I Have A Job! I Think...

I have a job! Wait, wait… don’t adjust your computer screen. This is the right blog. You did read the first sentence correctly. Put down the nitroglycerin, Dad. I am going to use my degrees and contribute financially to our marriage! Geez, even I have to reread it to believe it.

Any day now, I will "therapize" students at a middle and high school in New York City. Ben ordered my Michele Pfeiffer leather jacket while I danced with a contract in hand. My textbooks excitedly shook off collected dust from months of nonuse; my subway card squealed at the thought of being swiped. I'm going to ride the D train toward my future!

People ask me if I will miss not working, my free time. I’ll miss the choice to sleep later; definitely miss my coworkers at the private school where I substitute teach. But, I won’t miss hours of alone time, reruns on TV, daily walks around the city alone, job applications, tight finances, afternoons waiting for Ben, and limited opportunities to meet people.

I keep my fingers crossed, toes too. I pray that everything works out as planned, that I'll soon be employed. Actually, let me say that again… e-m-p-l-o-y-e-d.

DVDs & Day Spas

Our DVD player broke this weekend and sent Ben into a tizzy. My explanation that cheap, Wal-Mart electronics cannot sustain regular beatings eluded Ben. Problems started to brew six months ago when he would knock around the DVD player, but nurse his TV like a newborn baby. “Where’s the special cloth to clean the screen? Don’t put your cup so close to base! Press the buttons gently, gently.” Yesterday, the DVD player had enough when he ripped the cords out in anger, yelled profanities, and then expected it to work. Electronics have feelings too.

Last night, we ventured to Circuit City to price check their selection of DVD players. Ben posed questions as we perused the aisles. Do we need an HD up-converter? Will Blu-Ray replace HD DVD? Will On Demand movies eventually replace DVDs all together?

Yikes. He may as well talk politics in Yiddish or serve artichoke hearts for dessert. I don’t like electronics. I don’t know about electronics. And, honestly, I don’t care to learn. I have no qualms as long as the exterior color matches everything else and I only have to push a few buttons to make it work. No high tech gadgetry or fancy codes for me, thank you.

I strategically wandered away from Ben and his barrage of questions to a small room which boasted a centrally located massage chair and where speakers covered the walls. Not sure which item they wanted to sell – the speakers or the chair. I had just entered Circuit City's very own day spa. I wiggled deep into the black leather as the massager kneaded my shoulders and the oldies pulsated in the background. The stress of comparing overpriced pieces of plastic melted away, along with every other worry in my life.

I then decided that my appreciation for electronics would be positive if always viewed from the comfortable seat of an Omega M-2 Negative-Ion Massage Chair. Oh, wouldn’t life be grand?

New Posts Coming Soon

New blog posts will appear soon! My laptop and I do not get along, forcing me to calm my nerves with pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream and frozen pizzas. Thanks for your patience.

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

It’s only Wednesday, but I sprinkle fairy dust and wiggle my toes to make the week fly. We await the arrival of the Perkins family, friends of ours also enjoying newlywed bliss. They travel north to the big city to bunk with us for the weekend.

I prepare for their visit by taking an inventory of all items we have in stock that will make their trip a success. The less that guests have to drag into cabs, buses, or subways the happier they will be upon arrival. I believe, what's mine is yours.

I first assess my beauty arsenal by lining up hair products on the floor – shampoo, conditioner, hair dryer, Chi straight iron, and Conair hot rollers. We southern women swear by hot rollers. People comment on Amy Winehouse's bouffant, well teased hairdo like it's something new. She's a dime a dozen in any southern hair salon or beauty pageant.

I check the kitchen for tortilla chips, homemade salsa, Crystal Light lemonade, paper cups, and plates. In the bedroom/living room/study, I assess linens, towels, pillows, and air mattresses. I smash the ironing board behind the plywood wardrobe and push the couch down two inches to create a spot for their suitcases.

I sweep the three foot space of open floor in the living room and shake out the bathroom mat. All I have left to do is cut and hang the new shower curtain liner to fit the 13 inch shower opening. Suck in and turn sideways when stepping into shower, ladies and gentlemen.

I sit back to admire my preparation skills, my talents as a hostess. They definitely improved after saying "I do". My mom would be amazed, appreciate the values she instilled in me. She would be proud.

Curb Your Dog, Please

Dogs in New York City gross me out, make my tongue curl and body cringe, for one simple reason. They pee everywhere – on the side of an apartment building, on the mail box at the corner, on the flowers planted in pots facing upward toward a blue sky. But, the worst, the sickest, is when they pop a squat and unload right in the middle of a well trafficked sidewalk.

Owners turn blind eyes as Fido unleashes a yellow river that floods the sidewalk and gouges out trenches, mini grand canyons in concrete. I, a passerby and frequent dodger, roll my eyes in disgust. At least have the decency to steer your dog to the street or the trees that line them.

I grimace at the thought of tracking a dog’s "present" in our building and through the apartment every time I accidentally stumble through an off-color puddle. The city posts “Curb Your Dog” signs for a reason. I don’t care how cute a dog’s bedazzled sweater and matching shoes are as long as they do their business where my feet don’t tread. Please curb Fido, Benji, Lassie, and Toto so that pedestrians like me stay happy and keep clean soles.

More Pictures from the Grand Canyon

Driving away from the canyon at dusk.

A tiny Ben next to a big hole.

Laura, Ben, and I posing on a ledge overlooking the canyon.

Tree and canyon.
Eric and Laura peering over the edge of the canyon.

Vegas Vixen

I married into a family of statuesque height. Ben is 6’3. His sister, Laura, is 6’1. His older sister is 5’10. And, I am 5’6, a shrimp among long legged gazelles.

Laura met and stayed with us in Vegas. Ben worked while we gambled, shopped, watched shows, and walked the strip. As tourists, of course. We’re not that desperate for money.

Everywhere I went with Laura, people, mostly men, stopped to stare. After the fifth man we passed rubbed his neck from whiplash, I realized that it was not us they ogled, but Laura. She mesmerized them with sultry looks as I ran, panting, three steps behind her trying to keep up with her long strides and dodge my trampled self-esteem.

When Laura shook her head of red curls, men ushered us on the elevator first. When Laura sashayed through the casino, we got free drinks. When Laura struck a pose, taxis swerved through four lanes of traffic to reach us. When Laura batted her eyelashes, the answer was always “yes”. When I attempted her tricks, we got… nothing.

Laura was the supermodel with style. I disappeared behind her curls and tinkling laughter. I felt more like her publicist or personal assistant than her sister-in-law. Oh, well. I’m not Stretch Armstrong with America’s Next Top Model hidden potential. I just need to get used to it, or at least walk faster and wear higher heels.

Surviving the Desert

Nick, the Best Man at our wedding, said it best in his toast. My husband, Ben, panics. He completely freaks out for no apparent reason about things that most people wouldn’t think twice about. On Saturday, our trip through the desert gave him plenty of reason to panic.

We had to drive two hours through the desert before we would reach the Grand Canyon. Every 30 miles, Ben pulled the rental car over and requested that our group of four hop out to take pictures of the awesome scenery.

As Laura and I slept in the back seat, Ben and Eric chatted in the front. Ninety minutes into the desert, I pried my eyelids open, tried to gain control of my motor skills, and swallowed what felt like cotton balls. That’s what I get for sleeping with my mouth open. So attractive. Pretty sure Ben glanced in that rearview mirror and thought, “lucky me”.

With eyes still half closed, I whispered Eric’s name, groped for my water bottle, dangled it within reach, and hoped he could decipher the message to open the bottle. Thankfully, he did.

I guzzled the water and rested my head. Suddenly, Ben sat erect in the driver’s seat and shouted, “Babe? Babe, are you okay?” I mumbled an answer, which only threw Ben into a bigger tizzy. “OH MY GOSH, she’s dehydrated!”

Immediately, Ben and Eric clutched their throats and fanned themselves fearing the worst. Their conversation went a little like this.

“We’re in the desert with no water. Where are we going to get water?”

“My lips, my lips are cracked. I need water, chapstick!”

I sleepily pulled chapstick out of my pocket and passed it to the front.

“We’ve got to get WATER!”

“Pull off at the next stop.”

I listened and shook my head. Typical. Typical behavior from Ben. Only this time he found a partner to share in the frenzy.

In the distance, Eric spotted a gas station to which Ben frantically cried, “What if it’s a mirage?”

We veered off the interstate and squealed into the parking lot. Laura raised her head because of the commotion, but quickly fell back asleep. Ben and Eric raced into the gas station and emerged with a gallon jug of water to quench their “dehydration”.

Eric then grabbed my water bottle and refilled it so that “in a case of an emergency” I would have plenty of fluids. An emergency that, apparently, the front seat declared at mile marker 97.

Then, with a gallon of freshly distilled water, tube of chapstick, and renewed sense of calmness we headed east for the Grand Canyon.

Hoover Dam

A picture from our trip to the Hoover Dam. Just a standard, run of the mill photo, but wait...

... one of my favorite photos that I took standing on the Hoover Dam.

Do not crawl, silly tourists, on a ledge that promises a good beating or death by 17 turbine-generators and an unforgiving 726.4 foot concrete wall.

High Roller

Ben won big at the Blackjack table in Las Vegas! He screamed "double down" and high-fived our dealer Cici as he bet the last of our savings.


Alright, alright... he only won $200, but felt truly lucky when a stranger let him sit in his Lotus for a picture.

Vegas Odds

I write the blog posts, but Ben designs the snazzy mastheads and anything associated with technology.  That's just not my thing.  He adds things to make the blog more interactive, more high tech.  This week, he taught me about Technorati, a website that ranks blogs on the Internet according to number of site visits, page loads, unique visitors, etc.  Pretty interesting. 

So, I wondered, just where does "Itty Bitty in New York City" fall on the list?

Technorati says somewhere over a distant, cool four million.  "Ouch," cries my bruised ego.  That is, until, Ben discovered that "Itty Bitty" holds steadfast at that placement among more than 112 million other blogs.  There is a writing God!

I just hope my odds are better while in Vegas.

Vegas Vacation

I type this post from seat 36E (upgraded with extra leg room) on a Delta 757 thirty thousand feet in the air.  We are on our way to Vegas, baby, Vegas!  I plan to post pictures throughout our visit of the Las Vegas strip, Grand Canyon, and Hoover Dam.

Right now, I laugh hysterically.  A girl in line for the occupied lavatory unknowingly has a lengthy piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her stiletto.  As she waits, she stretches her leg up and down, up and down.  The trail of tissue floats up and down, up and down.

Finally, she lifts her leg for the last time.  The tissue gives one last hurrah and gracefully falls to the floor.  The girl won, yet never realizes her victory.  The toilet paper balls up as passengers walk by; a stewardess kicks it to the side.  Poor tissue.  It put up a good fight.

After a week in Vegas, I will be that strand of toilet paper.  Started fresh, full of hope, but eventually wore down and exhausted.  I welcome the impending exhaustion that Vegas offers, it will be fun.  Worth it.

Channeling Michele Pfeiffer

I play a character at school, the role of “teacher”, where little mouths yell and vie for my attention using a name that still feels foreign since acquired only six months ago.

Yesterday, an eighth grader blamed me for his lowered English grade because I reported his bad behavior and failure to complete the in-class assignment. Consequently, his teacher lowered his grade. Power to the substitute!

I responded to his accusation with, “You made a choice to misbehave, to not follow directions. Everyone has a choice, everyday you have a choice, and yesterday you made the wrong one.” I wagged my finger as an odd feeling nagged me. Déjà vu.

My spiel sounded good, too good. And, suddenly, I knew why. Subconsciously, I had channeled Michele Pfeiffer who gave that speech verbatim in her 1995 film, “Dangerous Minds”. Finally, after years of role-playing in my head and waiting for the chance to say it, the opportunity to reenact the poignant scene where she imparts wisdom on her students and touches the audience with her street tough, yet valuable, teaching method presented itself.

But, unlike Michele Pfeiffer, I didn’t wear a leather jacket, teach karate or a valuable lesson to students bussed in from the ghetto. Instead, I realized that I watch too many movies. Luckily for me, most of the class missed my speech. For those that heard, I needn’t worry. They wouldn’t recognize a movie originally released on VHS or that starred an actress rarely seen in the tabloids. Hello?! That's so mid-90s.

Birthday Surprises

Two of my best friends (and college roommates) surprised me at our NYC apartment on Friday night. The girls and Ben had been in cahoots for two weeks and flew to New York at last minute for a weekend of laughs, deflated air mattresses, Scientologist sightings, and late night marathons of “What Not to Wear” with brownies.

We enjoyed a Saturday morning brunch that I suggested and Katie cooked. Jenn trumped Ben with one-liners and a cackle that reverberated off brownstones and echoed down city streets. Each morning, Ben and I leapt over air mattresses that formed a train from our bed to the bathroom.

On Saturday, we celebrated my birthday at a joint party where old friends met new ones, and Ben captured every moment on film. Wine, love, and laughter filled our weekend.

Today at work the girls surprised me with a cake from Crumbs (a very hip and trendy bakery) and a chorus of “Happy Birthday”. I was touched and honored since my first day at the school was only three months ago.

The cards, love, and surprises seemed to never end.

Birthday wishes do come true.

Employment

I worked today and have been requested for the rest of the week. Yes! The school didn’t need me last week so I sat bored and glued to the Sci-Fi channel afternoon movies of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and “Tremors”. I just couldn’t find the willpower or attention span to watch Brett Michael’s Rock of Love: Season II… for the third time.

My dad once claimed that I’d avoid getting a job despite having a master’s degree, which took seven years to earn and pushed back his retirement. He so easily, so carelessly dismissed my college work experience… a beverage cart driver at a golf course and eastern Kentucky’s undisputed “hostess with the most-ess” where the job requirements included lifting heavy cases of booze, serving customers in inclement weather, and seating patrons with a smile.

I like to work and stay busy. Life is better. I wake up happier, my energy level increases, my outlook is positive, and I have a purpose.

I just passed the New York state certification exams. By the end of February, early March, I should be licensed and able to interview for jobs. Until then, I wait by the phone in hope (and desperation) for news that I am needed.