between the mean reds & the blues

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?

Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

Welp. I may or may not have officially given up hope, y’all.

Specifically on education, I mean, but also on a lot of other things.

I found out today that one of my references has been giving me a bad report. For the last two years. Two. Years. So, on the plus side, me feeling like I’d been black-balled or like there was a kind of dark cloud hanging over me all this time? Turns out it’s true and I’m not just crazy.

I tried to delete the reference from all my applications, but it won't let me. So I tried to delete all my district applications and just start over, and I can’t. Some stupid message just keeps popping up saying I’m already in their system whenever I try to create a new account. Perfect.

I never really wanted to be a teacher anyway.

Right?

How long will I have to keep telling myself that until I feel like it’s true?

I know a bad reference doesn’t sound like the end of the world. Perhaps it sounds like I’m being overly dramatic, making a mountain out of a molehill and all that nonsense. But you don’t understand – when over four hundred people apply for one position in a matter of hours, that bad reference makes all the difference in the world. It’s all it takes to knock me completely out of the running.

It’s no wonder I’ve never even had a call, let alone an interview.




I’m not qualified for anything else. I don’t have any skills, any special talents. All I have is a bad reference and absolutely zero willpower to pull myself out of the all-consuming depression that’s already washing over me.

Cute, right?

romping

So.

As it turns out, working two jobs is just as time-consuming (not to mention exhausting) as I thought it would be, meaning that Summer 2011 is officially The Summer of Working All The Fucking Time And Therefore Never Ever Having Any Fun Ever Under Any Circumstances Ever. Most of the time I’m too tired to even blog. WHEN DID I BECOME SUCH A FUDDY DUDDY?

I do not like this.

Anyway.

A couple weeks ago I actually had a day off (A DAY OFF! WHAT!) and spent the morning shopping with Mitch. He needed khakis that were actually khakis as opposed to cargo pants and not covered in mustard stains. Look at him! Growing up! And while at the mall, I made the mistake of venturing into Urban Outfitters where I not only spent seven dollars on novelty band-aids, but also…

Also?

I bought a romper.

I KNOW.

NBD.

In my defense, I initially grabbed a few to try on as a joke slash to remind Mitch how irresistibly sexy I look in ill-fitting onesies that show too much cellulite. But then, um, one wasn’t so bad? In fact it was kind of adorable. And, okay, fine, I bought it and I’ve worn it twice and I love it. Is that so wrong?!

Ahhhhhh I love the back! And please excuse my out-of-control lion's mane.

I immediately texted my friend Alex so she could begin judging me all the way from Houston. She has a special kind of hatred for clothing that makes adult women look like babies, a special kind of hatred I used to join her in until I became a heretic.

A heretic?

I’m operating on very little sleep these days and, as a result, not on top of my game. But whatever, y’all, I like to romp and I’m only 40% embarrassed to admit that. It’s so cute! I can belt it! Or I can NOT belt it! And I can wear necklaces with it! And SHOES! CUTE ONES! CUTE! Seriously, this is as exciting as my life gets since, besides wearing the romper on Friday for a family reunion, I can’t remember the last time I wore clothing other than Nike shorts, my camp counselor t-shirt, disgustingly loose black Bermuda work shorts, my Sonic shirt, and tennis shoes. Meaning: the romper is a big deal.

It’s cool if you all want to stop following my blog now.

In somewhat related news, here’s a quick rundown on what I’ve been up to lately if anyone even remotely cares and/or has missed me:

• Working two jobs sucks, I’m tired all the time and my feet never stop hurting
• Not having weekends off is probably one of my least favorite things ever, but that’s okay because I’ve been taking full advantage of my Tuesday nights off for kickball, ie. I threw up in a trashcan like a college girl a couple weeks ago
• Pete tore into the garbage, then ate an entire loaf of bread and a bag of cat food before exploding diarrhea all over the dining room carpet while I was at work – you can imagine the pleasant sight and smell upon my arrival
• At least I’m sort of a rockstar at (both?) my job(s?). End bragfest 2k11.
• I miss blogging. And reading y’all’s blogs. And I feel totally disconnected from, um, everyone. Not cool.
• I wear rompers now.
• I ate some vegetables last week.
• A lot has changed, but only in very boring ways.

To those of you still sticking around despite the dearth in posting, thanks. :) And on that note, I’m off to finish typing up lesson plans for camp this week because, hey, it’s 10:50 on a Sunday night and, no thanks, I don’t feel like resting.

It ain’t easy being a boss.

Or romping.


PS: Worst thing about rompers? I know everyone’s said it, but seriously, having to get completely undressed to pee. Pretty much one of the most awkward feelings ever, especially at work. Or basically anywhere.

all-talk

It's finally here, y'all.

MY DAY OFF.

And oh goodness, I had such plans in my mind for this day. I was all, First I'll sleep in past 6 and then go for a run, and then I'll shower and go to the Flag Day celebration on Main Street (cute, right?!) and then maybe I'll go swimming and clean my room AND vacuum!

Puh-lease.

I know it's only 10am, but so far all I've done is put on my swimsuit, eat mini Reese's peanut butter cups, sit on my couch and cry while looking at wedding pictures on Facebook.


Productivity.

Uh-oh, does that mean I have wedding fever again?

My bad.

And now I feel so lazy that I'm going to drag myself off this couch, consider showering but then decide to skip it, and go to this adorable little Flag Day thing. By myself, but whatever. Why not, right?

Happy Tuesday, dudes!


PS: In related I'm-all-talk news, I'm a pussy and had all of ONE beer this weekend. Wtf? WHO AM I?

a collection of facts & feelings: june

Today I’m linking up with my sweet and wonderful friend Joelle over at Where We Love is Home for Happy Hour (because it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, thank God). And all I’m going to say on that note is:

a. you should really take a gander at her blog because it’s adorable, and so is Joelle
b. this weekend (when not working) I feel like I’ll be drinking one thousand cocktails and beers and bottles of wine – whatever, just bring on the booze; it’s been a hell of a week





Anyway.

Moving on.

It’s been an interesting week, my first as a summer camp counselor at the Grapevine Rec and so far I’d say the best (read: most awkward) part is working with a guy I graduated high school with because neither of us have acknowledged it. Neat-o!

I’ve been invited to zero weddings this summer. Am I really that unpopular? Well, all right.

A couple weeks ago Mitch’s mom threw him a grad party which basically meant that I ignored most people and played Presidents & Assholes on the couch the entire time (but not alone, it’s fine) while drinking twelve-ish beers. That’s a good way to feel bloated for two days, in case y’all were wondering.

Mitch's stupid eyes ruin everything.

And on that note, I know I said Apples to Apples is the greatest game of all time (and it is), but it should also be said that Presidents & Assholes is the greatest DRINKING game of all time (and it is). Seriously, have you ever played? Do it. It reminds me of summertime, which is wonderful, but it specifically reminds me of last summer, ie. The Summer We Played Presidents & Assholes Absolutely Everywhere To The Point That We Started Carrying Decks of Cards on Us at All Times I’m Not Kidding. We played with friends. We played at family gatherings. We played at The Chicken. We played at weddings. I can only hope that Summer 2011 is as President-y & Asshole-y.

In a nutshell.

Once again, moving on.

Midnight is Paris (starring Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, and a shit-ton of other people) is fantastic and totally worth seeing in theaters. I highly recommend it.

I’ve been seeing this app for awhile and, y’all, I think it’s getting pretty serious. I’d like to take this moment to profess publically: I love you, Instagram. Will you marry me and be my favorite app forever? (update: it said yes!)

Pete has gone an entire month without eating my clothes (knock on wood). I feel like this would be cause for celebration, except he’s actually just moved on to things like stairs and electrical wires.

Sidenote: besides chewing shit up, his new favorite hobby is chasing butterflies. CHASING BUTTERFLIES. I’ll try to take a video.

Not liking iced tea makes me feel absolutely positively un-southern, not to mention un-Texan. This is only amplified in the summer months. Ugh. What is wrong with me?

Not recommended: bursting into tears when your dental hygienist innocently & cheerfully asks how you're doing. She'll get really uncomfortable. And so will you. (update: seriously, I'm fine, it was just a bad day and, surprise!, I'm not great at controlling my emotions)

Also not recommended: eating two-day old chocolate chip cookies found on the bathroom counter when you wake up at 1am and can't go back to sleep. It won't cure your insomnia, but it will make you feel like a fatass.

And I just noticed how many browser tabs I have open right now. It drives Mitch crazy when I have up more than four (why? I don't know), but whatever because I'm sitting at thirteen right now.

YOU'RE MIND JUST GOT BLOWN, MITCH BAKER.


Happy freakin' weekend, y'all! I hope everyone has some really exciting plans to blow off steam from the week. Me? I'll be working, but that doesn't mean I won't have a little time off to go see a band play in Dallas on Saturday night with my main squeeze. Other than that, it's back to the grind until Tuesday (my first day off in eleven days! whoooooop!).

chasing pavements

About a week ago, I got a second job.

It’s the thing I’ve been avoiding ever since I moved back home nineteen months ago (oh god, NINETEEN MONTHS AGO I MOVED BACK HOME someone please kill me slash sorry, Mom and Dad). I’ve tried to make it photographing and subbing but since both of those are seasonal, I knew that when summer hit things were going to be a bit, ahem, tight. After my Thursday morning orientation as a summer counselor, I realized that only working camp wasn’t going to be enough.

So I tucked my tail between my legs.

And drove to Sonic.

And asked for my old job back.

I tried to promise myself when I graduated that no matter what happened, I wouldn’t go back. It’s not that it’s a bad job – it’s just, it’s the job I had in high school. I’m supposed to be better than that now, right? I have a degree from an incredible university. Shouldn’t that be enough to keep me out of fast-food?

Turns out it’s not.

And I’m trying to be okay with that.

I woke up Friday morning with Adele’s Chasing Pavements randomly playing over and over and over in my head. The lyrics made (and still make) me wonder, should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements, even if leads nowhere? Trying to be a teacher for almost two years now, trying to just get by in the meantime by subbing and working summer jobs, trying to wait it out so I don’t have to give up on my dream…is it stupid? Am I being stupid?


via

Some days (okay, most days) I feel the pressure to “grow up” and get a “proper” job. I feel like a bum, a loser substitute who’s just not good enough to be a “real” teacher. I feel like I should take a job with a salary, with benefits, with 9 to 5 hours so I can be like my friends, so I can get my own place, so I can be, well, “normal.”

But I’m just not a desk job kind of girl.

The thought of working in an office makes me (metaphorically) break out into hives. And okay, sure, maybe I’m a little gun-shy about offices and cubicles and fluorescent lighting because my first “grown up job” was such a fucking nightmare, but I don’t think that’s just it. I think that in general, it’s just not for me. I need to be mentally engaged, physically active, up & walking around, talking to people, doing something new every day.

Does that make me flighty?

Or free-spirited?

Lazy? Or dynamic?

All I know is I can’t lead a life crunching numbers or filing faxes or taking memos. And I’d rather be somewhat unhappy with where I live and happy with my work than happy with where I live and miserable forty hours a week.

So because I gave up an interview for a “proper" job and instead found myself face-to-face with a summer position that’s turned out to be part-time, I had to swallow my pride and go back to the basics. My roots, you might say. And you know what? It’s not so bad. I felt weird walking back into the store after a five year hiatus and it’s sort of strange not knowing most of the girls who work there now, but it also kind of feels like home. It feels like a job I can do (and do well) because it is. Yea, that’s right: I kind of kick ass at Sonic-ing.

JUST LOOK AT HOME CUTE I AM IN MY POLO.


See? I’m trying to focus on the whole gotta-make-that-dolla aspect of the situation as opposed to obsessing over the fact that I’m 24 and working at the same job I did at 16. Yikes.

And while I’ve mentioned before how much I sucked (read: was ugly and judgmental) in those days, I do feel a little like sixteen-year-old me again, meaning I should probably call up my high school boyfriend so we can awkwardly make out in his bunk bed or the back of his ’98 Ford Explorer. I’m sure his wife won’t mind.

Good times.

But back to my original question: am I kidding myself with pursuing a career in education? To be honest, my gut tells me I probably am. My gut tells me it’s going to be years before education is back to a place where alternatively certified teachers (like me) have a better shot at being hired. But (and get ready for some grade A cheese, y’all) my heart just won’t let me let go. I feel like a teacher even though I’m not employed as one, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I have something of value to bring to kids.

So.

Do I struggle in the meantime, sacrifice my wants, and ultimately continue to put my life on hold, waiting for the right school, the right principal, the right students to take a chance on me, whenever that may be?

Or am I just chasing pavements?

can't stop, won't stop: june (featuring the music of summer 2009)

In honor of summer (SUMMER!!), I decided to break from my normal format and instead do a flashback can’t stop/won’t stop featuring my favorite playlists of summers past. I’m also just feeling nostalgic (summer always has that affect on me) and wanted to indulge myself in a walk down memory lane.


First up, I present to you my Summer of 2009 Playlist:

• Love Game by Lady Gaga
• 3OH!3’s entire album, Want (but specifically Don’t Trust Me, I’m Not Your Boyfriend, Baby, and Richman*)
• Fireflies by Owl City (and, in fact, all of Owl City's Ocean Eyes album...IT'S FINE)
• Digital by T-Pain (“I don’t even care that he lives in a voicebox!”- Mitch Baker)
• Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry
• Hotel Room Service by Pitbull
• Birthday Sex by Jeremih (in honor of Mitch’s 21st, ie. a mostly-hilarious night for everyone involved, but less so for me as I was busy cleaning up vomit and assuring Mitch that he “didn’t do a bad job on his birthday” while he kept screaming, WHO DID THIS TO ME?!) (and later, very sadly, “…I did this to me…”)
• Sweet Pea by Amos Lee
• I Gotta Feeling by The Black Eyed Peas (ughhhh I HATE this song now)
• Fire Burning by Sean Kingston (this is shameful, but true)
• Punk Goes Pop volume 2 (specifically Breathe Carolina’s cover of See You Again and The Cab’s cover of Disturbia)
  

Post-one million shots, pre-vomit.

Summer 2009 was a big one for me. It was my last summer as a college student, the summer I got Clark Kent, the summer I ran and didn’t hate it, the summer I drove down to Nacogdoches every other weekend, the summer I drove all the way to Arkansas just to see finally Relient K live, the summer of Daisy Dukes and dollar drinks and drunk make outs BECAUSE it was my last summer as a college student. It was the first summer Mitch and I spent together, the first time we drove to Houston for Free Press Summer Fest, the first time I really like-liked someone after thinking I’d never like-like anyone ever again.

PUPPY! :)

It’s the summer I came back to life.

I’ve mentioned before that I had a particularly difficult time after a break up, way back in the spring of 2009. Truth be told, it’s probably the lowest I’ve ever been in my entire life, and God, I hope the lowest I’ll ever feel. I definitely don’t want to go back to that place. Anyone who suffers from depression can attest to how hopeless you feel, like you will literally never be able to crawl out of bed, like you’ll never be happy again. I had stopped going to work. I dropped two classes and failed one. I no longer answered my phone. I regularly slept fifteen hours at a time. I spent every second possible in the solace of my room, feeling lost and inconsolable.

When I did go out, I tried to prove to myself and everyone else that I was fine by laughing too loud, drinking too much and generally pretending I didn’t give a shit about anything, least of all my broken heart.

I was, in a word, a mess.

But with summer came sunshine and a new beginning.

July 4th, 2009. Go Rangers!

It brought my friend Mitch who emailed me daily with work-out regimes and words of encouragement. It brought Clark, the world’s sweetest puppy, who gave me something to look after and someone to come home to. Summer brought a new will to live and the realization that this sorrow wouldn’t be forever. Summer brought a time of tentative happiness as I slowly but surely crawled out of my cave and faced the real world again, this time stronger and more self-assured than before. It wasn’t instant, but it was lasting.

I was back, baby.

Thank you, summer 2009. Thank you to the friends and wonderful times that made it what it was. It’s a time I always treasure, and I’m so grateful I lived to see that.

Impromptu library workers party. We like books!

Join me next month for can’t stop, won’t stop: july where I’ll feature my summer 2010 playlist. Whoop! :)



*Richman is one of my favorite songs of all time. IT GOES SO HARD. Listen to it now, please & thanks.

nothing says "celebration" like throwin' bows

It’s graduation season, y’all, which means I can’t seem to stop sitting in arenas and special events centers for hours at a time. And last night I found myself once again surrounded by hundreds of people and mortar boards out the yin-yang as Mitch’s little sister, Morgan, graduated from high school.

Yay.

No, seriously, it’s awesome and congratulations and all that crap. Too bad the only thing anyone will ever remember about the ceremony is the highly-inappropriate fist-fight that broke out (a mere three rows behind me).

Say whaaaat?

Yes, a real fist-fight. Between two DADS.

pictured: a pretty accurate portrayl

Classy, right? One minute we’re all sitting quietly, wishing the seniors would hurry the hell up already so we can get out of here before 11, and the next everyone’s turned around, open-mouthed and staring as two families, one black and one white, struggle to keep their dads from engaging in an embarrassing situation. They were, sadly, too late. EVERYONE was looking. People were still receiving their diplomas and all the while, you’ve got two men in the stands, screaming at each other and throwing punches. The graduates on the floor STOOD UP AND CHEERED (wow). Finally security was called and both men were hauled the fuck out. How’s that for adorable? Sorry for missing your graduation, Cindy. I was, uh, busy…

A million bucks says it started with a racist comment (I would literally bet my life on it) because, c’mon, this was a Forney event and Forney has its fair share of rednecks. My only regret is that I was so fascinated by the scene that I didn’t even think to take a picture. DAMNIT.

Moral of the story: if you attend a graduation ceremony for a Small-ish Town, USA high school, you just might witness an interracial altercation. Boom.

Oh, and because the whole thing was supposed to be about Morgan, here are a couple pictures that actually have to do with graduation:


Morgan's somewhere on the front row, near the middle. Promise.

Morgan (on the left) and some friend of hers, right before walking across the stage.

Happy graduation, Morgan!

It was, um, eventful.