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.