trip?

9. ...randomly and irrationally fears that a freak accident will occur at any moment after spending an extended period of time on an expressway?

10. ...wishes a documentary film-maker followed me around for a day (or more), a la The Office?

Oh, really? Just me? Whelp...okay, then.

Yoga and Circuit Training and Biking Oh My

One of my big goals this summer was to continue my road to fitness and maintaining good shape. I've done well with the help of Weight Watchers and a husband who is both support system and motivator and gradually gone from begrudgingly going to the gym a few times a week to committing every single day to some form of activity, gym-based or otherwise. I never believed I would be one of those people who enjoyed fitness, so this is a huge step for me. I'm not an athlete, and suffice it to say that my 5'11, long, solid build is God's punchline when people joke that I SHOULD be an athlete. However, I can barely hit a ball, shoot a basket, spike a volleyball (make any other form of contact), catch a football, or reflect any other aspect of athletic ability. And although I lack hand-eye coordination, balance, and basic coordination, I make up for those things with spirit, a sense of humor, and a never-ending quest to remain in a single-digit pant size.

On that note, in the past few weeks, I've attempted to mix up the basic elliptical/weight machine/Wii Fit routine I was formerly plugging away at. My top three below:

1. Yoga: I can't hit a ball, but I can apparently suspend the weight of my lower body over my upper body for extended periods of times. Oddly enough, it feels pretty good. I love how lean and taught my body feels after a good yoga session. I'm still a novice, but I love it more with every attempt.

2. Biking: As of last month, I am the proud owner of my very own big-girl bike for the first time in well over ten years. I love it! I'm still getting used to riding on busy street sidewalks and in pedestrian-laden area, but I just get such a rush after a long ride down the Lansing River Walk trail or through the beautiful MSU campus. Who knew my legs could do the miles they can?

3. Intense circuit training class: Okay, so I just tried this one for the first time yesterday, and it kicked.my.arse. This is not your mama's Jazzersize. The class consisted of a spin session, an upper body sculpting session with light and heavy weights, basic cardio circuits of jogging, jumping jacks, and the like, cardio "stations" that included stepping, lunging, squats, jump rope, and knee raises, and finally, a floor session of core sculpting. It was rough, but in the most empowering way. A day later, I am sore in places I didn't know had muscle, possibly because the muscles in those areas came to life through miraculous conception and the powers of one of the best fitness class instructors I've ever seen. I left the class panting, sweat-saturated, and smiling, so I will definitely be back next week.


 Below: The fruits of my labor. A pair of Express Zelda Skinny's - size 8.

                                                 

My Morning Ritual for the Summer

So Jim gets up and goes to work, usually at around 6 a.m. I wake up at this point, and although there's nothing pressing for me to do on any given day, I find it hard to fall back to sleep. I may stay in bed and guiltfully roll around and feel bad about myself for not having one of those snazzy "jobs" to flit off to for a few minutes before turning on ABCFamily and half-watching an hour of Boy Meets World. Ah...quiet "me" time spent with a late 90's Ben Savage (did he even exist in any other decade?) and the crazy chick with all the hair and lips. Folgers had it all wrong. This really is the best part of waking up.

Shortly after this, I begin my daily job hunt. I start out at K12jobspot.com, searching for all licensed teaching jobs in the state of Michigan. The good news? Tons of new jobs are being posted every day, and many of them are for English teachers. The bad? There really aren't many near me in the Lansing/Eaton county areas. Most of them tend to be in BFE areas that even Jim, whose job it is to know pretty much all the roads in the entire state of Michigan, has never heard of. Apparently the Lansing/Eaton/Gennessee/Clinton/Kent county teachers are pretty cozy in their positions and don't want to step down any time soon. I can't say I blame them.

After the K12jobspot letdown, I scroll through my Bookmark folder which contains links to all non-consortium (meaning "off the grid") districts for which I'd be interested in working.  These typically turn up nothing more than postings about subs (seriously, is it even necessary to put up a posting for substitute teachers?) and food handlers and bus drivers and cattle herders and such. Still, this process will take about an hour or so. Maybe something will come up and I'll put together an application packet (this will be the highlight of my day), but most days, I'll wind up with nothing. Dejectedly, I'll pack away job hunt materials for the day, sink into some breakfast, and try and find some "around the house" jobs to keep me busy for the day. Think laundry, cleaning each room to a level that is unnecessary by both Jim's and my standards, and finding excuses to go to Meijer.

Before you go feeling sorry for me (or worse yet, think I'm feeling sorry for myself), it has to be said that I'm only a month and a half out of the teaching internship. They tell you all the time that the majority of teacher job postings don't come until late July or even August, so I'm still hopeful. I just feel that I would enjoy my summer a whole lot more without the added "will I or won't I?" stress of unemployment. I'd love for a crystal ball to give me a glimpse into the coming months and just tell me whether or not I'll have a job. I could eventually learn to handle the magnitude of either possibility; it's less about wanting  a certain outcome and more about just knowing what it will be either way.

This would seriously help my mental state on some levels, I believe. I'm at the point that I seethe with envy at the thought of any gainfully employed teacher. I hear some of them gripe about their jobs and just want to remind them that they have one and at one point they did not. Do they not remember the fear/frustration/utter nerve-jangling they felt when they were job hunting? Do they not know how hard those jobs are to come by? Of course, I hate this about myself. Jobs are stressful, and teaching is particularly so. Ranting and griping comes with the territory, and I would hate to think my envy over anyone's employment status would hinder my compassion or harden my shoulder to cry on.

Part of me thinks I'll have the sentence "You wanted this more than anything" engraved on a plaque that I'll keep by my desk for constant reassurance on those days that bring out the job-griper in me. It sure would help to keep things in perspective. At this point, all I can do is anxiously await the day I have a job over which to gripe. In the mean time, I'll continue to hunt, and wonder, and pray. And every so often, I'll allow myself a few minutes of Sabrina, The Teenage Witch on ABCFamily. At 8.