Friday, December 24, 2010

a christmas miracle

So far this Christmas break, I babysat my best friend's three month old infant and played disc golf. I am still alive. Where are the wise men with gifts? Just sayin.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

things that are inappropriate

1. Wearing a shirt, sweatshirt, or any cover variation on top of a pair of leggings that does not hang past your butt. Tunics, ladies! Wear a tunic, not a tshirt.

2. Standing too close to someone when you are in line to pay for something. Back up off me and my debit card!

3. Sharing too much information about your pregnancy/delivery on facebook. Do I really need to how many centimeters you are dilated? Your cervix, your business. And don't get me started on the mucous plug.

4. Asking people you haven't seen in awhile, "So, you're still not married?" Seriously? Do you not have ANY manners?

If all these things would stop happening, we just might be able to make the world a smidgeon better. Just a little Christmas wishlist, from you, to me.


Monday, November 15, 2010


Dating is supposed to be fun. And guess what?



Thursday, November 11, 2010


Getting better. One day at a time.

Focus on the facts - I have supportive, loving friends and family.

Label your emotions - I am confused. I am upset. I am anxious.

Take your medicine - Keep your doctor's appointments. Follow up.

Getting better. One day at a time.


Friday, November 5, 2010

when you get afraid of waking up

Lately, I haven't wanted to get out of bed. Not shocking for a person living with depression. Especially for a person who doesn't regulate her meds and believes that she can control things without the help of a medical professional.

That idiot?


Well, I haven't wanted to get out of bed due to the depression, but rather, it's been anxiety. Extreme anxiety. Delibilitating anxiety. Cant-go-to-work-because-your-body-is-violently-shaking-anxiety.

I won't tell you what's at the root of my fears. Quite frankly, it's too personal even for my blog, as weird as that sounds.

All I know is that I was so happy in my new relationship, and then one day I woke up and thought, "Wait, you haven't thought about XXX in a week." I then became consumed with the thought and the anxiety that it's been producing ever since has become unbearable.

I'm on medication. I'm seeing a doctor. I have to accept things about myself that I may not want to be true. I am just trying to remain calm throughout the process.

One thing is certain. My new boyfriend? He's amazing. A-MAZ-ING. I never thought I would meet someone so kind and thoughtful, who feels like he was put on the earth for just me. I feel like I was meant to love him at this time in my life. Does that make sense?

Nothing makes sense it seems. But it feels good to know that one day, it will.


Tuesday, October 26, 2010


When your very best friend sends you a text that says, "Move here so I can remember who I am," you want more than anything to do just that.

You want to move there, go over to her house, sit on the couch and make fun on the women on The View. You want to talk and gossip and laugh and cry. You want to remember what it was like to be fourteen, and nothing was more important than the boy in your history class who drove a red jeep.

You want to remember a time before babies and careers. Before second guessing our every move and trying to figure out what it all means.

You want to do just that.

But you can't.

And it's awful.


Tuesday, October 19, 2010

tales from therapy...again

Therapist: Tell me why you're here.

Me: I don't trust people.

Therapist: Mmhmm. And, when you say people, do you mean everyone? Or people, specifically?

Me: Specific people. Well, specifically, all people.

Therapist: Mmhmm. Why is that?

Me: How should I know? Aren't you the one with the degree? Hey, where is your degree by the way? I don't see it on the wall. Are you sure you have a degree? What's up with that? What are you hiding? What aren't you telling me? Why would you lie?

Therapist: Well, you get points for being self-aware.


Friday, October 15, 2010

oh yeah, i'm not crazy

Have you ever just had one of those days? One of those days when you feel like the craziest person on the planet? You can't just get it right. You cry. You scream. You think it's time to get back on the doctor's couch or start taking meds again or probably both.

Then, you get your period.

And you remember: Oh yeah, I'm not crazy.

I'm just a girl.


Monday, October 4, 2010

letting people in OR the wg meets a new boy


I met someone.

We met on

He is cool.

Dorky as that sounds.

Dating someone is one thing; liking someone is another.

And I like this boy.

He's a chef.

So I'm going to call him Chef Boyardee.

Because, well, he's a boy who's a chef. And that's funny.

Know what else is funny? How much relationships have changed in this decade. In the past two weeks of meeting, I've taken the following big steps:

1. Adding him as a friend on facebook
2. Blogged about him
3. Googled "How Not to Be a Commitmentphobe"

What's even funnier is that I am more terrified of him reading the awesumness than meeting my parents.

But, we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Liking someone is so different from dating someone.

WG likes Chef Boyardee.

Uh oh.

Friday, October 1, 2010

i tune in with my students....

As a reward, I brought in my iHome and played music for my students. They told me my music sucks. So, I set up a request box and had them suggest songs they'd like to hear. It's a pretty awe-sum megamix.

Love Like Woe – The Ready Set
The Soundtrack for the Wizard Apprentice Commercial
Jet Airliner – Steve Miller Band
Fly like an Eagle – Steve Miller Band
Hey Bulldog, Octopuses Garden, Revolution 9, Revolution, Set Back, Dig a Penny – The Beatles
Devil in Disguise, Jailhouse Rock, Blue Suede Shoes – Elvis
Sweet Home Alabama – Lynard Skynard
Around the Bend – CCR
18 and Life – Skid Row
Youth Gone Wild – Skid Row
Run Joey Run – Defying Gravity
Just the Way You Are – Bruno Mars
Cooler Than Me – Mike Posner
Toes – Zach Brown Band
The Joker – Steve Miller Band
The Catalyst – Linkin Park
Any Man of Mine –Shania Twain
Mine – Taylor Swift
Mud Digger Rap - ????
Love Like Crazy - ???
Songs by B.O.B
Misery – Maroon 5
Jungle Love – Steve Miller Band
Impossible – Shontelle
Never Say Never, Somebody to Love – Justin Beiber
A year without rain – Selena Gomez
Secrets – One Republic
Dirty Little Secret – All-American Rejects
Syndicate- The Fray
Gravity – Sara Baralles
Don’t Stop the Music – Rihanna
Critical, Biggest Fan, Introducing Me - Nick Jonas
Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough – Michael Jackson
Rock Lobster – The B 52’s
Swingtown – Steve Miller Band
Hip Hip Hooray, Claim to Fame – Coming This Fall
Your Love – Nicky Ninja
I love Rocky Road, Do I Creep You Out, Eat it – Weird Al Yankovich
Black Hole Sun - Some old cd of my dad’s

Apparently, I have a 13 year old who is obsessed with the Steve Miller Band. Go figure.


Saturday, September 25, 2010

self loathing

I was Charles Dickens in another life.

Or, maybe I wasn't him. Maybe I was that crazy lady in Great Expectations.

What was her name? Havingham? Haversham?


(I googled it.)

Remember her? The nutcase who stopped the clocks in her house to the exact moment of her betrayal at the alter and who never took off her wedding dress and lived in her rotting mansion with her crazy adopted daughter?

Is that me? Or, future me?

So, maybe I'm not the crazy spinster but I know something about Great Expectations. I am the queen of creating Great Expectations.

Always, always setting up expectations. Thinking things like "oh, this will be wonderful" or "oh, this is the person I will marry" or "oh, I am going to publish my book" or "oh, this moment will be the moment of all moments and I will always remember this impending moment."

And then it doesn't happen that way.

I spiral.

And it sucks because I wish I could just have a bad day and leave it at that. Why can't I just have a bad day? Why are bad days always accompanied by fear that the depression will creep back into my life? I am once again thinking things like "Do I need meds?" or "Can I beat this with theraphy?" and "Maybe if I stopped eating junk food, I'd feel better," and "I wish I could feel like my life is not out of my control."

Spiral down.

It starts with a tightness in my chest, a lump in my throat, a burning in my eyes. Anything to keep from crying.

Don't happy people have bad days when all they do is cry?

I don't know who I am sometimes, but I am not the famed English author and I am not a crazy spinster and I am not a boy with a stupid name and I am not a convict. But I know a little something about Great Expectations.


Wednesday, September 22, 2010

pole-r opposites

Kid: Ms. L, will I see you at the pole?

Me: Excuuuuuuuuuse me???? What is THAT supposed to mean?

Kid: Um, it's like a prayer group thingee. At the flag pole.

Me: Oh. The flagpole. Right. Um, sure! I'll be there in a second.

Kid (walking away, says to friend): What pole did she think I meant?

Friend: Dude, I'm afraid to tell you.

Oh geez.



Sunday, September 19, 2010

it sucks when...

you find someone you actually enjoy talking to on, then you go back and check their profile and under politics, you realize they are not a match.

Sorry, dude, I just don't think I can date a Republican.


Wednesday, September 8, 2010


How does a working girl have an orgasm while sitting at home watching tv?

Try Tim Gunn on the Daily Show with John Stewart.

Oh, yeah.

Right there.

Make it work.


Monday, September 6, 2010

so I made out with Harry Potter

Friday night sucked.

But Saturday night?


I was just sick of hiding at home, worry I'd run into certain people when I go out. I wanted to dance and make out with a boy. That's it. Just some vodka, smooching, and booty-shaking. Simple enough, right?

I went to a new bar in town. Multiple sips of my beloved vodka followed. The DJ blasted cheesy pop music; I danced my heart out.

Then, I saw a cute guy. I smiled. Next thing I knew, we were making out on the dance floor. He was an incredibly good-looking dude who's name I couldn't keep straight. I called him Harry Potter because of his glasses. When he asked if I was ready to leave with him, I said "Just give me one minute." Then I danced out the side door and left him clueless at the bar.

It was so easy.


Saturday, September 4, 2010

friday nights are all right for fighting

Question: Where do working girls spend their Friday nights?

Answer: On the couch, feeling sorry for themselves, texting their BFFs about fears involving dying alone and being devoured by the cat. (Note: The BFFs do not answer, probably due to the fact that they are out doing all things fabulous. Or, they are pregnant and sleeping.)

11:37 pm, Me: My life is so pathetic! Wahhhhh.

11:41 pm, Me: I hate romantic comedies!!!!! From now on, I am only watching slasher movies.

11:52 pm, Me: Oooh, 'Seven', is on Bravo. This fits my mood! Die everybody!!!!!!!

12:30 am, Me: Hmm, a Lifetime movie about a woman on the run from her abusive husband? Jaaaaaackpot!

1:21 am, Me: Whaaaaaat? Now the abused lady found a new man. Shoot me!

1:22 am, Me: WTF! Now the guy is running away with her.

1:26 am, Me: And now they are boning. This is just inappropriate.

1:32 am, Me: The new boyfriend is proposing! Fuck my life!!!!!

1:44 am, Me: Keeps getting better, she just had a baby.

2:01 am, Me: The FBI found her. She spent nine months in jail but was found innocent. She now lives happily with her new husband and baby in Idaho. Text me in the morning to make sure I didn't off myself and/or Zoey didn't eat my dead face.


7:33 am, Her: You are a stage five clinger. You should've watched Whale Wars and taken your ass to bed.


Monday, August 23, 2010

back at it

Me: Can I help you find something?

Student: I'm looking for Room 23.

Me: You found it.

Student: Where?

Me: This room. It's number 23.

Student: No, that's where I'm going.

Me: But you're already here.

Student: Where?

Me: Room 23.

Student: Yeah, where's that?

Me: (Sigh) Go ask the teacher next door.


Tuesday, August 10, 2010

gettin' old

This Friday, my sister will turn thirty on the same day my father turns sixty. She was born on his 30th birthday. Trippy, right?

I don't know if they are ready for this birthday or not. Personally, I was always jealous of this bond. I didn't share a birthday with anyone; not that as the youngest of three girls I was really that great at sharing.

But still, I wanted a piece of that story. To know that exciting day happened before I was even a thought in my parents' minds used to drive me crazy.

It wasn't until I hit 28 that I truly felt like an "adult". Somewhat ridiculous, seeing as how I started my career at 22 and bought my house at 24. Retirement plans and mortgage payments - how much more adult can I get? However, becoming the grand old age of 28 hit me from no where.

All of the sudden, there is this enormous pressure. Not necessarily to get married or have babies or any of that, but just this pressure to DO SOMETHING AMAZING before I get to the point of being married and having babies. (Or having lots of puppies instead. I'm still undecided.)

As adult as I feel, I still sometimes feel like a kid. Yesterday, while checking my mail, I tripped on the sidewalk and skinned my knee. All I wanted was a Barbie band-aid and a hug from my mom. All I got was a sideways glance from my neighbor and a loud meow from my cat.

If you stop feeling young, are you destined to always feel old? When did all of this happen, anyway?


Sunday, August 8, 2010

I know, write

I spent this weekend at the UNF Writers Conference. It was my first time at any writers conference and I am now even further in love with words. Meeting people with a similar appreciation for your creative outlet is extremely powerful. Moreso, everyone was friendly and happy to read your work!

I worked with a small critique group of other young adult writers. Their feedback was beyond constructive. I now believe I truly have the power to finish my manuscript and start the query process. And - BONUS - now I know what 'query' means.

My critique group was lead by Kristin Hamel. Her willingness to share was truly priceless. She is the author of six books, including her two YA Novels, When You Wish and After. Go buy her books!

I really can't say enough wonderful things about the conference. Definitely a sum of awe time.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

long distance provider

Most of my serious relationships have been long distance. I kind of miss having a long distance relationship. Have you ever had one? Seriously. They are awwwwwwesum.

Dear Potential Boyfriends in Far Away Lands,

These are the top ten reasons I think long distance relationships kick ass:

10. You do not need to be up in my shit; I don't need to be up in your shit. Geography makes this possible.

9. I love exploring new places and you can show off your town. Let's yelp the night away!!

8. We can have hot phone sex while I wear my sweatpants/sports bra combo and you can picture whatever you want instead.

7. Leg shaving only becomes important on the weekends we see each other. This guarantees you nothing but smooth gams.

6. My work schedule gives me weekends, Christmas, spring break, and the whole summer off. Really, baby, I'm available.

5. Having a long distance relationship lengthens the amount of time we spend together before we feel comfortable enough to pee in front of each other. Pee-watching, if you didn't know, is a sign that romance has left the building.

4. Alternatively, we will probably have to live together when we are visiting each other. This is good test run for the know, the one I've planned where we get married and have babies and buy a minivan!!!

(Just kidding.)


(Well, definitely about the mini-van.)

3. Internet porn is totally understandable when your girlfriend is miles away. Go right ahead, my love!

2. Remember when your parents saved up all their pennies to take you on a Florida beach vacation? That's my backyard.

1. I'm sure that there is a man for me out there, but the possibility of him living in this town is slim. Therefore, if boys in other regions don't step up the plate, I will die old and alone, with no one but a bitchy cat to mourn me.

So you see, long distance relationships are amazing! Cute, friendly animal lovers with light baggage please apply today.

With love,

Monday, August 2, 2010

effing with disaster

A few years ago, I made friends with a girl who was getting divorced. She was really excited about being single, going to the bars, and talking to boys. This friend was also really into self-help and she researched ways to interest the opposite sex. She shared this method with me:

1. Look up, make eye contact.
2. Look down, appear demure.
3. Look away, but aim your breasts in his direction.

No, really. This supposedly sends signals to the very primitive regions of the male groin and solicit a free drink for the lady with boobs at the ready.

I could never pull it off without erupting in giggles.

This friend of mine didn't need these articles. Articles like that were intended for people like me - those who don't possess the natural ability to flirt. Flirting is not a specialty of mine. She was the kind of person who could just naturally make anyone smile. I am the kind of person who snorts her drink out of her nose.

Granted, as I grow older, I do find ways work my womanly wiles. As a feminist, I know I'm not supposed to be proud of this. In reality, I'm somewhat impressed that I've gotten keys to certain buildings of my work, bookshelves painted in my classroom, free wiper blades from an oil change, and even an occasional shot at the bar.

Mind you, most of this attention comes from middle-aged men who are bored with their wives and jonesing at the fact that a blond-twenty-something will even look in their direction, let alone flip her hair and bat her eyelashes. For me, however, that's progress. Some people just have that natural charm. They walk in a room and everyone wants to be their new BFF. Or get in their pants.

But not me. I'd like to say I'm a fine wine, but I don't seem to get better with age. And the self-help articles are a waste of time. If my boobs are facing an opposite direction, it's probably because I need to buy a new bra.

Flirting is everywhere. There were a lot of flirtatious people at Montreat, and there is a lot of (mostly inappropriate) flirting that goes on in my workplace. As a type this, the barista behind the counter at Starbucks is trying to work it with the guy ordering a grande caramel macchiato. I don't know if I'll ever be able to flirt like the pros. I'll probably continue to do stupid things, like quote Gilmore Girls or get gum stuck in my hair (both true), but oh well.

For now, I'll take the bookshelves and wiper blades.


Saturday, July 31, 2010

like a racehorse

There I was, in Panera, taking full advantage of the free wifi and wishing their bakery products weren't chock full of delicious calories. Hmm...whatever is a working girl to blog about? Do people want to know that I surpassed the yummy bakery case of brownies and selected only this giant glass of iced tea?

Giant. Iced. Tea.

Great. Suddenly, I had to pee. I packed up my computer and my purse, stopped (of course) for a free refill, and walked into the bathroom.

Huh. Something didn't seem quite right. I visit this Panera often, and I didn't remember the stalls being on the right hand side. And what's with the drab lighting and bare walls? Oh well. My bladder quickly reminded me that there was little time to analyze public bathroom decor. I went into the handicap stall, thinking I could put my computer bag in the sink and hang my purse on the door. But there wasn't a hook on the door for my purse, so I threw it all in the sink, parked it on the bowl and peed with my giant iced tea in hand.

And peed...and peed...and peed. Trust me, this was one magnanimous iced tea.

After washing my hands and gathering up my stuff, I walked out of the bathroom and saw the sign on the door directly across from the room I'd just entered. That sign said "Women".

Which meant, obviously, I'd just used the men's restroom. Not accidentally walked in to, not caught a glance through the swinging door, but full-on peed in the room designated for those with wangs.

It's safe to assume I'll be blogging from Starbucks for the foreseeable future.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

into the wild

Montreat was an adventure. I'm not going to lie. Co-directing was not exactly a rewarding experience. In all honesty, it was hard to find any joy in the experience. My old co-d told me that it was like labor pains - it hurts during the process but once you bring the baby home you don't remember the blood, sweat and tears. (Ew.)

And I will admit, in the midst of the headaches and urges to punch people in the face, I did have some pockets of joy. Therefore, I present, the top ten reasons to return to the Montreat Middle School Conference:

10. Drinks from Sonic.
9. Rodney. Oops, I mean ... RODNEY!!!
8. The Variety Show - Little Miss South Carolina plus the dancers from Thornwell = priceless.
7. Almost dying in the golf cart at the hand of Tom and Kari.
6. Singing Justin Beiber with Evelyn whilst brushing my teeth in the morning.
5. Reggie's sermons.
4. Massages from AV Chris.
3. Inevitably saying something inappropriate in front of teenagers.
2. Bedtime stories with Neeley.
1. The family feeling.

I'm not sure if you all (y'all) know this, but you truly are my cloud of witnesses. And I love you, so much.


Saturday, July 17, 2010

sexual healing

Watching the sexual tension between two people is almost as frustrating as being sexually frustrated. Especially when the tension is palpable.

Just bone and eat a waffle. Good Lord.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

my life is a miley cyrus song

I live in two worlds.

To my co-workers, I'm very much a goody-goody. I work hard at my job, I get a lot of praise from my boss, and I love my students. I'm not the one vomiting on people's bedroom comforters; I'm not the one gettin' nekked in the hot tub. I don't smoke pot and I don't drink to get drunk. I don't stand in judgement of them (well, ok, the vomit was just plain nasty) but I've just never been able to let loose in those ways.

To the people at Montreat, I feel so opposite. Tonight over ice cream, I was flabbergasted to learn I was the only woman at the table who wore thong underwear. I've been sporting thongs since I was fifteen. My best friend told me to wear them to bed for a month and I'd get used to the feeling of string up your crack. (Please note: I did wear a clean thong each night.) But these women don't wear them at all! Then one of their husbands jumped in and said they were unattractive anyway. Say what?

If I told them men at work what kind of underwear I had on, they'd be drooling. Literally, they'd drool on my desk and then make a pass at me.

Two big, confusing worlds. I guess I just have to take solace in the fact that I am who I am for a reason. For so long, I cared about fitting in. I cared more about having people like me than I did about liking myself. I don't care about fitting in anymore. But that doesn't make co-existing any easier.


Sunday, July 11, 2010


Facebook makes stuff weird.

I'm up here at Montreat, which is amazing! I love it! So many people to see! So many old friends! But honestly, I don't need updates about what's going on in their lives because I see it on facebook. It kind of brings the conversation to an awkward level.

What's that? You got married? I know, I saw the pictures. I can't believe you made your bridesmaid wear those dresses.

You had a baby? Yep, I read all about your pregnancy and delivery. In fact, every time your child craps himself, I get to read about it on facebook.

Hey, there! Long time, no see! How was the PBJ you had for lunch 22 minutes ago?

You know, I kind of miss the old days when we had to play catch up. Now everyone knows too much. Especially those of you who read my blog, then see me in person and remind me about my posts involving nudity. Not entirely awesum.


Tuesday, July 6, 2010

when therapy goes deeply, horribly wrong

Therapist: Well, I think instead of scheduling your next appointment, we should just wait and see how this month goes.

Me: What are you saying?

Therapist: I think you've made significant progress. You've come to some very poignant understandings during our time together. And, frankly, we just spent twenty minutes discussing the weather.

Me: So, you don't want to see me anymore?

Therapist: No, that's not it. I just don't know if I see a reason for our meetings to continue on a weekly basis.

Me: Listen, I've heard this line before. The old "It's not you, it's me" routine. Well, no shit. It is me. I'm the one who made the first appointment. I'm a mess. Don't you see? I still need you.

Therapist: Actually, I don't think you do.

Me: Don't you tell me who I am or what I need!

Therapist: This is not about needing. This is not about personal identity. I am trying to tell you that you came to me with certain goals and I believe you have achieved them.

Me: Fine. (Huff.)

Therapist: You look upset.

Me: I am upset! I really thought we had a good thing going!!!

Therapist: We do! We can still have sessions occasionally.

Me: Yeah, when you're not too busy with a new client. I came here for help reconciling ending relationship and here you are putting an end to us!

Therapist: Maybe we do need to keep seeing each other. Is next Thursday good for you?

Me: Well, if you insist.


Wednesday, June 30, 2010

what if

I feel like writing a book titled A Decade of Doing It, which would chronicle my ten years of hilarious sexual exploits. Stories to include: The Half-Point, The Hotel Concierge, The Bridesmaid and the Groomsman, The Time I Saw Jesus, and The Boy Who Wanted Waffles. How many people would read it? And would I have to let my dad know about it?


Thursday, June 24, 2010

eLL oh eLL

I don't always open up to people, which is weird, considering I write this blog. People come here to read about my love life, my therapy sessions, my headaches at work, my friendship drama, and things my pets do. Weird how I will share things with strangers, not others.

Well, some of you are strangers. Some of you are not. Some of you I see on a daily basis, some of you a monthly basis. Some of you, only once every few years when I am lucky.

For those who don't know me, one thing I can tell you about myself is this: I love to make people laugh. I like to be the giggle inducer, the snort producer, the guffaw enabler.

And so, I try to do that with my life. Whether the event in my life be happy/sappy/crappy, it's my goal to somehow make you smile with the stories I tell. I like to imagine you LOL'ing whilst you read. It makes my life seem less happy/sappy/crappy.

I'll leave you with this:

Me: Daddy, what do you think 'LOL' means?
Daddy: Lots of Love.
Me: No, it doesn't.
Daddy: Why not? L - O - L , Lots Of Love. Makes sense!
Me: Yeah, but that's not what it means. It means, Laughing Out Loud.
Daddy: Oh. I see.
Me: So, remember that text you sent me about grandma being back in the hospital? That's not really a message you should end with "LOL".
Daddy: No. It isn't. (Pause.) Can I ask you something?
Me: Shoot.
Daddy: What does 'LMAO' mean?
Me: Laughing My Ass Off. Wait - why?
Daddy: I don't think you want to know.


Sunday, June 20, 2010

tales from therapy

Therapist: Thinking is your brain's way of trying to process emotions.

Me: My brain doesn't process. It only replays images in my head over and over again to scrutinize. No actual processing takes place. Just irrational, non-stop analyzing.

Therapist: So I'm guessing you don't use thinking as a relaxation technique.

Me: (Snort. Eye roll.)

Therapist: Well, we need to change your way of thinking.

Me: Good luck. Many Republicans have come before you with similar intent, and failed.

Therapist: I was thinking more along the lines of "emotional observation."

Me: What the fudge is that?

Therapist: Instead of saying, "Why did this person leave me" or "What did I do wrong", you should try just making a simple observation about your feelings.

Me: I feel this is awkward.

Therapist: Ok, now we are getting somewhere. So next time you think, "Why did MLL give up on our relationship", you should stop and say to yourself, "I feel disappointed. I did not see that coming."

Me: Whoa.

Therapist: Yes. If you can just label your emotion from the get-go, you won't drive yourself crazy with the questioning. The questioning leads to over-analyzing, which isn't helpful. Just label it from the start.

Me: I feel speechless.

Therapist: Much better. Except, we've got thirty more minutes, so you might think up something else to discuss.

Me: I feel pressured. I already told you about my ex-boyfriends and my dead mom. What else do you want?

Therapist: (Sigh. Eye Roll.)


Monday, June 7, 2010

guilty pleasure

Everyone has a guilty pleasure. It's not something you let yourself have all the time, but something that's so worth it once you give in.

My list includes cereal with ice cold milk, trashy reality television, adolescent fiction novels and therapy.

Yes, therapy.

What is better than one whole hour of getting to talk about yourself to a stranger who is forced to listen? It's awesum.

Much like today's session:

Therapist: I hear you saying you don't trust men.

Me: Um, obviously. They lie. They have no follow-through. They can't apologize. They are cowards.

Therapist: How did you arrive at these conclusions?

Me: My past. Check your notes, dude, it's all over the place.

Therapist: You need to stop setting expectations for men. Understand that they are wimps when it comes to emotional conflicts. They tend to run away from these responsibilities. You need to give them permission to come forward with their feelings even if it will hurt you.

Me: Did you just tell me to give a man permission to be an asshole?

Therapist: You just told me that them lying to you and doing things behind your back made them assholes. Do you want them to be honest, or be deceitful?

Me: Are those really my only options? (Pause.) This is going to take longer than I thought.


Thursday, June 3, 2010

in which my parents adopt the dog

I took the dog to a town near my parent's house over the long weekend to meet a potential family. They didn't want him. Losers. So, I brought him to my parents house, knowing full well my stepmother has been wanting a dog and my dad, who says he is opposed, will always give her whatever she wants.

By the time I found the dog being fed pretzels while curled up next to my dad on the couch watching a Yankees game, I knew I'd found him a good home.

Welcome to the family, AL.

Monday, May 24, 2010

in other news

Meet my foster buddy, Mr. Al. The rescue named him that but I've been calling him a variety of names - Mr. Nanners (short for Bananas Foster) and PJ (short for Puck Jr).

He's a great little doggy. He has separation anxiety that destroyed my blinds, but that can be fixed over time. He does great on the leash and loves the cat. He loves people and kids, too. Also, he is an awesome navigator in the car and loves Petsmart. Such a sweetie little hound dog.

Part of me wants to keep him but part of me knows I don't have the time for a dog as a single person. It really limits my social activities and if I don't have a social life, I resort to sitting on the couch watching endless hours of vapid television programming.

I guess I don't need to worry, though, because they think he might have an adoptive family who wants to meet him this weekend! I'll be sad to see him go but it is for the best.


Sunday, May 23, 2010

moments like these

I don't like being vulnerable. I actually kind-of hate it. Mostly because I would, in my previous life as a depressed person, make myself so vulnerable to people that they had no option but to hurt me. So basically, I was hurting myself.

I hurt myself again.

You know, MLL and I weren't doing the right thing. We were using each other because we hated being alone. But I had feelings for him and I didn't share them. I was afraid of being in a relationship with him because I've never truly felt that "this is the person I want to be with" feeling from him. Did I feel comfortable? Yes. Excited? Yes. Attracted? Yes. Happy? Yes.

Assured? No.

It was just something I couldn't put my finger on, but the best way to describe it is I didn't feel the need to be with him. If we went a week or two without talking, it didn't bother me. Same for him. We wanted to want each other but we didn't.

And now he is dating someone else and I told him to get out of my life. He can't be my best friend anymore. And that's truly what he's been for the past few months. My friend, my comfort, my rescuer. Emphasis on the "my".

The thought of him with someone else is slowly draining out any spark I had lately. It's like banging my head against a wall when it comes to dating. I still manage to get hurt and rejected when I'm not even dating someone.

I should've seen it coming. Even being close with him but not dating him left me vulnerable. I thought I was doing the right thing by hanging on to him with only one hand instead of two.

But as I sit here, typing, with tears on the brims of my lashes for the eight hundred millionth time, I can't help but admit I am empty, lonely, and utterly exhausted.


Sunday, May 16, 2010

d oh double gee

I miss Puckers. However, I don't miss the full-time commitment of having a dog. Since I'm not traveling much this summer, I decided to become a foster parent to a dog who is awaiting their forever home! In the next few weeks, I'll be getting a basset hound from a rescue group in my state.

Cute, huh? It'll be hard not to get attached, but I am excited to help him/her become a better houndie so they can go to a great family!


Saturday, May 15, 2010

is hating negativity a contradiction?


This week sucked.

I don't know what it is about work this year, but I'm just so over it. It's been a constant uphill battle. I started off poorly. People keep yelling at me. Yes, yelling at me. I don't think anything I've done deserves the yelling - mostly because I'm just trying to do my job. Not to mention, we're supposed to be working professionals.

I feel like I'm banging my head against the wall. I was telling my good friend about this and she reminded me about what a shitty year I've had. Negativity vindicated! (Thanks, Kat.)

Even if you didn't want to know, the list basically includes a bad start to the school year, grandmother dying on Thanksgiving, putting my beloved dog to sleep, cancer scares, a home appraisal in the form of an epic failure, intern drama, frustrations with church, and I just found out that MLL (who wasn't really my boyfriend in the first place because I have commitment issues) is dating other people. Bahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Woe is me!!!!!

Thinking about all these crappy things makes me want to put my head through a wall. Or punch someone. Or put someone else's head through a wall and then punch them in the butt.

It even makes me not want to go to the beaches "Dancin in the Street" festival this weekend, even though I've been looking forward to those street margaritas all year.

So, I have a choice.

I could focus on those things. I could let them drag me down. Or instead, I could think about the positive things that happened this year. There was working with my yearbook kids, being named Teacher of the Year, working with the amazing Neeley for Montreat, getting accepted to the Boston school (at least I know I'm talented, even if I'm broke!), the veto triumph of Senate Bill six, not having cancer, awesum blog followers, and various good times with friends.

So I chose the good things.

Plus margaritas.


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

dear job and life in general

I. hate. you. so. much. right. now.


Saturday, May 8, 2010

mama drama


This is difficult for me to say.

It's been a long time coming. I know it may not seem natural to some people. I know many will be confused.

There will be those who say, "You? Really? I never saw it!"

But yes.

The truth is ...

I am afraid of babies.

Being the youngest in my family meant I was never around babies. As I got older, I baby-sat, but only for kids who were potty-trained. I just don't know what to do with babies. As an English teacher, I'm all about helping my kids master language so they can be great communicators. But babies can't articulate. And that scares me.

When they cry, I want to cry. Why can't they talk yet? What do I say? Are they hungry? Are they wet? Should I burp this screaming baby? Is he mad at me? Just not that into me? Confused? Angered by the current political climate? Frustrated by the failing economy? WHAT IS WRONG?

People say it will be different when/if I have my own baby. All I know is, there are currently 21 people on my facebook who are either pregnant or had a baby in the last year. My best friend (who is also pregnant) says that these babies and pregnancies have nothing to do with me. She's right. But I can't help feeling like they are forming an army against me.

A tiny, pooping army.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

texting with my sister, yet again

Her: I have the worst cramps ever. I hate my freaking uterus. I don't even need it.

Me: Why not?

Her: I mean not right now. I'd like to put it on ice for a few years.

Me: Oh ok. Well, I'm gonna have MLL's baby when I'm thirty-five and then adopt another one. I will write best selling books and run a dog rescue.

Her: Well when I'm thirty-five I'm going to have Leonardo DiCaprio's baby and open a vintage clothing store. Each day I will open at eleven so I can sleep in. Ginger (her dog) will come to work with me every day and there will be a cappuccino machine. I will have a nanny to watch the baby while I shop estate sales for fabulous vintage items.

Me: Yeah, well when I'm thirty-six my book will be purchased by Showtime, made into a TV series and then a movie. With my millions, I buy a fabulous farm in Kentucky where "Just Pucking Perfect Pet Rescue" will save millions of lives and then be featured on the Today Show. Impressed by my journalistic raw talent, Matt Lauer will offer me a gig and I will replace Meredith. Forced to buy a penthouse in NYC, I will buy in the same building as Britney and become her BFF. Our connection will lead to my singing back-up to her new song "Let's Have Sex, Boy." My obvious talent will lead to my own record deal. I am now a platinum selling artist walking on stage to receive her Grammy, when Kanye West (who hasn't done anything in years) runs on stage to steal my award. Just then, my baby-daddy/nanny/part-time Latin Lover springs into action and shoots Kanye in the face. We are forced to flee the country and are offered protection by 50 cent. We flee to Italy. My new name is Francesca. I eat pasta every day for the rest of my life.

Her: You win. But I still get to have Leo's baby.


I was just thinking about your ovaries...

Not really. But that's what my sister's doctor said when they called her. Let the hilarious texting conversation ensue.


Monday, May 3, 2010

oh, ew

Warning - if you are grossed out by adolescent children, sex or adolescent children talking about sex, please don't read this post!

There are perks to looking young and working in a school. A lot of times, students don't notice a teacher is near. Today, I overheard this gem of a conversation in the cafeteria:

Kid 1: Dude, I totally felt her boobs up last night.

Kid 2: So awesome! Her boobs are freaking huge.

Kid 1: Yeah, and she let me finger her, too.

Kid 2: What?????? She's so hot, dude. You are lucky.

Kid 1: Hell yeah.

Kid 2: So what did it feel like?

Kid 1: What did what feel like?

Kid 2: When you fingered her!

Kid 1: Oh. (Pause) Um, kinda like peanut butter. Like I put my hand in a peanut butter sandwich or something.

Kid 2: (Eyes growing wide) Dude...where did you put your fingers?

Yes. Really.


Saturday, May 1, 2010

maybe she deserved it

Don't go feeling all sorry for my intern after that last "I'm a bitch" post of mine.

I remembered what it was that frustrated me so much about her. Remember this post about my internal struggle? The worst part was that even after she'd be told, by numerous people, not to do a certain thing anymore, she still did it. Remember that?

Well, deja vu. On her last day, I overheard her telling the students that they could contact her anytime they wanted by simply emailing her. You know, if they needed someone to talk to or help with homework. It was very sweet of her, but also, super naive. You should never communicate with students online! (As teachers, we have work email that we use occasionally to communicate with students about grades, but still, you always keep it professional.)

I pulled her aside between classes and warned against it. I told her the story of a teacher who worked at our school and was fired over online communicating with students. I told her I understood the connection you can feel with students, but that I strongly advised against giving them your personal email. I did everything short of smacking her upside the head and taping her mouth shut.

Right. So. On Friday the kids revealed that she gave all of them her email address. Some of them even have her phone number.

Like I said, don't feel too sorry for her anymore. Bitch or no bitch, I can't help someone who just refuses to learn.


Tuesday, April 27, 2010

a spade is a spade OR I am a big, big bitch

When I was a first-year teacher, there was a VP at our school who hated me. Hated me. Seriously - she had it out for me. She was always snippy with me. She chewed me out for things I couldn't control. She would greet everyone in the room except for me.

I used to feel like no matter what I did, it was never good enough. She didn't cut me any slack. She never let me live down a mistake. She came to evaluate me and came with guns blazing.

Think I'm crazy? Paranoid? Ha! She got drunk at our end-of-the-year party in my second year and told me, "I almost fired you last year. You were so disappointing. But now I think you're fabulous."

She then proceeded to order a round of vodka shots and left without paying. I got stuck with the bill. She = Bitch.

People told me it was because she was unhappy or that my principal really liked me. Or maybe she felt threatened? I doubt that. I know I screwed up on occasion. I know I made mistakes. I was 22. I was a brand new teacher. I was disgustingly insecure and inexcusably shy. Not to mention miserable about my life in general. Are you supposed to be another way at age 22? Probably. But I wasn't.

Lately, I feel like I've been a bitch to my intern.

Really, she's a sweet person. She tries so hard. She's going to make a really good teacher. But she let her personal life get in the way of her work. And I haven't let her forget how much that disappointed me.

Yesterday, when she was finishing up some paperwork to graduate and I was teaching, I felt disconnected from my kids and it was so sad. They kept asking when she was coming back. I'm not really a teacher who thrives on the love of her students, but seriously, it hurt my feelings! I guess I never learned to share.

I think my biggest issue is that she and I are the same age. Everyone at my work is shocked to hear me say that. You can see her insecurities from a mile away, and you just don't expect that from someone who is almost thirty. But she is still a student, still learning.

God, I'm the biggest bitch. I couldn't just let things slide with her. She's not a bad teacher. She's still learning and I'm supposed to be teaching. I just need to stick with teaching children. I have no patience for adults. Myself included.

But at least I pay for my own vodka.


on why one shouldn't get a spray tan

1. You will look orange.
2. You will feel orange.
3. You will smell orange.

Orange you glad I gave you a warning???

Monday, April 19, 2010

happy (late) anniversary, sum of awe

I forgot to wish myself a Happy Anniversary! If you want to read about how my blog started, you can start here.

Seems kind-of crazy that this all began three years ago as a project to blog my way out of debt. I'm almost out of credit card debt, getting closer every day! More importantly, I'm a happier, sassier version of myself. What do I have planned for the next year in awesumness? Kick ass and take names, of course.

Thanks for reading.


Sunday, April 18, 2010

texting with my sister. again.

Me: My favorite show, House Hunters, is being ruined by a rash of "young newlyweds looking to start a family." Fuck you, assholes!

Her: Stupid retards! Soon to be fighting over finances and household chores.

Me: Having to compromise everything from what you eat for dinner, to what you watch on TV, to where you live and room in the closet for your shoes!

Her: Wishing they were still single, cursing the day they tied the knot.

Me: Not having sex for weeks but having to sleep next to each other every night, silently wanting to punch them in the face!!

Her: Secretly wanting to murder the other for making you wash their skid-marked underwear.

Me: Losing your will to live because you had a kid with the village idiot.

Her: Masterminding your own suicide while plotting to have an affair asap just so you can go out with a bang.

Me: Selling your wedding dress on eBay to afford your Zanax!

Her: Secretly allowing the medical world to harvest all of your eggs and hiding the profit in a savings account to plot your escape from marital hell, while quietly elated that all your eggs will be gone when he asks if he can knock you up!

Me: Taking out a home equity line of credit so you can soundproof the walk-in closet to use your vibrator in peace, while secretly denying him sex every day just to watch him suffer. Eventually he has no choice but to hire a prostitute; luckily the carpenter who soundproofed your closet is also a private investigator on the side. He snaps plenty of incriminating pictures which you present as "exhibit a" in divorce court and get a huge settlement which you use to buy an island in the Bahamas.

Her: Glorious!

Then, twenty minutes later...

Me: Dammit. I still want a husband one day.

Her: Me, too. Son of a bitch!


Wednesday, April 14, 2010


Well, I went for my follow-up appointment at the Breast Pavilion. Seriously - that's the name of the building! No, there is not a 'Penis Pagoda' next door. Yes, I asked.

They gave me another mammy on just the left boob. Then they made me wait. She then took me to a back room where they performed an ultrasound. That nurse was very talkative and told me stories about inverted nipples and cauliflower breasts! And you thought pancakes was a bad image!

Throughout the ultrasound, I was silently freaking out. Who will drive me to chemo? What will my insurance cover? Do I have short-term disability at work? Where did I put my life insurance information? What is heaven like? Does God have a beard? If so, is it as long and glorious as I imagined?

Finally the radiologist appeared. He congratulated me on my "perfectly healthy breasts". He pointed out a small area of concern that he has determined, with the ultrasound, is just caused by the density of my boobs. "You are lucky," he said. "They won't sag as soon as others." Then he said it was nice to see someone as young as me being so proactive, especially knowing considering my family history.

I then asked him for a lollipop.

Apparently, radiologists do not give out lollipops. Even when your boobs are cancer-free.


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

pancake breakfast

Did I tell you I got a mammogram?

Well, I did.

I was sitting (if that's what you call it) in the gyno's office when she began lecturing me about getting my first mammogram. Most women don't need them until they are in their forties. I, on the other hand, am blessed with a family history of breast cancer. Therefore, I get to begin the pleasure of boob squishing at a much earlier age than most.

I've been putting it off for a few years. The reason for this is stupid. It stems from something I once overheard about mammograms. I have a vivid memory of my aunt saying, "Mammogram? More like a pancake cook-off!"

Seriously, that image of my boob being flattened to a pancake stuck with me. Ow. And cook-off? Does it burn? Eek! Even though my own mother died from breast cancer, I kept letting the image of that damn pancake guide me.

Well, the gyno wasn't having any of that. "Listen," she said, "Do you want me to sit in here while you call and make the appointment? Because I'll do it if that's what it takes."

Geez! I thought gynos were supposed to lecture you about STDs and contraception, not irrational fears stemming from breakfast foods. "Fine, fine," I replied. "I'll go. I'll have my pancake and eat it, too."

So, I went. It wasn't that bad. Basically, you have to take off your shirt in front of a nurse. She looks at boobs all day, so it's no big deal. She puts your boob up on a shelf and then you have to lean in while a piece of plastic is lowered, lowered, lowered onto your boob, squishing it against the table. It really doesn't hurt. It's just uncomfortable.

In all honesty, the worst part is that I wasn't allowed to wear deodorant. Not only do I live in Florida, but I'm part Italian. I don't sweat, I ssswwweeeaaattt. I stashed deodorant in the car to use when I left, but it had partially melted in the thirty minutes it took to get the mammy. So I drove home with soupy, freshly-scented pits.

Well, I thought no deodorant was the worst.

I really wasn't prepared for when they called me today, asking me to come back in for more testing. The radiologist saw something concerning on my film and they want to "investigate" further.

Pancakes, I can handle. But this?

Monday, April 12, 2010

faithful followers

Today I saw that - oh geez - the sum of awe has 95 followers! I must admit, that's kind-of freaky. No offense, but I probably only know 5 of you. Yet you're reading about my shitty home appraisal and naked teenage exploits. Grrrreat.

While it's admittably freaky, it's also nice to read your comments. (Unless you're the asshole who wrote "This blog sucks." You can die.) But for the rest of you, I'm curious - how did 95 people find my blog? And what made them want to follow?

So, if you're a follower, please leave me a comment and tell me how you found the awesumness that is my blog and what keeps you coming back for more. I'd say this is for research purposes, but in all honestly, I'm kind-of an attention whore.


Wednesday, April 7, 2010

wg's dating tips for dudes

Hello, boys.

Here are some things you should do on a first date:
1. Show up on time.
2. Make a decision.
3. Turn off your phone.
4. Walk the girl to her car, even if she parked next to you.

Here are some things you should not do on a first date:
1. Say you are picky about people's looks, particularly if you are not exactly the twin brother of Brad Pitt.
2. Stare at your date's boobs.
3. Say you need to get home early, then make a phone call within ear shot saying, "Yeah, I'm on my way to meet you guys right now."
4. Ask, "Hey, can you chip in for this tab?"

Most of all, you should probably lose my number.

Monday, April 5, 2010


While back in hometown this weekend, I ran into an old friend from high school. I am officially at the age where phrases such as "old friend from high school" are a fitting description. Ugh. Regardless, seeing him was a riot. I think it's pretty hilarious how people remember the same things, yet, we remember them differently. For example:

Me: The first time I ever got drunk was at your house.

Him: Yeah, it was awesome. You were always the good one, always the DD, always taking care of us. Then you started begging me for a drink.

Me: Um, no. You guys picked on me so much that I took one giant schwig of Goldschlager just to shut you up.

Him: Yeah, seeing you drunk was pretty hilarious. But then you just disappeared without saying goodbye.

Me: Um, no. You idiots let me drive home and it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.

: Oops.

Fast forward to twenty minutes later in the conversation.

Him: I'm going to have to tell my girlfriend I ran into you. I hope she doesn't get mad.

Me: Why would she get mad? Is she a super jealous person?

Him: No, but considering our past, I should probably tell her.

Me: What past? So we made out once. That was, like, a hundred years ago!

Him: We did more than make out.

Me: No, we didn't.

Him: Yeah, we did.

Me: No. We. Didn't.

Him: Linds, I've seen you naked.

Me: Big deal. I mooned everyone in high school. I had an issue with boundaries.

Him: No, more than that. Don't you remember?

Me: You are making this up. We never slept together.

Him: But we almost did. Don't you remember? Jenni's grandparents' house? The party in the summer?

Me: I remember the party but I don't remember getting naked with you.

Him: We going at it in her grandparents' room. Then I asked you if you really wanted to go through with it. You laughed and told me you were not going to sleep with me in the first place. And I said, "Well, why'd you let me take off all your clothes?" and you rolled your eyes and said, "Oh, my god." Then you saw a big crucifix hanging on the wall and said, "Oh, my GOD!" and ran out.

Me: (Silence.)

Him: So. Do you remember now?

Me: Um, yeah. I had kind-of blocked that out.

Him: So, what do you have to say for yourself?

Me: Oops.


Friday, April 2, 2010


So, as revealed in recent post, I went somewhat crazy on I figured if my house wasn't going to appraise at a decent value, I might as well whore myself out on (And by whore myself out I mean give my phone number to a lot of people. Don't get all judgmental on me.)

Here are the results:

Best Buy Guy:
Eh, kinda boring. No real sparks there. All we did was text and it was just yawn, yawn, yawn. While I was disappointed to lose my connection to a possible discount on electronics, I wasn't sad to delete his messages.

Bold Approach Dude:
I saw this particular person wrote "I don't date blondes" on his profile. Um, ftw? So I wrote him and said, "As Barack Obama said, it's time for a change!" He did call me, but it was the night before he wanted to do something. He also called from a bar where he was out with his friends and said, "I have to admit, it helped when you added the additional pictures to your profile. After that, I wanted to call you." Again, ftw dude? I took that as an insult and blew him off. I know men are visual but give me a break. Well, he's been pretty persistent since then. I feel like this guy has "bad boy" written all over him. Uh-oh. Don't worry. We're supposed to hang out next Tuesday.

Med School Man:
Upside - makes really hysterical jokes about fish tacos and his rounds in gynecology. Downside - lives in Gainesville and is going to start fourth year of med school this summer. Won't be back in Jax until the first of May. But I do love fish tacos...

The Younger Man:
Well, he's two years younger than me, but it counts. I met him for drinks, but he had a friend with him so it was hard to tell if there was any connection. Meh, next please.

Baggage Boy:
He has a daughter, but surprisingly, that didn't really bother me. I guess my surplus of middle schoolers bothered him, because I haven't heard from him in over a week. It probably didn't help that he sent me a text message right after I had the home-loan debacle and when asked, "How's it going?" I replied, "My life sucks." Oops.

So, when you add up all these suitors and multiply the fact that MLL has been around a lot lately, you get MANDEMONIUM!


Thursday, March 25, 2010

i am fucked

So, my house came back at a $45k appraisal. Good thing I paid $125k.

My mortgage lender told me I'm screwed. Not only did I have to pay $300 to have my refinancing application denied, but now I have to pay $390 for the appraisal that caused the denial. I didn't know that, I thought it was included in the $300 application fee. So now I have to pay $690 just to get screwed. (I don't even have the energy to make a joke about hookers.)

My dreams are screwed, too. I can't move to Boston. Without a lower monthly payment, I can't find a renter. Even if I got a renter for the rates in my neighborhood, I'll still be paying $450+ toward my property in Florida.

I think I might need to look at the summer school in Vermont. I won't get to move. At least not to Boston. At least not now.

Hey - guess what else? Today in my state they passed a bill that says my salary will now be dependent on FCAT scores.

Wow. I feel so loved.

I guess this is punishment for being a highly-qualified public school teacher who pays all her bills on time.


Sunday, March 21, 2010

i got a feeling

when you're at the bar,
out on the dance floor
music pounding
body sweating
and the dj plays your favorite song,
(like miley predicted)
you throw your hands up
twist your hips
in a somewhat perverted fashion,
tilt your head back
belt out the words
and feel insanely free.
In a corner of your brain
you think
I always want to be this young,
(dancing, singing)
twirling around the dance floor
with my friends
in these heels
and this random boy.
Until the lights come on
and you see someone hurling in the corner
or being arrested outside
so in the same corner of your brain
you think
I am getting way too old for this shit.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

me? ballsy?

Yesterday, I asked my intern to stay for a chat. I was happy and proud that she immediately spoke up about her behavior. She said she knew she'd made mistakes and not bounced back; she felt like it affected our relationship. Then she apologized. I was impressed, because I know that was difficult for her.

But I told her the truth.

I told her I was disappointed. I said I was shocked that she didn't even attempt to come in after being reprimanded by her university supervisor. I told her that if someone called me for a recommendation, I wouldn't be able to give one because she was so unreliable.

I didn't sugarcoat. I made sure I told her everything I wanted. I wasn't mean, I was fair. I told her she was a good teacher who needed to stop making excuses and get her act together.

I'm oddly proud of myself. In the past, that would not have been me. I probably would've just told her not to worry about it and keep letting things slide. Lately, I find myself being quite ballsy.

Fueled by my new found confidence, I signed up for's three day trial and winked at every semi-attractive guy who used correct spelling and punctuation in his profile. We'll see what comes from that!


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

intern(al) struggle

So, I have an intern.

First, it was awkward because she watched me all the time. Her eyes just trailed me around the room. Taking notes. Freaking me out.

Then, it was annoying because she repeated everything I said during the lesson when it was her turn to teach. Verbatim. Including tone and inflection. Geez.

Next, it was actually kind-of neat to help her get better at things like classroom management and instructional methods. So that was cool.

Later, it became frustrating because she was frequently late, sent text messages to claim she was sick, and didn't turn in lesson plans. Super inconvenient. Unprofessional much?

So then, it went back to being awkward because I had to explain all of this during her midterm evaluation. This is why I took a job where the only people I boss around are seventh graders. Trying to explain faults to a person my age who should know better? Barf.

Recently, it became ridiculous when she let the kids watch a PG-13 movie while I was out of town, got caught by the vice principal, and was reprimanded by my principal and her supervisor. The result? She cried. Swore up and down she wouldn't be late or out sick or thoughtless ever again.

Good thing she was late on Monday and out sick on Tuesday.

What's the word for "I'm so over this shit?"


Friday, March 12, 2010

good deed goes noticed

found this on my desk today:

Dear Ms. L-Decker,

You don't know how much it meant to me when you easily tried to help me when I had the "phone incident" with Alyssa on Thursday. I am usually a very independent person and tend to do things by myself and when I rarely need the help, nobody really helps me. I cannot thank you enough for trying to get my phone back because my lack of power made me seem so hopeless and weak. I know it seems weird to make such a big deal about this, but I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate what you did. Thanks!

Your student,
Emma :)

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

for neeley

I don't have a lot of memories of my mom. She died when I was ten, so most of my memories are from age five until I started 4th grade, which was when she went into the hospital for the last time.

But, I do have this memory.

One Sunday, we were sitting in the balcony. I wasn't paying attention. I usually engrossed myself in the puzzle of the Children's Bulletin or tried really hard not to suck my thumb. My mom told me church was the one place I wasn't allowed to suck my thumb.

And when my mother told you to do something, you did it.

I remember I was sitting next to her, which was either a treat or a punishment. I always wanted her attention; being the littlest sister didn't always guarantee me the attention of my parents like other families. I just liked to sit next to them because I really hated sitting by strangers. Next to one of my parents, I was safe. Being safe is a big deal when you're not allowed to suck your thumb.

So there we sat, two L-decker ladies during Sunday morning worship. Mommy had the bulletin out and was circling scripture and hymns. She circled one hymn, #525, and put a big star next to it. I don't remember if I asked her what she was doing, but I remember that number. 525. Printed in black on the cream-colored paper. Circled in pencil. Her mental note, her mark to remember.

When she died a few months later, I became even more withdrawn. People in my family thought I understood that she was dying, but I didn't. I thought she was just really sick, going to come home eventually. She always got sick and got better. She was my mom, after all. Moms don't die.

But my mom died. I was very angry and very sad and very alone. My house was bustling with family members, but I didn't want to talk to them. I didn't want to talk to anyone unless it was to tell me that this was a bad dream, and she was coming home any minute. Then my pastor came over to make the funeral plans, and I just sat there, trying not to suck my thumb in front of him.

He asked me and my sisters if there was anything we especially wanted at her funeral. In that moment, I knew.

"Yes," I told him, surprisingly confident. "She would've wanted us to sing 'Here I Am, Lord'. Number 525."

"A beautiful song," Dr. Ray responded. "Let me write it down. We can look it up in the hymnal. I think it might be 472 or 475."

"No," I asserted. "I know it's 525. She would've wanted that song."

"Ok. We'll sing it."

And we did. And every time I hear it, I think about her, and how she must be doing wonderful things for God now that she is with Him. The thought of that makes me so happy.

You know, lately, I've been feeling so separated from God. I feel like there is a void where there once was an unbreakable bond. But reading Neeley's blog reminded me I have to be here for God, to hear Him calling in the night. And go where He leads me, and hold His people in my heart. It's not because He left me, but because I forgot to listen.

Thanks for writing that blog, my co-directing BFF! I hope I didn't overwhelm you with this sob story of mine, I just wanted to write about it somehow.

Love wg

Saturday, March 6, 2010

like rory

I first learned about pro/con lists from The Baby-Sitter's Club books. Being a very thorough-decision maker, I use them all the time. Incidentally, so does Rory Gilmore. I love smart girls.

Ergo, your much anticipated Boston Pro/Con List:

+ Awesum education opportunity
+ Chance to study writing
+ Opportunity to move out of FL
+ Being around liberals
+ Would leave with dual graduate degree
+ They offered me a (small) merit scholarships
+ Chance to accomplish only real dream I've ever had - publishing my own book!

- Would leave with astronomical amount of student loan debt
- Currently they are not hiring substitute teachers, i.e. no means of income
- Can I rent for what I owe in mortgage payments?
- Am I ready to leave my friends and FMS Family?
- What about Zoey? She can't live in student housing, which is my most affordable option.
- When I graduate, it won't be into a very lucrative career (teaching and/or writing) meaning the student loan debt weighs even heavier, and I really hate debt.

You know what? I think the pros outweigh the cons. The pros are more emotional and the cons are more practical. I am generally a practical person, which means that if I actually go, this is a big step for me. To do something that knowingly will be difficult and uncomfortable and perhaps not 100% financially responsible is NOT a Lindsay move.

But...I just want to write.

I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure I'm going. Even if that means I have to defer my acceptance for one year in order to figure out how to make it happen, I'm going.

Did you hear me? I'm going.


Tuesday, March 2, 2010

the first step is admitting you have a problem

Yesterday at work, people were talking about giving up facebook for Lent. I found that odd. How does that really show your devotion to anything but the internet? Does God seriously care about your social networking willpower skills? I also thought: I hope not because there's no way I'm quitting. Sorry God.

Then, early this morning, I was awakened with a terrible thought. "Crap. What if I'm one of those obnoxious people who comments on everyone's facebook and blog? Is that ME?"

Truth be told: Yes. That's me.

I can't help it. I just love all of you. I like to read your blog and share my thoughts. I like to see your status updates and comment on your pictures. Your lives make me happy. Your posts makes me think. Your pictures make me smile. I hope you don't think I'm stalking you. I'm just a girl who spends her nights with a cat and friends from cable tv.

Stalker? Spinster? Whatever. Call me what you want. Just be glad I'm not tweeting.


Sunday, February 28, 2010


I miss my friend.

You used to always be there. Back in high school, we used to hang out at least twice a week. No matter the craziness, You were always in my corner. You inspired me to always look for ways to give back to others. My love for You was palpable. People knew about us, they talked about us, but You never left.

Throughout college, our relationship grew. You introduced me to that guy - remember him? The one we both thought was "The One"? Remember how he turned his back on both of us? I wanted to be angry with you for all of that, but I just couldn't blame You. You were more than my best friend and living without You seemed impossible.

After that time, I rediscovered our special place in the mountains. Such amazing joy. Such amazing friends. You showed me I had another purpose as an adult outside of my career and I worked tirelessly to make You proud. To live out loud.

Recently, I went back to that special place. But I couldn't feel You. I didn't see You. I don't even know how hard I looked. Where did You go? Why didn't I notice when You left?

Even if life isn't difficult, You're still supposed to be here. This relationship wasn't supposed to be one that only works in the darkest of times. Is it because I didn't ask for You? Did You leave when I began to feel stronger, smarter, and safer on my own?

We used to be so close. Where did our good go?


Wednesday, February 24, 2010

the big envelope

Today, I walked to the mailbox. I opened it up and there it sat. The Big Envelope. And you know what a big envelope means.


I have a lot of thinking to do.


Friday, February 19, 2010

two of a kind

The following was a conversation between me and my sister while cruising for guys on eharmony:

Her: This guy's last name is Dillworth. I can't imagine my new last name being Dillworth.

Me: Yeah, pass. Who's next?

Her: Am I attracted to Asians?

Me: I don't know, are you? How do you feel about Jackie Chan?

Her: Next. Ugh, 39? Where are all the guys my age?

Me: Hey, beggers can't be choosers. You better hit that shit.

Her: I can do better. Wait - this guy's name is Jordan. I don't know how I feel about guys named Jordan.

Me: Um, so Dillworth made sense but Jordan? You won't date someone named Jordan?

Her: Well, he's also a Red Sox fan so it'll never work. It says here his passion is the World Champion Red Sox. Doesn't he know the Yankees won the Super Bowl?

Me: Yes, sports matching is obviously a priority for you. Who's next.

Her: Someone named Kelvin. Do I have to call him Kelvin?

Me: You are so dying alone.


Sunday, February 14, 2010

only the good

Today (Valentine's) is Puck's birthday. Today, he would've been fifteen. I used to give him lots of cookies and his favorite treat - a big bowl of cat food - accompanied by a birthday belly rub. I never felt sad or lonely on this insipid holiday. I'd always declare Puckers as my Valentine - boyfriend or no boyfriend - because he really was the great love in my life.

Funny. I haven't cried as much as I thought I might since he died. I think depression-era Lindsay would've done nothing but sob relentlessly for weeks. I used to not want to move on from a loss because I believed (irrationally) that I was somehow saying that person wasn't significant. As if, by moving forward, I was declaring I no longer loved those I lost. I lived in that sadness. I lived for that sadness. Sad was the life I knew - the only space I could exist.

Dealing with my depression is an on-going struggle. Today - at this time in my life - I am happier than ever. I can look back at who I was and not want to be her anymore. And that's okay - it's okay to not want to be your old self. My old self breathed pure insecurity and went through every day trying to choke back tears. Old self didn't want to get out of bed, talk to people, or even really live. Yeah, not me anymore. Not for awhile.

Puck hated to hear me cry. It was the only time he would leave my side. Poor guy - depression or no depression I'm a pretty teary person! So, maybe that's why God let him stay with me for so long. I bet Puck waited until he knew I'd be okay. He wouldn't want to watch me sit and cry from Heaven.

Today, pour out a little cat food for my Valentine baby. He lives in my heart, always.


Friday, February 12, 2010

make it stop

I don't get this trend:

Men of 2010 - Now hear this:

If it's not cool for me to shave racing stripes up my legs than it's not cool for you to shave a chinstrap on your face.

For real.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

target therapy

Target now prints out coupons at the cash register. It kind-of freaks me out how well the Target computer system knows me.

Coupons for the brand of cat food Zoey loves? Great. Coupons for $5 off a new pair of shoes? Fabulous. Coupons for those feminine products right on time? Ok, now that's just weird.

However, bizarre as it may sound, I have accepted the fact that Target is my new therapist.


This week I stopped into Target. While paying, the register popped out a coupon for Cottonelle Moistened Toilet Wipes. My heart dropped. A silly boy I haven't thought about in quite some time used those butt wipes. He loved them. Wouldn't poop without them. He traveled with them. Do you know any other boy who travels with butt wipes?

Sigh. Memories flooded back. I grabbed the coupon and receipt, jumped into my car, and sat staring at the stupid coupon. Stupid memories. Was this a sign? Should I call him? Why couldn't it work? Stupid butt wipes.

Then it hit me.

Butt wipes.

Butt wipes?

I was getting upset over butt wipes?

He was a butt wipe. This was a crock of shit. I was through letting someone crap all over me and ruin my day.

Screw you, butt wipe.

And thank you, Target.


Tuesday, February 2, 2010

sign, seal, deliver...

Grad school app has been submitted and the portfolio is in the mail. Finally! I should know sometime by the end of the month. In case you were wondering, I applied here to a dual degree master's in children's literature / master of fine arts in writing for children program. It's the one program I found that really excited me about going back to school, so, fingers crossed!

Monday, February 1, 2010

working girl says WHAT?

So, a big THANK YOU to those of you who follow my blog and having interesting or polite things to say. I don't know some of you and to be honest- that kind-of freaks me out. But, I guess you like what I write, or how I write, so thanks for being here.

And, a big SUCK IT to the unidentified person who wrote "this blog sucks" in the comments. That's just mean.


Sunday, January 31, 2010

texting with my sister

Her: Wish I had someone to do something with tonight.

Me: I know. I love being single but after last night, I'd go for a boyfriend myself.

Her: Boyfriend? What's a boyfriend.

Me: Supposedly, they are mythical creatures who select one woman and spend time with just her. They have a magical horn called a 'penis'.

Her: A 'penis' you say??? Never heard of it...

Me: They come in all shapes and sizes. That's where the boyfriends keep their brains.

Her: Hmm, sounds like a fascinating yet somewhat daft species.

Me: An endangered species at that. Perhaps you should study them when you get into Harvard.

Her: Indeed.

:) wg

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

an awesum definiton

Recently, two of my favorite blogs changed their titles. I still save them in my bookmarks with the original names, but I like watching over the years as the titles and blogs reinvent themselves with the changing lives of my friends.

Not me, though. What started as "The Sum of Awe" will stay that way. You might wonder what it means, or how I got the idea. You may not care, but I will tell you anyway.

Not shockingly, I was inspired by something I saw at Montreat. What I interpreted as a simple spelling mistake on a powerpoint slide (awesum as opposed to awesome) turned into my simple goal in life.

Steve, the master behind our AV crew at the conference and without whom the conference could operate, explained that he spelled the word wrong on purpose.

"Something is awesome because it is made up of all things awe-ful. Full of awe. To be in awe is great. The sum of awe - all that awe together - is even better."

And that's why I'm constantly searching for awesum moments. Surges of "I can't believe this" coupled with "this is so amazing". Orgasmic life moments, minus random men and/or batteries.

So thanks for keeping up with me, as I tell you about my days - good, bad and awesum. The sum of awe may find me at moments few and far between, but each one is always worth it.


Monday, January 25, 2010

for the record...

I love my sisters, hate cancer, appreciate veterans, believe in Jesus, wear mostly pink bras, want world peace, and pretty much life a wonderful life. I thought you might want to know, since I am not going to be reposting that information as a facebook status.

why my job rules

My job is awesum because I work with amazing kids who raised $1000 for Haiti in two days, but mostly, my job is awesum because of the extreme awkwardness I encounter on a daily basis.


Me: Why are you making this hard?
8th grade boy: Huh?
Me: This project. You know, this thing we've been working on? You're making it too hard.
8th grade boy: Too hard?
Me: Yes. Your project is getting too hard. Hard?! I mean, difficult! This whole thing is too difficult!!
8th grade boy: That's what she said.

Good awesum grief.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

a very happy ending to a very crappy week

This week feels as if it's taken forever. Puck's death has left me pretty devastated. This crazy blitz of emotion - heartbreak, guilt, relief, emptiness - makes me feel like a soup sandwich.

I wanted to return to work mainly for the distractions. It was my plan to just go through the motions. My only goal was making it to the weekend without crying in front of my kids. This is not typical of me. I always try to give my best at work. But all I wanted to do was get through the week. Just teach, go home, sleep, repeat.

Guess again.

Within minutes of walking into my classroom, I received a phone call to let me know that - yay - I'd been selected for a teacher of the year observation and - boo - they were coming tomorrow. Tomrrow, as in, the next day. Tomorrow, as in, less than forty-eight hours after this personal tragedy of mine. Grrrreeeaaaatttt.

Luckily, my amazing intern stayed late to help me prepare. The observation group came to watch, it felt strange, then they left and I got an email saying I didn't make it to the next round.

Admittedly, I was disappointed. I really wanted to impress my principal and make my colleagues feel validated for voting me as their Teacher of the Year. It reminded me of when I was young and my teachers kept testing me for the Gifted Program. Three times, they tested me. I'd always score just a few points under the IQ requirement. I was smart, but not smart enough. The absence of that enough haunted me for years. And here it was, trying to creep back into my career.

Well, maybe not.

As you may or may not know, I'm applying to a graduate school to get my MFA in writing. In order to complete my application, I had to contact my old professors for letters of recommendation. One of the letters had this to say:

Lindsay's strengths lie chiefly in her intelligence, which is considerable, her insight into human nature, which is even greater, and finally, in her writing, which ranks in the top 1% of students I've taught in a career spanning over a quarter of a century. She is easily one of the most talented, conscientious, and intelligent students I've had the pleasure to teach - and her sensibility is as sensitive and inquisitive as it is adventuresome. I cannot recommend anyone more highly for any program.

Ha. I guess to some people, I am smart enough.


Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Dear Friends,

It is with a heavy heart that I tell you my beloved Puck left this world yesterday. He was just shy of fifteen years old.

Puck was my reward from my dad for making straight A's in 7th grade. That was the last time I ever got an A in math, but Puck was worth the work. To know Puck was to love him. He barked a lot. He smelled. He peed on people's feet. Wonderdog he wasn't, but he was special to me.

Puck was a loyal companion and the greatest love of my life. He protected me and made me feel safe. He loved belly rubs and cat food. And I will miss him terribly.

Thank you for being a part of his life.

With love,

Sunday, January 17, 2010


We went to the vet. I was hoping for more time. He's getting worse.

I'm so conflicted - I want to just carry him around in my arms until he just passes away on his own. I would do anything for him. I know that's selfish. It's no way for him to live, not being able to walk.

Puck will let me know when the time is right. I just love him so, so, so much.


Wednesday, January 6, 2010

new obsession

Love eating? Me, too. Love writing? Me, too.

Did you know that you can do both? - so awesum

My sister has used Yelp on our past two vacation (Boston and Jensen Island) to find great restaurants and activities. After the infamous Three Dessert Birthday Dinner in Boston, I became a rookie yelper. I'm now addicted!

I figure this addiction is better than, say, my Jersey Shore obsession?

:) wg

Friday, January 1, 2010

my puckers...

is sick.

He can barely walk. He still has a good appetite; he still begs for cookies. After fourteen years, the stubborn old man would still do almost anything for cookies.

He just can't walk. It's breaking my heart. My whole heart.

:( wg