Hello from the other side

Hello, it’s me. For the first time in… over a year. Long absences aren’t infrequent in the world of blogging, and sitting down to write this post already has me feeling a little cliche. I hope you will understand, though, because I think I did have a good reason for disappearing.

The thing is, shortly after my last post on my blog, my mother passed away unexpectedly. We knew she was sick, but I guess you always think there will be a little more time, especially since my mom was only 49. Losing my mom quickly split my life into two parts, the before and the after. And the after has sucked for a really long time. But now it’s starting to get a little better.

I haven’t stopped writing during the past year, but I stopped sharing things. I think I’m ready to get back to that now. I hid pretty much all of my old posts from my site, though. I’m not sure why. Maybe I felt like the things I was writing about were no longer relevant, or silly in the context of my mother’s passing, but I am ready to start fresh.

As soon as I posted this (originally under the title “Testing”) I was surprised to have views and comments (shouts to Michelle for being awesome) so I know you’re still out there, and hopefully still the amazing community you were a year ago!  I’m sure it will take me some time, but I’m ready to begin again.

Thanks for reading.🙂

February 23


First Monday after break. Coming in hot. Made some questionable life decisions this weekend but I am eating fried chicken in my bed and I am ready to face reality. The fact that I have no sheets on my bed is only a minor setback. I slept on my bare mattress last night because it’s laundry day and I’m not adult enough to own multiple sheet sets.

So I went out on Friday with Roomie and all her college friends, who are absolutely wonderful and always treat me as one of their own. I don’t often drink myself into oblivion but they had the genius idea of going to a BYOB Thai Restaurant, where I proceeded to order only an appetizer and drink two bottles of prosecco.

After this, we went dancing. After two more vodka sodas I grew overemotional about the beauty of the music and was placed in a cab. Upon my arrival home, I made the intelligent decision to strip down to my underwear and draw all over myself with magic markers.

Just like this except I'm 24 and decided to use my own body as a canvas.

Just like this except I’m 24 and decided to use my own body as a canvas.

Being teachers, we have markers all over our apartment. It’s an occupational hazard. By the time Roomie came to take the markers away, I had covered my forearms with…

  • The word “OK” about 20 times
  • A Game of Thrones quote
  • A picture of a giraffe

At this moment, one of my cuter exes texts me. Let’s make his blog name…Cam. He’s a cameraman for a TV show. Adorably scruffy blonde hipster. I stopped calling him back when I got serious with Sam, but then immediately started drunk texting him the second Sam and I broke up. Ain’t that always the play?

So, despite everything, Cam wanted to catch up. I was into this idea but also had a magic marker giraffe drawn on my arm. I leaped gazellelike into the shower (an impressive feat after laying on the floor and demanding snacks for the better part of an hour) and began scrubbing my artwork off.

Anyway, Cam ended up staying over. He (tactfully) did not comment on my technicolor arms (but that does not mean he did not notice). The Cat did not like him any more than she liked the last boy, and yowled piteously at my bedside all night, inspiring Cam to ask me how much longer she is supposed to live.


Not having any sheets on my bed last night means I have clean sheets tonight and it is miraculous. I have suffered and am now in the promised land. I even shaved my legs just for my clean sheets. Ladies out there will back me up on this one: there is no better feeling than clean sheets and shaved legs. It’s like a big silky cloud. Chances of me getting up for work on time tomorrow are officially slim to none.

February 20


Well, it is after midnight, and Roomie and I have just returned from the Miami adventure. The sixty degree temperature change was a lot less fun in reverse, but overall we had an amazing trip filled with palm trees, sunburns, Tequila, a 911 call made at 1:30 am to report a crime at our sketchy hotel, and boys. More on all that later.

So I walk in the door a half hour ago ready for a shower (nothing makes me feel grosser than a plane). I start the water and get in. My hair is halfway wet when all of a sudden a huge cockroach runs out from the folds of the shower curtain at my feet. I screamed, jumped backwards into the shower shelf (knocking over everything precariously perched on it) and ran out into the hallway.

We don’t see cockroaches often, but Sam once mentioned to me that if you see one cockroach it means there are 100 more living in the walls. Is this true? If so, maybe don’t tell me. I cant afford to move. Anyway, Roomie and I have seen about 5 in our two years of living here, and we are 5/5 at killing the supposedly invincible beasts. Thus far, we have…

  1. Drowned one in the sink
  2. Trapped one under a plastic bowl and left it there until it suffocated
  3. Sicced The Cat on one (who somehow killed and ate it despite having no teeth)
  4. Smashed one by waiting for it to run out from beneath the sofa and dropping one of our students textbooks on it

And now…

5. Sprayed one repeatedly with a mixture of bleach and carpet cleaner until its legs stopped moving

Now I am in my bed with my hair half wet and I’m just gonna sleep like this. The shower mood has been ruined.  Nothing says welcome back to Brooklyn like vanquishing a cockroach in a towel.

February 13


It’s the eve of my big Miami girls trip that we’ve been planning for months and I’m in my bed crying.

Sam broke up with me in October, but he still makes appearances in almost all of my dreams. I was just cleaning my room and I stumbled across a book he loaned me. All his t-shirts are at the bottom of my dresser because I don’t want to give them back but I can’t stand wearing them. It’s been five months and I just caught myself in my bed with The Cat, actually whispering out loud to myself “I miss him so much. I miss him so much. I miss him so much.”

It’s not that it’s the day before Valentine’s, because I don’t really care about that. It’s not really even that he’s leaving this week for a trip Costa Rica and I was supposed to go with him. It’s that I miss him so much as a person that it actually hurts. I feel like I’m drowning in it. Everyone keeps telling me that it was a terrible relationship and cites the many times he didn’t text me back or rolled over and went to sleep without saying goodnight. The time where he went and had drinks with an ex and didn’t tell me about it. All the hidden texts, all the shadiness. The fact that he never wanted to go on dates or even hold my hand.

Maybe they’re right, and maybe it’s cliche, but they don’t know him like I do. And I still love everything about him, from his mismatched sheets and prized salt water aquarium to how much he does for other people. He holds so much inside him and is so closed off, but we had so many wonderful moments while we were dating. We completed each other, even though it might have been more fire and ice than yin and yang. He made me happy like nobody else ever has. It’s something that nobody on the outside could ever really understand. I know that’s what everybody says. I know this is classic textbook bad relationship and I know I’m not any different.

My life's a freaking Taylor Swift song.

My life’s a fucking Taylor Swift song.

I’m just sitting here thinking of all the ways things could have gone differently. Our issue was timing more than compatibility, and maybe if we tried again things could be different, but I know that decision, if it ever happens, has to be his. If I drag him kicking and screaming into a relationship, it will never make me feel fulfilled and safe. I know I deserve more than what I was getting from him, I’m trying to hard to move on but all of these dates and all of these distractions just aren’t doing it for me.

Thinking about all of this has just exhausted me. I’m a puddle of tears listening to my breakup mix for the umpteenth time. I just wish I could let him go.


ALRIGHT DUMB BUTT THAT’S ENOUGH. Have another Oreo and move the hell on. Get excited for Miami.

It is 10 degrees in NYC and 70 degrees in Miami and I could not be more stoked about the impending 60 degree temperature jump. Have not packed or mentally prepared The Cat for her abandonment.


Packing is going…well. I have currently packed ten pairs of shoes which Roomie has deemed excessive for a six day trip. I love shoes. I love shoes the way some people love crack. I cannot bear to leave any of them behind. I’m already traumatized because my favorite TYPE of shoe is boots, and I am not bringing any of my 14 pairs. South Beach is not fit for boots, Roomie says.

I have no room in my suitcase for my arsenal of hair care products. Need bigger suitcase.


February 10


I sometimes feel as if I am the only woman in America who has not read Fifty Shades of Grey. With the movie coming out it seems to be all anyone talks about. My little freaking sister has read it, and I want nothing to do with it. Does this mean I am not normal? Does this mean I am boring and bad at sex??

I don’t know, but this is the funniest thing I’ve seen today. Enjoy.

Three more days of work before Miami. Lately, work hasn’t been too bad, though. Everyone is in a post-quality review stupor.  I’ve been teaching chemical and physical changes to the kids, which means lighting things on fire and calling it science. Try this at your next party: take a dollar bill, dip it in water, and then dip it in isopropyl alcohol. You can light it on fire and the isopropyl alcohol will burn right off and turn a really cool color, leaving you with a mostly unharmed but soaking wet dollar. I can promise you that your dollar bill will be okay at least 70% of the time… and if not, singed money is still money.

At least i didn’t mess up the $20 I tried on a dare.

In other news, Roomie and Friend-from-home (let’s call her Izzy) and I have all been prepping for Miami by attempting to drink a gallon of water a day. This goal was born after I read an article from an internet source of dubious reliability that promises more water equals beautiful skin and a flatter tummy. It is now after 8:30pm.  I still have at least 40 ounces left. I consumed most of my water today during my second period prep, and then I had to teach four in a row with a full-to-bursting bladder. I have peed a dozen times and I have a new zit blooming on my chin. Additionally, I ate butter and noodles for dinner. I should just accept that I will not be quite to Karlie Kloss standards for Miami and begin again effective tomorrow.

Doorbell has been ringing intermittently for the past minute and a half. Am reluctant to go answer because last time doorbell went off this much it was Roomie’s ex. What if he is back? She is in bed fragile with a migraine. Maybe it will be one of my exes (hopefully a good one) coming to tearfully reunite with me.


Was delivery food for downstairs neighbor, they had the wrong bell. Que sera sera. Someday, my prince will come.


February 5


Have just finished destroying my kitchen in the name of education. My students have complained that we don’t do enough hands on activities (we do as many as I can! they’re expensive!), and since we are doing states of matter right now I thought I might as well show them Oobleck. Oobleck is a non-Newtonian fluid, which means it does not obey the normal laws of Physics. It is cheaply made using cornstarch and water, but for having only two ingredients it is messy as hell.

I was originally going to let my children make the Oobleck in the classroom. I was saved from this by a naptime vision of the bell ringing and my next class coming in to find mass anarchy and cornstarch everywhere. I decided to make the Oobleck myself. This decision has rendered my freshly purchased and non-returnable $30 dollars of measuring spoons and bowls effectively useless. I originally was going to make one big bowl of Oobleck, but then realized that, being a non-Newtonian fluid, scooping it out to distribute it would be quite difficult.

Therefore, I threw myself on the mercy of the Japanese women at my local sushi restaurant for takeout soup bowls. I spun them a sob story about the state of education in Brooklyn and wailed I would buy ten miso soups if I had to. They looked at me like I was insane and gave em to me for three bucks. A bargain.

This became my kitchen:

Oobleck assembly line.

Oobleck assembly line.

Then, The Cat sensed she was not the center of attention. She grew distressed. She emerged from her lair under Roomie’s bed and came to investigate.

Deceptively cute even when covered in cornstarch.

Deceptively cute even when covered in cornstarch.

Now, hours later, I have neatly assembled eight bowls of Oobleck, ready for my kids to wreak havoc with tomorrow. I actually wrote on the worksheet that they were not allowed to…

  • Eat the Oobleck
  • Put the Oobleck on another student’s hair or clothing
  • Put the Oobleck near another student’s hair or clothing
  • Throw the Oobleck
  • Rub the Oobleck on their faces
  • Put foreign objects into the Oobleck

I think I closed most of the more disastrous loopholes, but I have no doubt they will find whatever loopholes are left.


Have been cleaning up my kitchen and lost track of time. Have second date with Likes to Talk at 7:30. We are going to Chinatown for soup dumplings. Everybody who knows me finds the idea of me eating soup dumplings hilarious. I am extraordinarily clumsy and awkward and have never eaten such a thing but have heard they are large and messy and exactly what they sound like.

This picture comes from an article entitled "How to Eat a Soup Dumpling." The fact that this article exists is not reassuring.

This picture comes from an article entitled “How to Eat a Soup Dumpling.” The fact that this article exists is not reassuring.

It is basically a pocket of boiling water, what could go wrong? I really hope they aren’t spicy. I don’t do spicy.

Having lost track of time, I am now in the unpleasant but common-for-me situation of having to choose between dirty straight hair or clean curly hair. My hair does not curl nicely naturally and without a curling iron. It forms a halo of frizz around my head unless I put on enough gel, and then it is crunchy. I am polling my friends and kicking myself for not having time for clean straight hair which is obviously the best option.


Roomie said curly/clean but after I already got my head wet Sister finally texted back and said dirty/straight because boys don’t notice dirty hair. Emotional turmoil. Maybe the soup dumplings will distract him from my hair.

February 4


I have disappeared from blogging for a week, as I knew I would. Today was the dreaded Quality Review at my school and for days I’ve thought of nothing else. This big event also happens to correspond with report card grades being due, so basically I haven’t had time to breathe, let alone blog.

The Quality Review appeared to go alright, though. At any rate, we will not fail and be closed, which is the worst case scenario I have been convinced is the truth for days. My work friends and I made bets on which of my coworkers would fake sick to get out of it, and I hate to say it was enough that we had to call in additional substitutes. Also, one of my coworkers wore jeans and another didn’t have a lesson plan to give in to the superintendent. Are you kidding me? I spent a week planning, bribed my students and wore control top tights (the biggest sacrifice, undoubtedly, especially due to recent slide into obesity. Still have lines on my hips). Anyway, I’m exhausted from all this drama.

I’ll properly write something in the next few days but I didn’t want to take a whole week off without touching this thing. This blog is not my first blog attempt, and I find that the longer you go without posting, the harder it is to motivate to come back. Anyone else agree?

In other news, 10 days till Miami. Officially dream body crunch time. All clean eating attempts thus far have failed miserably after half a day or whenever I saw a bag of Cheetos but now I am determined. There are no snacks in my apartment. When I want to eat I will drink an entire bottle of water and then do sit-ups until I am a fatigued puddle on the floor in a room that is not the kitchen.

Also, I must stop attempting to hold The Cat before I parade around South Beach in a swimsuit. My students have asked me why I have cuts and scratches all over my chest and forearms. I’m fine, kids, it’s just my cat is the antichrist.