Texts on a Train

En route to Providence yesterday, S and I exchanged this correspondence:

A: I'm due in at 11:10.

S: Awesome.

A: I was thinking about it last night. I rated the outfit I packed for dinner on a scale from casual to fancy not on a fancy scale...

S: I don't know what you mean. But it doesn't really matter now! With this weather, I'll probably just stay in what I'm wearing anyway.

A: OK.
Like. On my rating of 5, 1 was jeans and a tshirt and 10 was cocktail attire.

S: I think a 1 on the fancy scale would be super casual, right?

A: As opposed to 1 being a denim skirt and a tank and 10 being a ball gown.
Hahahahahaha. I crack myself up.

S: Hahahahahahaha
This is hilarious. Yeah my 1 was like a dirty skirt with a hole in it. And my 10 was a ball gown.

A: See? Our scales are askew.
I packed a simple black skirt and a detailed tank.

S: I brought a simple shirt and a detailed skirt! We're made for each other.

A: Exactly
On the train! And there is a man on it making hacking sounds unlike anything I've ever heard.

S: Eeeeew. Public transportation is the worst.

A: It sounds like he's dying.

S: Just saw a guy eat his booger.

A: OMG. Horrible.

S: Just drove by a big pink building. Cheaters Gentleman's Club.

A: Classy. We should check it out, find me a date.

Overheard at Work, LXXVII, and other things

It's been SO LONG!

I turned 30 in a grand two-day long fete, including a massage, cocktails, dinner, tarot card reading, and brunch.

Work was closed to kids the week after my birthday while we prepared for summer programming.

Then we had a three-day week, followed by a four-day weekend.

And I've just survived my first full week of summer programming. It's been a big adjustment, waking up 4 days a week at 6:45 AM, being in direct service most of the afternoons, supervising our weekly Friday events...

I'm headed to Providence for the weekend tomorrow and I hope it feels a little like a mini-vacation!

16-year-old, singing "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls: I wanna...I wanna...I wanna...I want you to shut up so I can go to sleep!

Colleague A: As I get older, I feel like I'm losing my touch with children.
Colleague B: I feel like I'm losing my touch with adults!

Me, to teen running in the hall: Why are you running?
Teen's friend: Why AREN'T you running?

9-year-old girl, commenting on a photo I took of the group making an R with their bodies: That looks like a couple of thongs.

Me, to a 16-year-old boy: Have fun!
Teen: Don't tell me what to do!

12-year-old girl, to my coworker: I want to know what your future husband looks like. Is he tall? Broad? Good stamina?

She had lots of other questions this week, including, "What's a diphthong?" and this exchange:
Her: I have a question. I don't know if it's appropriate.
Me: OK...
Her: What's a cougar?
Me: ...Why do you ask?
Her: I was watching this talk show and there were like 55-year-old women and 21-year-old men.
Me: And what does that mean?
Her: They were dating?
Me: Uh huh.
Her: So, which one's the cougar?
Me: The woman.

Just another day on the job!

Overheard at Work, vol. LXXVI

I thought I wasn't going to be posting this week because I figured it would be just as busy as the last few were. Turns out, after the special event we had on Wednesday, during which my kids performed our masterpiece Celebrity Fear Factor to rapt audiences, things calmed down quite a bit. I even managed to get a TON of administrative work done. Just in time for our after-school program to end and our summer program to begin.

Damn, this year went quickly.

Volunteer to a 12-year-old girl, as they walked down the hall: Why are you so good at soccer?
Girl: I'm Brazilian, that's why.

8-year-old girl, a propos of nothing much: It's cool to be outside.

Colleague A, to 9-year-old boy: Where are you going?
Boy: Up your butt.

17-year-old boy: The best movie in the world is Space Jam.

11-year-old girl: M&Ms are like...my husband.

11-year-old girl, recalling the poem she wrote about me: Annie loves creativity, hates when you touch things that aren't yours, is my best friend.

June is Kicking My Ass

I apologize profusely for my blog silence!

It has been an insanely busy couple of weeks at work, so I've barely even collected quotes.

I turn 30 in 8 days.

My brain is scattered, but at least it looks cute with my new haircut.

These last three weeks, I've collected exactly three quotes:

"Take him down the eleskator!"--me, with my jumbled brain, conflating "elevator" and "escalator."

Me, to a kid pretending to be me: What do I usually say when kids come in?
Kid A: Hi!
Kid B: Get out!
(They're both right.)

11-year-old girl: How do you fix a broken vegetable?...Tomato paste!

See you after my birthday!

My 20s in Sentence Fragments

This post was inspired by this.

I turn 30 four weeks from today.

***

Drag queens. London. Busted lip and tits out. Acting in a garden. Grateful. Berkeley. Apartment 8. Making out all night. Walk of shame. Fiona Apple and scraping paint. Flappers to Rappers. Call the cops. Climb up my balcony. Shots shots shots shotsshotsshots. Cacophony. Splattered walls. Best friends. Going to class hungover. He told me he was sad and I was the only person who would understand. Falling in love with the wrong person. Writing songs. Running away. Smoking weed and listening to Jeff Buckley. Food poisoning stoned. I need him. Breaking down over the sink because I felt ugly. Hooking up with a freshman. Making art and graduating. 

New York City. Is this still home? Sublet in Brooklyn. Unemployment saga #1. Soliciting for the North Shore Animal League for two weeks. Iced coffee with half and half and sugar. 12 hour days on my feet outside in August. Quitting. 23 interviews in 4 months. Chinese food for lunch and dinner. Living on Luna bars. Dripping sweat under a skylight. Watching Starting Over with Iyanla Vanzant and Garden State. Bleeding out money. Storms, dripping ceiling, fly infestation. Soho loft. Commuting on the F train. East 66^th Street and York Avenue. Filing for hours and ordering pizza for office lunches. Reading blogs. Mom leaving 2^nd  husband. Sobbing on a train platform. Frequenting Off the Wagon near NYU specifically to make out with boys in corners. None called. Smoking cigarettes on lunch breaks and my commute. Convinced I needed to go to a mental institution. First and only black out on New Year's Eve. 

Apartment in Park Slope. Bar up the street. Within walking distance of childhood home but feeling a world away. Starting a blog. Heavy heart. Self-hate. Feeling lost and alone. Writing to soothe. Crying on the train home from a bar. Deciding to leave New York. There is nothing for me here. Grad school? Revelation of future. Volunteering with kids, and I can breathe. Quitting my job. Moving across the country. Again.

San Luis Obispo. No money. Living with mom. White wine and American Idol. Three productions in eight months. Fast and furious connections. Becoming a gym rat. Feeling hot. Grad school! Boston! Is this home? Apartment down the street from my cousin. Who are your people? Why are you here? What is your work? Joining Facebook. Breakdowns in class; I don't know if I can do this. Debilitating anxiety. Talks about race and age and sex. Letting go. Teaching at camp, which fulfills a decade-long dream. Teachers drink. Student teachers drink more. Writing a play. Revealing a wish to be myself. Crying in despair and grief over chicken nuggets. Champagne and cookies to console me. Graduation and tattoos. Another summer at camp. The room changes when I am in it.

Unemployment saga #2. Hours-long interviews. Commiserating at McDonald’s. Chin hairs and lactose intolerance. Elle is born. Defending my work experience. Feeling proud but frustrated. Writing a novel. Fighting for a dream job and getting it. Online dating. Falling for an alcoholic. Redhead. Gaining confidence in my work. Getting a smartphone. Heartbreak and heart full of kids. Discovering and gaining pride in my body.  Hooking up with a cheater. And then another one. Living with an alcoholic. Kicking both alcoholics out of my life. Brunette. Trampolining. Yoga. Excelling in my work. Finding my voice. Always learning. Feet on the ground and head up. Moving forward steadily. 

Overheard at Work, vol. LXXV

This was the first week in over a month where I felt like I could breathe for part of it. I got a lot done but also spent a lot of time with the kiddoes.

Even though it's currently under 60 degrees out and raining, we are beginning to plan summer in earnest. Too weird that it is almost June.

Also, I was chosen to chaperone a trip to Disney World with seven teens at the end of August.

NO BIG DEAL!

11-year-old girl: What's kudos? Is that a kind of booger?

8-year-old boy: I can't use the phone. It keeps making distraction noises!

10-year-old boy: LOOK, ANNIE! *sniffs* I'm sick!

Me: What are you doing?
16-year-old boy: Standing on a chair. Acting like George Bush.

14-year-old girl, to 12-year-old friend: You know what ROD stands for?
12-year-old girl: Ride or Die.
14-year-old girl: You know what SOS means?
(silence)

16-year-old boy, to his friend, who was complaining about not getting chosen to go to Florida: You need some bricks to build a bridge and get over it.

Colleage, about me: She will find what ever problem is happening in my brain with her eyes.

Overheard at Work, vol. LXXIV

All I want after this week is to run away for a weekend, hide in a hotel in a town I've never been, turn my phone off, and have quiet time.

I didn't expect it to be such a breakneck-speed week AT ALL, and that's the hardest kind of week to get through. The unexpectedly busy one.

It was a week of long meetings, frantic phone calls, catching up on paper work, planning final projects, and one special event.

Fewf.

My 11-year-old twin wrote a story this week:

"The Amazing Life of Annie Kee"

(In yellow marker) On a warm summer day, Annie likes to cuddle with friends.

(In green marker) On a cool winter night, Annie likes to sing Christmas songs.

(In red marker) On a warm spring day, Annie loves to sing Backstreet Boys.

(In purple marker) On cold falls, Annie likes to eat chow mein.

Me, commenting on a colleague's relationship status: I don't think he's ready for marriage.

11-year-old girl: I'm not either.

11-year-old girl: I don't want to turn 12! I want to be 11-teen.

9-year-old boy, as I made faces at him on the bus: You look like you're getting beat up by an elephant...You look like you're beating up an elephant...Just with your face...Strong enough to fight a lion!