Tag: miami

February 20

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12:36pm

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

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3:21pm

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.

3:56pm

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.

7:20pm

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

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8:19pm

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.

8:47pm

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