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Well hey there. I know it’s been a while since I’ve dazzled you with my wit and brilliance, but I’ve been in some kind of funk the last week or so and I did not want to bore you with the details. More precisely, I could not pinpoint any real reason for being down. So, in the time-honored tradition of women world-wide, I am going to blame it on hormones. Down with estrogen!

Anyway. I was freaking myself out the other day, thinking about how there are periods of my life that seem very surreal, even while I am currently living in them. Kind of like I’m just floating along, still living and functioning in society, still able to carry on a conversation, but my mind is just persistently elsewhere. It’s a nagging feeling like something is missing, and my brain is searching for it, but since I don’t know what it is that’s not there I’m always just struggling and failing. Sounds heavy, right? It seems so melodramatic to write it out that way, but most of the time that surrealism exists separately from my life and I am able to ignore it. Sometimes denial saves me.

So because I’ve been freaking myself out by thinking about how I am just floating along in life and not consciously trying to make things happen, I had quite the grounding experience last night. I volunteered to help serve food in a homeless shelter on one of Boston’s harbor islands. In fact, the facility used to be an asylum for people with mental health issues, people with incurable diseases like leprosy, and a drug and alcohol lock up. It is the hospital on which Dennis Lehane based Shutter Island, and it is as creepy as it sounds. No one lives out there on the island. The buildings look exactly like what you would imagine a deserted insane asylum might look like. You have to go through a guard station to get there, and over a long oceanic aqueduct to arrive at a compound of buildings you might see on America’s Most Haunted.

Let me tell you, when we arrived to find more than a hundred people waiting in line for what was probably their only meal that day, I was squarely present in my life.

The city of Boston buses over four hundred people out to that island every night, and buses them back into the city in the morning. What do they do during the day? Some of them panhandle, sure. But according to the shelter director, more than 30% of them have full time jobs. These people work forty hours a week at minimum wage and cannot afford to live. The saddest part to me was that these people truly had nowhere else to go. I cannot imagine a situation in my life that would leave me with absolutely nothing and no one to turn to; there would always be someone willing to take me in, no matter what. I know this, and I am grateful for it.

At the end of our shift the director of the facility took us on a tour. It was pretty uncomfortable for me to walk through the rooms with all the bunk beds set up, where people were lying on their cots with all their clothes and jackets on. It felt too voyeuristic, a bit like looking at caged zoo animals, and I felt that those people deserved a little more dignity than a bunch of gawkers poking through the only private time they get during the day. We also grabbed cups of fake coffee (called Javo, one of the men with blood all over his face snortingly pointed out) and sat with some of the people while they were eating dinner. One woman immediately launched into a story about how she had just that day beaten up another woman who was sleeping with her fiance, whose baby she was currently carrying. Her three other babies were all in foster care, and she had forgotten to take her meds, and at various points throughout this story she paused to sob loudly into her mashed potatoes.

Here’s the thing. I know this woman was probably happy to have someone just listen to her for once, but I still felt awkward, like I was suddenly supposed to take on the role of life counselor. Really, what do I say to a pregnant homeless woman with a four-inch long gash on the side of her face that doesn’t sound trite? “Buck up, tomorrow’s another day!” doesn’t quite seem to cut it. So I just sat and listened. And at the end of the night she stood up and said, “Hey, thanks for making me laugh. I really needed that today,” and shoved as many pieces of bread into her pockets as she could.

And then I went out to dinner with my friend and had a beer and thought about how grateful I was to be able to sleep in my super comfy bed with the heat cranked up. My life may have its issues, but it’s still pretty damn good. Lesson learned.

Okay, I swear, over the past few days I’ve thought of thirty-seven million things I wanted to write posts about and so tonight, when I finally get to sit down with my computer, obviously I would have zero things to share with you. I think for the sake of continuity I’m going to stick with the theme of things I have never done, to follow up with my shame-inducing “I’ve never read any Shakespeare” post.

I’ve never signed up for a triathlon before- until this week! So apparently in June I will be swimming in the Atlantic Ocean down in Hyannis, which for those of you who don’t know New England geography, is on Cape Cod. May the spirit of Ted Kennedy watch over me. I feel really ridiculous signing up for this, and even more so after I actually swam today for the first time in… an embarrassingly long time. Swimming laps is really not at all like playing Marco Polo. That box of Tagalongs probably didn’t help.

I’ve never watched one episode of The Bachelor- until this season! How I got sucked in this time around, a hundred seasons later, I have no idea. There’s really no need to make fun of me for this, I assure you I am chagrined enough for the both of us. Still, I’m really pulling for Vienna! Peace out, Ms. Saccharine Sweet Tenley.

I’ve never tried to sew any of my own clothes. But with the love for Project Runway coursing through my veins and suggestions from RA, I have decided to attempt a sewing project. I chose a black t-shirt with appliqued zebra stripe petals (and no, mine will not be heart-shaped). FUN! Wish me luck.

And before I forget, here’s the list of book recommendations from my last post. I marked the ones I’ve already read with an asterisk at the bottom. My randomly generated choice follows at the end!

1. Watership Down, by Richard Adams (recommended by OPH)
2. Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (recommended by RA)
3. A Widow for One Year, by John Irving (recommended by Katherine)
4. One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (recommended by Azure)
5. The Tempest, by William Shakespeare (recommended by Noelle)
6. Not Wanted on the Voyage, by Timothy Findlay (recommended by Joey)
7. The Elegance of the Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery (recommended by Genevieve)
8. The Grand Sophy, by Georgette Heyer (recommended by C.)
9. Water for Elephants, by Jacob Jankowski (recommended by Corinne)
10. Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers (recommended by Jess)
11. Captain Courageous, by Kipling (recommended by ccr in MA)
12. Time and Again, by Jack Finney (recommended by liberace)
13. While I Was Gone, by Sue Miller

Books I have actually read (AKA I swear my literature degree is not totally fraudulent!):

*L’Etranger, by Albert Camus
*The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck
*The Cider House Rules, by John Irving
*Crime and Punishment, by Dostoevsky
*Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn
*Ethan Frome, by Edith Wharton
*Jude the Obscure, by Thomas Hardy
*Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy
*The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon
*Dangerous Liaisons, Pierre Choderlos de Laclos

And the winner of this round of You Choose is #7, The Elegance of the Hedgehog! I will pick it up this week and use it as a break from this month’s book club choice, The Sound and the Fury.

Did you know that as an undergrad I majored in Comparative Literature and minored in French? I’m sure you were dying to know what I spent four years studying, so you’re welcome. Technically my degree states that I have a B.A. in Romance and Comparative Literature, which is a fancy way of saying I have a B.A. in playing beer pong till 5 a.m. after drinking a beer stein full of gin and powdered Tang and spending a shit ton of money to do so. TRUE STORY.

Anywhatsis, the point of telling you about my degree is to say that I have read a lot of literature in my lifetime. Like, a lot a lot. Not to mention the fact that I also have a Master’s in Library Science and spent the better part of four years reading young adult novels to keep current. All of which makes this statement even more shameful: I have never read one work by Shakespeare. Never! Can you believe it? To be fair, I did read an excerpt of Romeo and Juliet in 9th grade English, and I have seen numerous plays performed live and on film, and I could tell you the main plot of many of his works, and I have even BEEN TO HIS HOUSE in Stratford-Upon-Avon, yet the fact remains. My undergrad education seems almost fraudulent, and it has nothing to do with how many hours I spent stalking cute boys in the library instead of studying (many, because cute boys were scarce at my school).

Other authors I seem to have missed along the way: Hemingway, Faulkner, Vonnegut, Henry James, and those are just off the top of my head. Still, I think I do deserve a little credit; not many people have read Voltaire and Moliere in French or written a thesis paper comparing the fictional autobiographies of both Bronte’s Jane Eyre and Colette’s Gigi. At least, not many people I know. But I would like to know what you think I should read. Sometimes I get bogged down in my own typical choices of young adult novels and trash like the Sookie Stackhouse series. So is there some absolutely amazing book that you think I definitely shouldn’t miss? Something you think would be a crime against humanity not to read? Help a librarian out!

My fellow librarian and lovely blog friend Janssen has been doing this for a while now and I’m always envious of the books her readers suggest. I suppose I could just close my eyes and point to one of the titles she has on her monthly list already, but I thought it would be much more interesting to see what books my own darling readers come up with. Feel free to peruse my already sizable list of to-read books, or even my semi-complete list of books that I have already read. I will compile a list of all the suggestions and choose one at random to read and review. Then I will read your selection and tell the internet world what I think of it. Easy peasy! Now get down with your recommending selves.

Over my vacation last week I decided to finally get on the ball with my half-assed resolution to try more crafty projects. And by more I mean at least one. So after seeing a post on making book wreaths on the Apartment Therapy website I decided I would give it a go; if that evil wench Martha Stewart can do it, so can I, dammit! Ahem. Normally I place great value on the use of my hands for things like surfing the interwebs and playing video games, so I try not to do things that could potentially maim them.  Had I realized that this project would include 53,756 hot glue burns I probably would never have attempted it. But behold the cuteness!

Luckily, the end result was awesome enough to warrant my fingers looking like this:

Pro tip #1: if you get hot glue on your skin, no matter how much it burns like the fire of Hades do NOT rip it off until it is completely cooled. Unless, of course, you also want to rip off twelve layers of your skin. (And why wouldn’t you? Skin is overrated.)

For those of you interested in the process I followed, please read on. For those of you totally bored by my adventures in hot glue, I’ll see you on the flip side.

First I got all my supplies together. Things I needed:

-Hot glue gun and glue sticks
-Brown or gray acrylic paint (I used gray watercolor, would’ve been easier to use a paper towel to wipe on the acrylic)
-Styrofoam wreath ($1 at the Dollar Store, a whole separate adventure in itself)
-Book (one that you don’t mind ripping out all the pages)
-Wooden chopstick (not pictured- used to press the pages into the wreath after the first layer is done after I realized exactly how much hot glue burns hurt)

As you can see, I also had my computer to follow the directions and my sister’s birthday present/my iPhone in the background. What can I say? I don’t have a ton of space in my apartment.

I started out by painting the edges of the Nancy Drew book a grayish color so that when I ripped out the pages they had a vintage look on the edges. I thought having a wreath made of mystery novel would be pretty awesome.

Sadly, I realized after two or three attempts at gluing these pages that they were just too thick and heavy to use for this project. They would not stay in place. A half hour later I gave up, frustrated, and started painting another book:

You may notice the addition of a large glass of wine to my “supplies”. Believe me, it was necessary. Pro tip #2: Use a a paperback novel because the pages are flimsy and easily glued. Again with the painting and ripping, but I didn’t mind because Charlaine Harris novels deserve to be ripped up anyway:

After I ripped out all the pages I folded them any which way I felt like it. Rolled up, curled like a tulip, S-shaped, fan-shaped, any shape you like is just fine. Then I glued them on to the styrofoam wreath like so:

It looks a little messy, right? Don’t worry your pretty little heads about it! This will actually end up being your bottom, or back layer. Once you have this layer finished all the way around (hopefully it doesn’t take you as embarrassingly long as it took me), flip the whole thing over and start with a second layer, wedging them down into the first with your wooden chopstick or unsharpened pencil.

Pro tip #3: The key to making this work is making sure to fold a little flap at the bottom of each of your pages before you attempt to hot glue it and stick it in. Otherwise, glue will end up all over the wreath and more importantly, all over the tips of your fingers. Ouch.

It doesn’t matter if it squishes the bottom layer because this is the layer that will end up being flush against the wall when you hang it. I actually weighed my wreath down with a book to start working on the next layer.

Pro tip #4: hot glue makes a considerable mess. I would not recommend doing it over a nice table or rug, like me. Anyway, then continue wedging layers in all the way around the wreath. See how you can kind of tell that I painted the edges? Cute. Once you get to the top, start filling in all the empty gaps with more pages.

And voila! A lovely, custom-made wreath, the perfect gift for any book-loving friends. I also bought a length of black sateen ribbon and hot glued it to either side on the back of the styrofoam, tying it at the top with a cute bow so that it would have a way to hang on the wall.

Dang. I guess I’m crafty after all.

On Saturday while I was in New York City I met up with Noelle and the infamous Birmingham for some drinks and assorted fried foods. We chatted about lots of different things, but at one point the subject of dating came up (because when does it not?), and it was only mildly awkward having Birmingham sitting right there as we dished about how dumb boys are. Oh, he played along with it, but I can’t imagine he enjoyed being lumped in with asshats like The Situation and Dick Cheney just because of his anatomical parts.

Anyway, while we were discussing the intricacies of being set up with someone I had an interesting realization. I have never been set up! How is this possible? I’ve never had someone say, hey, I have the perfect person for you, I think you would be just peachy together. Am I no one’s perfect person? Am I not worthy of dating other people’s friends? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually want to go on a date with friends of friends. Dating someone your friend recommends is not like listening to an album they recommend; not liking someone they are close to is basically a personal insult. I can just imagine the follow up email: “Sorry your guy friend sucked so bad. At least you have good enough taste to be friends with me!”

Still, why has no one ever even attempted the set up with me? Do I give off an unapproachable vibe? I think I’m generally friendly and easy-going, but clearly I am lacking something that makes people think WOW, you should totally meet my friend so-and-so, I think you’d really like him! Am I so strange that no one can even picture the characteristics that would make me a plausible match? Because if I am, please clue me in. Cute and quirky is one thing, weird and undesirable is an entirely different story.

I think Noelle took pity on me because she did offer me Birmingham (which I’m sure he greatly appreciated, since he was sitting right there), but that’s not really the same now, is it?

Well, here I am. On vacation. In February. In New England. Hey, did you know that in February in New England it’s winter? Crazy, right? I mean, if I had known that like a month ago I probably would have booked a trip somewhere warm and I- wait, what? You say I DID know that it was going to be winter? In that case, YOU KNOW WHERE YOU CAN SHOVE IT, INTERNET.

Yes, I suppose I did know it was going to be wintry here during my break, but the weather has been so mild for the past few months that I actually held out hope for a snow-free vacation. Alas, the Universe has its own comical ideas about what should and should not happen re: snow fall, for example, when I have school and it gently rains all day long, and when I am on vacation with plans to go out that night, SEVEN HOUR SNOW SQUALL! Oh yes, we did get thirteen inches of snow last night. It was actually pretty for about twenty seconds this morning until the sand and salt trucks came by to give everything that distinctive grayish-brown color I believe is called Winter Blah.

Still, tomorrow I am off to New York City for a few days. My plans are loose, but there was some mention of the Silk Road exhibit at the Natural History Museum (nerd alert!), festivities in Chinatown for the Chinese New Year celebration, and a promise of some major Rock Band jam sessions. You may not know this about me, but I play a mean plastic bass. I will also be partying with some of my lovely blogger friends, as well as some lovely real-life college friends, and by partying I mean having a beer and apps at some pub or another. Which reminds me: if any NYC peeps will be around this Thursday-Sunday and would like to hang out, I would love to see you! Sorry for the late notice! I’m a lazy ass, and I know it!

And on that note, I better start doing some laundro, cleaning, and packing, because you know I will not be changing sheets on the night before I have to go back to work.

Now now, I know it’s only February, but I am so confident in my choice for Most Irritating Day of 2010 that I am going to go ahead and award it to yesterday without even waiting to see how the rest of the year plays out. Let’s just begin the day with me waking up to multiple texts from teacher friends in other districts saying, “SNOW DAY!!!! LOLOMGZZZ!”. Which, being woken up by a text is pretty bad on its own, but when you are woken up before your alarm to hear of other people’s good fortune, only to spend the next hour waiting to get the call that your own school is canceled and never receiving it makes for one cranky NPW come 6 a.m. All I can say is, why do you hate me so much, Superintendent? Is it because of that one time I accidentally took your venti non-fat vanilla latte at Starbucks because we had identical orders? I CAN ONLY APOLOGIZE SO MANY TIMES!

Anyway, the kicker is that even though hundreds of schools were canceled, we got less than one inch of snow. In fact, the storm was so not a storm that the weatherpeople made front page news for their stupidity. They actually called it s-nope! Still, the fact remained that everyone else had a glorious day off of school and I did not.

So off I trudged to school with vague hopes that they would have an early release. All morning long the kids pestered me about why we were in school despite the glaringly obvious lack of snow. I wanted to shout at them, “Don’t you think I wanted a snow day too, rather than teaching your sorry asses about Ctrl-C and Ctrl-V?!” Instead I plastered on that cheery teacher smile and made up song lyrics for the kids about how much I loved Microsoft Word (hint: not a lot). Halfway through the day the intercom crackled to life and the principal came on. Everyone held their breath: “Sorry to interrupt, but we wanted to announce that we will NOT be having an early release today. Have a good afternoon!” And with that announcement, I retract everything I’ve said about my principal being a nice man.

Finally school was out. I trudged out to my car in the parking lot only to find a ticket on my windshield. A TICKET. IN THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT. I am not even shitting you! Apparently I was supposed to get an inspection sticker in January and didn’t realize it (in NH you get a sticker in the month of your birthday), so they TICKETED ME. IN THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT. Hello, cops? Are we not both Town employees? How about you GIVE ME A GODDAMN BREAK?

So off I drove in the Blizzard of 2010 (fine, the Blustery Rainstorm of 2010) to get an inspection sticker. When I got to the place down the road from my house, a man with eyes that looked in two different directions, neither one at me, informed me that he no longer does inspection stickers but he “knew of a guy” that did them in the next town over. How he managed to make a state car inspection sound shady I don’t know, but I went to see his guy a good 20 minutes from my house. On my way back home, $29 later (the ticket is $30, by the way), I was about three houses from my own when I noticed a little garage and a sign saying Inspection Stickers. GAH.

Because I am a masochist I decided that I would further delve the depths of my crankiness by dragging myself to the gym. Back outside I went, and immediately tumbled down the driveway, gashing open my knee. In the ten minutes it had taken me to change, all of the rain had turned to ice. OF COURSE. Still, I soldiered on to the gym where I spent 45 minutes on some machine of torture or another. I got off, soaked a paper towel to clean my machine, and looked around for my water bottle. I found it, three machines over. I cleaned the wrong machine. OF COURSE.

Are you tired of reading about how ridiculously irritating this day was? Because I am already tired of writing about it. I will conclude by saying that today was mildly better, if only because I now have just one day of work standing between me and my week-long February break. I think I’ve earned it.

Apparently it is a regional thing for the newscasters to call major snowstorms French Toast Alerts. Does that phrase get used  in any other snowy locales? Chicago, Minneapolis,  Rochester? I’m looking at you! French Toast Alerts signify that a storm is going to be big enough that invariably everyone will rush to the grocery store immediately after work to stock up on bread, milk, and eggs (the basic ingredients of french toast, obvs), thus making it virtually impossible for me pick up any of the real necessities such as cereal, beer, and Lean Pockets. What? I live alone.

Anyway, the thing that kills me is that we live in New England, yet every time the weatherpeople predict more than a dusting of snow people fly into a tizzy. People who have lived here their entire lives act as though they have just landed here from some steamy equatorial locale and have only ever heard of this mystical cold white stuff but have never seen it or felt  it or ohmygodcommutedtowork in it! And to those people I would like to say, I am going to bitch slap you the next time you get in your car and drive off without clearing the snow from your roof so that all your crappy ass snow flies off your stupid car onto the car that I actually took the time to clean off.

Just sayin’.

So last weekend the D.C. area got hit with a big snowstorm and suddenly their entire metro-world shuts down. People: two days in a row of no school? I think I can only remember that happening here once, and I am included all the many, many years I was in school in New England, not just teaching here. And, you know, I’m not calling the mid-Atlantic peeps babies or anything, but tomorrow we are scheduled to pick up a good foot of snow here and I am willing to bet that I will still have to be at school tomorrow. Let me just take a moment to whine about this: WAH.

There. I feel better. But still not good enough to let you lazy folk get away with not scraping your cars off. For reals; that is just begging for my road rage.

At lunch on Friday one of my co-workers exclaimed, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! So what’s new?” My fear is that I just sat there staring at her like a total idiot. In my mind, I was trying to figure out how to say something like: “Well, in the last week I broke up with TNNB, my uncle passed away, and my sister announced that she is pregnant” without suddenly dissolving into a fit of weepiness, and what actually came out of my mouth was something along the lines of “Hnnnrrr… not much, you?”

Articulate, yes?

But I don’t know, it just seemed too melodramatic to suddenly blurt out all that information in the middle of the faculty room. And the longer I waited to tell people anything the stupider I felt bringing it up, until finally, on my way out the door on Friday afternoon, I was forced to stop in to tell my principal that I would be out on Monday for a funeral. On an average day my principal is pretty much the nicest man ever so he was very sympathetic and understanding. As I was leaving, he handed me a sheet and said, “This is the speech I read at the last School Committee meeting; I just wanted you to know.” Once I got out to my car I read it, and it’s a good thing I waited until I had left the building because I immediately dissolved into hot tears. He had written about how important school librarians were, and it was a passionate and compelling argument to bring back the position next year. I have no idea if it will move a town that seems solely concerned with their own bank accounts, but the fact that he had spoken so forcefully about it meant almost as much to me as the job itself.

On top of being touched that he had thought to speak about the library at the School Committee meeting when there were so many services cut last year, I was also relieved that he hadn’t yet heard about what I had done earlier that day. You see, one of my kids this semester has a hearing aid, and I have a little microphone to wear that clips to my shirt. The microphone goes right to his hearing aid, so my voice isn’t amplified in the classroom or anything. After I had finished giving directions the kids were all busy typing away, and I took advantage of the fact that I had an aide in my classroom and hightailed it to the bathroom to pee before my 8th graders showed up. Halfway through relieving myself I realized I WAS STILL WEARING THE MICROPHONE. I was peeing in the handicapped kids ear! I panicked and willed myself to stop peeing, all the while frantically swatting the microphone off my shirt.

Um. So, yeah. That was my week. How was yours?

Last week was really rough, guys. Some horrific meetings, including one with freakish hippies, one with my principal and assistant principal, a classroom observation, and one that involved union lawyers and the Superintendent that made me want to throw up, and all I’ve wanted to do this weekend is sit on my butt and watch bad movies. So on Thursday I talked to TNNB and told him about how miserable I was with everything going on on top of grading and getting all new kids this week. He asked if there was anything he could do, I replied no, I just wanted to get my work done and go to bed.

Two hours later he called me and asked me to open my door. There he stood with flowers and a box of cannolis straight from the North End. Super sweet, yes? What girl does not want flowers and cannolis from a cute boy when she is feeling down?

Well, apparently me. A few days later I broke up with him.

I know what you’re thinking! I am evil! I do not deserve to date! And I would tend to agree with you, except guys, I REALLY, REALLY TRIED! Sigh. There was just something missing. When he showed up with flowers I was all, oh, so thoughtful, but oh my GOD I HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO PLEASE LEAVE. That is not a normal reaction. I did spend a few days thinking it over, trying to make sure I was not just freaking out about having a new relationship and came to the conclusion that right now I truly am happiest when I’m doing my own thing. I need this time for me, and I don’t want to feel guilty about that.

Maybe some time in 2010 I will change my mind about wanting to date, but for right now it’s enough for me to know that there are actually some decent men out there. I may be evil, but I’m still grateful for the TNNB proving that.

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