holy inappropriateness

I don't even know how to start this post off

okay let me first preface this latest addition by stating that over the course of this weekend, there have been:

1 toilet-cell phone incident
2 missing cameras
the most ungodly, ridiculously high bar bill I've ever been responsible for
a potentially stolen vehicle
enough margaritas, vodka tonics and beer to reverse the effects of global warming forever (if copious amounts of alcohol had any real effect on global warming to begin with, of course)

So with that in mind, I attended a bachelorette party Saturday evening. It started out innocently enough, 11 girls at dinner, a few margaritas, lots of gossip and an overload on the color pink. However, between dinner and the bars we had to make a pit stop.

to.

a.

drag.

show.

holy mother of god. Now please keep in mind this is being written by a girl who grew up in New Hampshire. I've never been to a strip club (well okay, once in Montreal but it was all of a nanosecond before we were escorted out because my friend touched the male stripper) and I've definitely never seen a drag show. I wasn't quite sure what to expect. To me, strippers, performers, drag queens, etc I feel very awkward about. Where do I look? What should my reaction be?

So we go to this place and the first performer is a dead wringer for Tila Tequila and I have to say, this girl (boy?) had a better body that 90% of real deal women out there which doesn't bode well for any girl's self-esteem level, especially after inhaling a full meal. The majority of groups there were bachelorette parties with a few random sketchballs throw into the mix (has anyone seen Boondock Saints? you know when Willam Defoe dresses up in drag towards the end in the most hideously awful outfit that clearly made him a winner in the World's Ugliest Woman competition? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was there. in that outfit)

So after a few songs in, I was a bit more comfortable. I could handle Tila Tequila the sequel. She wore sparkles, danced around and was generally entertaining.

And then the floodgates opened.

Next, out stepped one of the scariest man/woman I have ever seen. I only wish my words could accurately paint the picture for you. Let's just say this: picture a really angry, paunched-bellied Wesley Snipes wearing a sparkle blue "dress" that was fashion taped together in the front and held together on the sides by ONE PIECE OF STRING. Gone was the semi-adorable girlie girl singing songs and getting the audience involved. Wesley wanna-be was fierce. And not in the Project Runway, totally-fabulous way. More in the, I'm going to give you a high heel to the face if you don't give me enough dollar bills way.

To make matters worse, this one was a big fan of the pelvic thrusting and hip gyrating. There were moments where, as I stood with my hands covering my eyes, I saw my life flashing before me.

However, I do believe the highlight of my evening was watching as the dear dear Bachelorette got her lap dance from a 6 foot tall RuPaul type queen whose massive "curves" (or as one girl so affectionally referred to as "pooh bear body") were tightly encased in a FULL, HEAD-TO-TOE, LEOPARD LEOTARD.

Now please keep in mind. We are a group of former sorority girls. We wear pearls on a regular basis. We pop our collars proudly. We prefer our shots be fruity. So there is nothing more interesting/hilarious/shocking/creepy/did i mention hilarious? then watching one of our finest, classiest at all times, women getting grinded upon by this magnificent leopard leotard creature. Cover at the door $10. Vodka tonics $5. Watching one of your friends face turn a shade of scarlet as a 6 foot, 300 pound man dressed in full drag sits on their lap? Priceless.

All in all, I have to admit. It was an experience. Will I be trekking to Bay Village every weekend to partake? I think not. Was it a worldly experience that will add to the colorful tapestry of my life's experiences? most definitely. and perhaps I will even take a few make-up tips away with me.

feeling introspective

sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together - Marilyn Monroe

I stumbled across this the other day. Its part of a quote from Marilyn Monroe and it really struck me as a powerful statement.

So don't mind me but I'm going to get a bit introspective slash philosophical in this post.

This statement resonates with me so loudly because I am a very by the book kind of girl. Some call it anal, some call it controlling. I like to think I'm just a planner...but it drives me absolutely insane if I have plans with someone and they break them, or when things don't go the way I had them mapped out in my head. I'm also one of those people who likes to have things organized ahead of time and will analyze everything (okay overanalyze. every detail. to the extreme.) For a long time the quote "life is what happens when you are busy making other plans" was well-suited for me.

In recent time, I've started to realize I need to accept life for the wonderful, beautiful ride that it is and stop trying to map it out like a bad family vacation.

I really started to break out of my mold the day I decided to move back to Boston by myself. There were moments where those closest told me it was a bad idea, that I was taking on too much, that there were too many questions marks and balls in the air to make this kind of move.

What it all really boils down to is security and Florida was a huge security blanket for me. Did I have a good job? yep. Good apartment? yep. Good prospects for my future? yep. Was any of it GREAT? I think not. At one point, I had to look at myself and my life and it was like a light bulb went off, why am I settling for good when I could be reaching for great? So I let the good things fall apart and I opened myself up to greatness which is an incredibly scary thing...especially because greatness does not come with a guarantee. That being said, I have never been happier. My new apartment is a fraction of the size and my job is ten times more difficult but its thrilling. I've gained more independence, met more fabulous people and learned more about myself in this past year than the past 5 put together.

I want to take this quote and tape it to my forehead. So when I start to stress out, I am reminded. People come in and out of your life for a reason, random things happen, you can't plan life's details.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I am standing on the edge of greatness, of "better things falling together", and I am going to do my best not to overanalyze or over plan it to death. Instead, I'm gonna make this my new mantra, look at myself in the mirror (so I can read the quote off my forehead of course) and sit back to enjoy the ride :)

I'm turning into an 7th grader...

They say that when you live with your pets long enough, you start to look alike.

I wonder if the same is true for your job?

I think I'm turning into an 7th grader. and not just any 7th grader...I am beginning to take on the tendencies and complexities of a middle school student here in inner city Boston.

It has been a transformation that crept on me ever so slowly. I was immune to it in September, slightly aware of their nuances by December. But now, it being almost June, I am fully engorged in the mentality of youth. It is starting to show itself in the smallest of ways....

first of which being my sense of humor. Being an only child and forced into private school for my entire education, I tend to have a more sarcastic sense of humor and never found slapstick comedy very funny. Until now. There have been several times where I have to stifle my laughter behind a stern look or "Hey X, stop that right now!". On the inside though, I am dying when X trips Y by stepping on his shoelace.

The second and more obvious aspect of my transformation is a more recent occurance. I have found myself, on more than one occasion, using their slang. and thats really sad when a fully grown adult uses the term "fer real dawg?" over a dry martini at happy hour. The first time it slipped out, I played it off like a joke, imitating my students, and all the while silently berating myself for such a slip of tongue.

But it happened again yesterday. The darling children of Boston Public Schools have a complex dialect used specifically for when someone is wrong or embarrassed and the term is "salted". Salted has originated from the base word "sauce" which, I've been informed, is so out now.

(for those who need a quick lesson, salted would be used in the following manner:
Student X: We have a test today
Student Y: No we don't
X: Yes we do you idiot
Y: No we mos def don't
X: Ms E____, do we have a test today?
Me: Yes we do, X
X to Y: oooooo salted!!!)

So yesterday I am mid conversation when I bet someone I couldn't complete a task. Upon completion of the task, I immediately turn and exclaim, "ooooo salted!". At this moment, I receive a look like I have 10 heads at which point I then try to explain the meaning of the word. I guess the meaning is lost outside of its natural habitat.

I only have 4 weeks left in this school year and then it is a blissful 2 months of sleeping in late, weekends at the Cape and general summer enjoyment. By the end of these 4 weeks, I will hope to walk out of here with some of my essence still in tact.
However, if you spot me walking down Newbury Street in a XXL white tee with my "jordans" looking fresh...please save me.


.

P.S.

I just noticed I had four comments on my last post and I almost just said *yipppeeee* out loud. I promise I will write a new and exciting entry tomorrow.

pinky swear promise!

So I just remembered why I stopped writing this blog last time around....

it's because I'm incredibly lame and really have nothing witty or exciting happening in my daily life. I just wrote an entire entry about my love for certain television shows.

Then I read it back to myself and realized I sounded like the ultimate creeper and decided I couldn't share just how much of a nerd I am with the whole world.

So I'll have to get back to you

I couldn't stay away forever...

So I'm back.


For now.

We shall see how long I can keep it up this time. I will admit though, I've kinda missed it. Even though there are only like 2 people who read this on a daily basis (those people being Caitlin and myself), I felt that my adoring public needed me. or at least the Facebook stalkers needed something new to peruse.

A lot has happened in the past 10 months...I moved to Boston, I'm almost finished my first year teaching inner city here, and I got a second job to support my habit (shopping, not crack- although I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say they are as equally addictive and dangerous).

I absolutely positively love living in the city. Despite the fact that my rent makes me want to cry and my apartment could double as a small linen closet in someone else's house, its all worth it. It's actually quite funny how I try to convince others (and namely, myself) about the amazingness (is that a word?) of my apartment by spinning each negative aspect into a "hidden luxury".

For example: 4th floor walkup? Great exercise for the butt, no stairmaster needed. No laundry in building? Fantastic! I'll save on my electricity bills! Astronomical rent for a place with no closet, yellow countertops and a gorgeous view into my neighbors apartmentl? How splendid! I'm doing my part for the economy while also learning fascinating things about human nature.

See? It's easy enough.

I live in the "Italian" section of Boston, well-known for its numerous Italian restaurants, pastry shops and old world charm (aka Paul Revere's House, Old North Church, the Freedom Trail). To me, that is sometimes code for creepy old Italian men who stare at you, ridiculously overpriced pasta and an unnerving amount of tourists who simply have no clue how to walk down the street. (Don't know where you are or where you are going next? Here's an idea: let's NOT stand in the middle of the sidewalk with a map the size of a billboard and spin around in circles, knocking the locals over with your fanny pack and camera bag.)

The perks are fabulous though. I'm within walking distance to any restaurant or bar I desire...and the nightlife is MUCH better than good ole Tallahassee, Florida. Although I must admit, while I don't miss Florida nightlife, my wallet does. Gone are the nights of penny pitchers, ladies free til 1 and $1 shots. They have now been replaced with ridiculously long lines everywhere past 10pm and drinks that cost $15 and come with a healthy side portion of sarcasm and/or self-righteousness. There have been many a Sunday morning where I've woken up to find I spent enough to feed and clothe a 3rd world country on vodka tonics and jager bombs.

Looking back over everything I've written, I can already see the differences in myself. It's been less than a year and I've already began the magical and personal transformation into the ever-loving, ever sought after, elusive, "Masshole" and I'm damn proud of it.