So I've recently been inspired to start blogging again. and I've learned this time around to make absolutely no promises that I will be back every day.
Instead, I'll just let you check obsessively and be pleasantly surprised when a new entry has popped up!
I do, however, have to dedicate this lovely new entry to my very nearest and dearest Kym M. for her continuous nagging and guilting me into keeping up with this. Without her stalking me via gchat about it, I would probably never write a new one again...but she gave me some great advice so I decided to jump back on the blogging bandwagon.
In a quest to get a little healthier, I tried hot yoga for the first time yesterday. Bikram Yoga is a style of yoga done in a room with the temperature upwards of 104 degrees. I've done other yoga classes in the past and have always enjoyed how relaxing and calming it can be; it's a nice change up from the gym. I wasn't sure quite what to expect with the hot yoga though. I have friends who swear by it and I figured if they can do it, so can I.
wowza. it was hot.
really. really. really. hot.
The class was 90 minutes and I had to stop 3 times during class and lay down because I got super dizzy and started to feel like I was going to black out. I was also completely swimming in sweat. The entire class was a constant battle of wills with myself. Beyond the glass doors of the 100 degree heat, I knew there was fabulous, welcoming air conditioning pumping...but I didn't want to be a quitter. and I'm so glad I didn't. I made it through the entire class!
and now, I think I'm hooked. I've been on a yoga high since yesterday, I felt more energized and really cleansed after doing it...not to mention like 5lbs instantly slimmer from all the sweat! Although I may regret saying this tomorrow morning while I'm dying in the heat, I cannot wait for class tomorrow!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
Hellllooooo!
Long time no blog. As my students would say, my bad dawg.
so I'm deep in the throws of a quarter-life crisis. Full blown. Which is one of the reasons I've decided to start blogging again. It's a lot cheaper than therapy and will not be as damaging to the waistline as the macaroni and cheese fueled emotional eating binges I've been using to self-soothe these past months.
Through the hazey college years, I heard rumors of a quarter-life crisis. People angsting about how the mid 20s were a time of "growth" and "personal discovery". I scoffed, thought it was kind of cheesy and cliche, and continued to play flip cup to the best of my 19 year old ability. (and let me just say, it was quite the ability. I AM that annoying girl at parties cheering "let's play flipcup! let's play flipcup!")
ohhhhh me. what a dummy. Here I am, years later (yet still playing flip cup- and damn well may I add) and I find myself faced with some very adult decisions and adult problems and I wonder- when did this happen? and how can I make it stop?
In the midst of a city-wide budget crisis and an economy spiraling out of control, I have found myself one of the victims of lay-offs. Myself, along with 9 other extremely amazing, hard-working and qualified teachers, will be left jobless come June. and that is a truly terrifying thought. The fantastic North End apartment that held so much charm and character for me last summer? Now seems way too expensive. The ridiculous amount of clothing I own? totally unnecessary...who cares if you're wearing this seasons Betsy Johnson if you're shaking a cup outside McDonalds? My whole life has been flipped upside down and the most frustrating aspect is that it is completely out of my control. No amount of tears, whining or foot-stomping can change this decision (and trust me, I've tried all 3)
This is where "everything happens for a reason" comes into play. This philosophy has become my mantra. Something I repeat to myself whenever I feel the anxiety creep in and attempt to take over. I am looking at this lay-off as my chance to go to grad school. It kicked my butt into gear and made me finally take the GRE's (no fun) and it forces me to re-asses my way of life and the things I choose to value (REALLY no fun!)
So we shall see- these next few months will be a challenge...lucky for me, I've got a pretty good support system to pry the macaroni and cheese bowl from my hands when I'm feeling panicky.
and I pinky swear promise, I will do my best to not let another 6 months go by before I write again!
Long time no blog. As my students would say, my bad dawg.
so I'm deep in the throws of a quarter-life crisis. Full blown. Which is one of the reasons I've decided to start blogging again. It's a lot cheaper than therapy and will not be as damaging to the waistline as the macaroni and cheese fueled emotional eating binges I've been using to self-soothe these past months.
Through the hazey college years, I heard rumors of a quarter-life crisis. People angsting about how the mid 20s were a time of "growth" and "personal discovery". I scoffed, thought it was kind of cheesy and cliche, and continued to play flip cup to the best of my 19 year old ability. (and let me just say, it was quite the ability. I AM that annoying girl at parties cheering "let's play flipcup! let's play flipcup!")
ohhhhh me. what a dummy. Here I am, years later (yet still playing flip cup- and damn well may I add) and I find myself faced with some very adult decisions and adult problems and I wonder- when did this happen? and how can I make it stop?
In the midst of a city-wide budget crisis and an economy spiraling out of control, I have found myself one of the victims of lay-offs. Myself, along with 9 other extremely amazing, hard-working and qualified teachers, will be left jobless come June. and that is a truly terrifying thought. The fantastic North End apartment that held so much charm and character for me last summer? Now seems way too expensive. The ridiculous amount of clothing I own? totally unnecessary...who cares if you're wearing this seasons Betsy Johnson if you're shaking a cup outside McDonalds? My whole life has been flipped upside down and the most frustrating aspect is that it is completely out of my control. No amount of tears, whining or foot-stomping can change this decision (and trust me, I've tried all 3)
This is where "everything happens for a reason" comes into play. This philosophy has become my mantra. Something I repeat to myself whenever I feel the anxiety creep in and attempt to take over. I am looking at this lay-off as my chance to go to grad school. It kicked my butt into gear and made me finally take the GRE's (no fun) and it forces me to re-asses my way of life and the things I choose to value (REALLY no fun!)
So we shall see- these next few months will be a challenge...lucky for me, I've got a pretty good support system to pry the macaroni and cheese bowl from my hands when I'm feeling panicky.
and I pinky swear promise, I will do my best to not let another 6 months go by before I write again!
Monday, August 4, 2008
I'm a survivor
So I didn't die via a horrific U-haul accident. However, that does not mean my life has not been in mortal peril since then. I'm pretty sure I could've died yesterday...yet this time it would not have been in the name of female empowerment and independence (we'll pretend thats the real reason I opted to drive the Uhaul instead of admitting its because I'm cheap and stubborn)
Nope. This time it was a direct result of the always dangerous combination of friendly taunting by my peers and my own sheer curiosity that prompted me to try oysters. Now, I like food but I wouldn't consider myself a foodie by any means so my background knowledge on oysters was limited at best. Needless to say, I was more than a bit concerned when the plate arrived. Luckily, I got a quick tutorial on both how to eat them and the myriad of things you can put on them. (this should've been my first indication that I was in for a bumpy ride...if you need to put 19 different things on it to make it taste good, that's not a good sign)
So after my lesson in Oyster Eating 101, I had a loaded up, ready to go down the hatch oyster and 3 people staring at me in anticipation. No one ever wants other people watching them eat...especially something you have to slurp out of a shell but it had to be done so after several attempts (resulting in several instances of me chickening out), I finally just went for it.
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I could try and come up for a colorful, adjective-ridden description for both how it tasted and how I felt about it...but I just don't know if words would really suffice. So for now, I'm sticking with ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I swore to myself I would never eat that again. I'd check it off my food list, pat myself on the back for being open to new things and then NEVER do it AGAIN...And, in true friend fashion, this is when the taunting begins.
"you can't just try one, Marie". All eyes are once again on me. I pretty much just got the adult version of "I double dog dare you" and the stubborn Irish side of me felt the need to rise to the occasion. So, like an idiot, I tried it again.
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well I've done it twice and now, seriously, I will NEVER do it again...
"No Marie, its three strikes then you're out. You gotta do one more"- No way I don't think so
"I will pay you 20 bucks to eat another one"- No way I don't think so
"I will pay for your drinks for the rest of the day"- free alcohol for the day? hmmmm I guess I could manage just one more...
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. In case you're curious, they do not taste any better the third time around either. All in all, I did learn a few things from this new food experience. My gag reflexes work expertly and were fully functioning by round 3. Also if the food you are about to ingest looks like a giant pile of goo in a shell and you have to cover it in 900 mystery sauces to make it edible its probably a no-go and lastly, and perhaps most importantly...make sure that you delete the pictures taken of you mid oyster-induced gagging.
Because if a picture is worth a thousand words, the ones taken of me are only worth one...and its ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Nope. This time it was a direct result of the always dangerous combination of friendly taunting by my peers and my own sheer curiosity that prompted me to try oysters. Now, I like food but I wouldn't consider myself a foodie by any means so my background knowledge on oysters was limited at best. Needless to say, I was more than a bit concerned when the plate arrived. Luckily, I got a quick tutorial on both how to eat them and the myriad of things you can put on them. (this should've been my first indication that I was in for a bumpy ride...if you need to put 19 different things on it to make it taste good, that's not a good sign)
So after my lesson in Oyster Eating 101, I had a loaded up, ready to go down the hatch oyster and 3 people staring at me in anticipation. No one ever wants other people watching them eat...especially something you have to slurp out of a shell but it had to be done so after several attempts (resulting in several instances of me chickening out), I finally just went for it.
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I could try and come up for a colorful, adjective-ridden description for both how it tasted and how I felt about it...but I just don't know if words would really suffice. So for now, I'm sticking with ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I swore to myself I would never eat that again. I'd check it off my food list, pat myself on the back for being open to new things and then NEVER do it AGAIN...And, in true friend fashion, this is when the taunting begins.
"you can't just try one, Marie". All eyes are once again on me. I pretty much just got the adult version of "I double dog dare you" and the stubborn Irish side of me felt the need to rise to the occasion. So, like an idiot, I tried it again.
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well I've done it twice and now, seriously, I will NEVER do it again...
"No Marie, its three strikes then you're out. You gotta do one more"- No way I don't think so
"I will pay you 20 bucks to eat another one"- No way I don't think so
"I will pay for your drinks for the rest of the day"- free alcohol for the day? hmmmm I guess I could manage just one more...
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. In case you're curious, they do not taste any better the third time around either. All in all, I did learn a few things from this new food experience. My gag reflexes work expertly and were fully functioning by round 3. Also if the food you are about to ingest looks like a giant pile of goo in a shell and you have to cover it in 900 mystery sauces to make it edible its probably a no-go and lastly, and perhaps most importantly...make sure that you delete the pictures taken of you mid oyster-induced gagging.
Because if a picture is worth a thousand words, the ones taken of me are only worth one...and its ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I hate moving
The title is pretty self-explanatory. I hate moving. and yet, I'm doing it...AGAIN. It's been a little over a year since I made the BIG move from Florida back to New England. I settled into this apartment and swore I wouldn't move again for at least two years.
ooohhhhh self, you should've known better. You've moved every year since you started college many moons ago, why would this be any different?
So once again, I am packing my shit into boxes (and I have entirely WAY WAY WAAAAAY too much shit) and getting ready to move on Thursday...however, I do think this move will be different than previous years because I am not moving in/out of a dorm, I am not moving to a new state or even a new town. Oh no, I'm simply moving to a new street....2 streets away to be precise. While this may seem ideal to some and trust me, I'm super excited to be staying in my neighborhood, it's going to be the biggest pain in the butt I've ever experienced. for several reasons.
For those of you who are familiar with Boston, particularly the North End, we have a delightful summer tradition of "feast". Every weekend the masses flock to Hanover St to worship one Saint or another (and by worship I mean close down the largest street in the neighborhood in order to set up 93840923498324 fried dough, pasta and sausage carts while greasy Italian men from nearby suburbs try to hock all the cheap crap they couldn't sell at the flea markets). So, in true Marie-luck fashion, feast happens to start while I'm moving meaning Hanover St will be closed and the neighborhood will be ridiculously overrun with tourists, hardcore Italians and other general pains in the asses. Problem numero uno.
Problem numero dos lies in the actual apartment set ups. Holding near and dear to old school Boston architecture, both my current dwelling space and new digs feature spiral, walk-up staircases...and I do NOT live on the first floor (or the second for that matter). Have you ever tried shoving a couch down three flights of winding stairs only to bring it right back up a second set of winding stairs in a new building? When I moved in last time, my box spring was so jammed that we had to saw it in half and then re-bracket it back together once it was in my bedroom.
Problem numero tres is probably the most hilarious yet potentially fatally dangerous situation of them all. I looked to hire professional movers, however in reference to problem #1 and problem #2 it was going to cost me a small fortune to get someone to help me...and being the stubborn Irish shopaholic that I am, I just couldn't imagine parting with that much money for something that I've done so many times before. So I rented a U-haul instead....this is where the hilarity may or may not ensue. Being freshly single and moving mid-week, many of the strapping young men I would usually rely on are not available to help. I have enlisted the help of some gentlemen with muscles but they are meeting my roommate and I at our apartment. This means Jenny and I will be picking up the Uhaul and driving it to my apartment by ourselves. Now I realize many of you do not know me well. I suck at driving. a lot. I'm very much a fan of the words "oops", "shit", and "oh wow I didn't even see that there"....and this is when I'm driving my Toyota...not a 14 foot moving truck down the smallest, narrowest, winding-est (is that a word?) streets in the city of Boston. I'm contemplating leaving flyers on all my neighbors cars instructing them to park somewhere else for the day or else cross their fingers and say a prayer.
Needless to say this move is going to be horrible...but the end result will all be worth it. I will be gaining a new roommate, a much nicer apartment (heat included yaaay!) and be able to start saving money for the grad school I'm so desperately trying for...
stay tuned I will try and update this weekend post-move....if I'm not in jail for several hit-and-runs around the North End area. or dead.
ooohhhhh self, you should've known better. You've moved every year since you started college many moons ago, why would this be any different?
So once again, I am packing my shit into boxes (and I have entirely WAY WAY WAAAAAY too much shit) and getting ready to move on Thursday...however, I do think this move will be different than previous years because I am not moving in/out of a dorm, I am not moving to a new state or even a new town. Oh no, I'm simply moving to a new street....2 streets away to be precise. While this may seem ideal to some and trust me, I'm super excited to be staying in my neighborhood, it's going to be the biggest pain in the butt I've ever experienced. for several reasons.
For those of you who are familiar with Boston, particularly the North End, we have a delightful summer tradition of "feast". Every weekend the masses flock to Hanover St to worship one Saint or another (and by worship I mean close down the largest street in the neighborhood in order to set up 93840923498324 fried dough, pasta and sausage carts while greasy Italian men from nearby suburbs try to hock all the cheap crap they couldn't sell at the flea markets). So, in true Marie-luck fashion, feast happens to start while I'm moving meaning Hanover St will be closed and the neighborhood will be ridiculously overrun with tourists, hardcore Italians and other general pains in the asses. Problem numero uno.
Problem numero dos lies in the actual apartment set ups. Holding near and dear to old school Boston architecture, both my current dwelling space and new digs feature spiral, walk-up staircases...and I do NOT live on the first floor (or the second for that matter). Have you ever tried shoving a couch down three flights of winding stairs only to bring it right back up a second set of winding stairs in a new building? When I moved in last time, my box spring was so jammed that we had to saw it in half and then re-bracket it back together once it was in my bedroom.
Problem numero tres is probably the most hilarious yet potentially fatally dangerous situation of them all. I looked to hire professional movers, however in reference to problem #1 and problem #2 it was going to cost me a small fortune to get someone to help me...and being the stubborn Irish shopaholic that I am, I just couldn't imagine parting with that much money for something that I've done so many times before. So I rented a U-haul instead....this is where the hilarity may or may not ensue. Being freshly single and moving mid-week, many of the strapping young men I would usually rely on are not available to help. I have enlisted the help of some gentlemen with muscles but they are meeting my roommate and I at our apartment. This means Jenny and I will be picking up the Uhaul and driving it to my apartment by ourselves. Now I realize many of you do not know me well. I suck at driving. a lot. I'm very much a fan of the words "oops", "shit", and "oh wow I didn't even see that there"....and this is when I'm driving my Toyota...not a 14 foot moving truck down the smallest, narrowest, winding-est (is that a word?) streets in the city of Boston. I'm contemplating leaving flyers on all my neighbors cars instructing them to park somewhere else for the day or else cross their fingers and say a prayer.
Needless to say this move is going to be horrible...but the end result will all be worth it. I will be gaining a new roommate, a much nicer apartment (heat included yaaay!) and be able to start saving money for the grad school I'm so desperately trying for...
stay tuned I will try and update this weekend post-move....if I'm not in jail for several hit-and-runs around the North End area. or dead.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sorry for the lack of posts and updates lately. With school out for the summer, my routines have all gone out the window and trust me, this blog isn't the only thing that has felt the effects...my wallet and diet have as well (too many summer nights spent at the bars equals way too much time spent eating late night pizza which, consequently, leads to too many mornings spent in bed hungover, of course correlating directly with too little time spent in the gym)
can you see how well all the GRE studying is paying off?
can you see how well all the GRE studying is paying off?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
G.R.E is the devil
I'm a big dork.
I love going to school. I really miss being in college...and not just because its totally acceptable to get black out drunk on a Tuesday night or create a diet plan based solely on Ramen Noodles, McDonalds and cheese pizza. I miss college because I *gasp* enjoyed the classes.
Now, don't get me wrong. I didn't love all of them and I had my fair share of skipped afternoons and strolling in late, but for the most part I generally enjoyed learning "stuff".
Being in the education field, many of my professors told me it's best to wait on grad school until you have some field experience so you have some actual knowledge to back up all the crap in the book. So it's been a few years and it's time to roll out the red carpet for graduate school.
However, before I can picture myself submerged in the wonderful world of learning, Starbucks in hand, cute new academic wardrobe squarly set, I must overcome a couple obstacles.
Getting in being one. Taking the GRE being the other.
and this is where the whole "G.R.E. is the devil" idea comes into play.
I've been putting this test off for roughly 6 months now and I finally bit the bullet and registered for the end of August. This gives me approximately 2 months to study...so being being the stubborn and set-in-my-ways self that I am, I ignorantly skipped off to Borders to pick up some study books.
$59.95 later, I walked out with my two study guides the size of phonebooks, still feeling confident in my skills.
Until I opened the first one and tried to do the practice test...
holy.mother.of.hell. I. am. screwed.
16+ years of classes, exams and study sessions and I felt like a first grader studying for this.
So needless to say, the next two months will not be filled with visions of cardigans, corduroy and latte's on campus...instead, it will be filled with moments of absolute sheer panic, stress lines and random episodes of head banging against the table at the local starbucks.
stay tuned!
I love going to school. I really miss being in college...and not just because its totally acceptable to get black out drunk on a Tuesday night or create a diet plan based solely on Ramen Noodles, McDonalds and cheese pizza. I miss college because I *gasp* enjoyed the classes.
Now, don't get me wrong. I didn't love all of them and I had my fair share of skipped afternoons and strolling in late, but for the most part I generally enjoyed learning "stuff".
Being in the education field, many of my professors told me it's best to wait on grad school until you have some field experience so you have some actual knowledge to back up all the crap in the book. So it's been a few years and it's time to roll out the red carpet for graduate school.
However, before I can picture myself submerged in the wonderful world of learning, Starbucks in hand, cute new academic wardrobe squarly set, I must overcome a couple obstacles.
Getting in being one. Taking the GRE being the other.
and this is where the whole "G.R.E. is the devil" idea comes into play.
I've been putting this test off for roughly 6 months now and I finally bit the bullet and registered for the end of August. This gives me approximately 2 months to study...so being being the stubborn and set-in-my-ways self that I am, I ignorantly skipped off to Borders to pick up some study books.
$59.95 later, I walked out with my two study guides the size of phonebooks, still feeling confident in my skills.
Until I opened the first one and tried to do the practice test...
holy.mother.of.hell. I. am. screwed.
16+ years of classes, exams and study sessions and I felt like a first grader studying for this.
So needless to say, the next two months will not be filled with visions of cardigans, corduroy and latte's on campus...instead, it will be filled with moments of absolute sheer panic, stress lines and random episodes of head banging against the table at the local starbucks.
stay tuned!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
just a few things
Sorry I haven't posted in awhile- life's a bit hectic at the moment....
but two things that caught my attention:
1. the scandal at Gloucester High School- 17 girls pregnant in one school!? yikes.
2. I'm a notorious CNN.com stalker and they had a story about a man who lost 80 lbs eating just McDonalds and only two words come to mind: Not Fair.
I'll be back soon to write a real blog so don't stop checking in! :)
but two things that caught my attention:
1. the scandal at Gloucester High School- 17 girls pregnant in one school!? yikes.
2. I'm a notorious CNN.com stalker and they had a story about a man who lost 80 lbs eating just McDonalds and only two words come to mind: Not Fair.
I'll be back soon to write a real blog so don't stop checking in! :)
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