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In the wise words of Diddy:

Can’t nobody take my pride
uh-uh, uh-uh
can’t nobody hold me down… ohhh no
I got to keep on movin.

And move I will! By December 1st I will be all moved into a new place, in the same city- please, I can only handle so much change at a time. Last night we signed our lives away and basically have 24 hours to make a solid decision that this place is for us. And because both Chris and I seem to be incapable of making solid decisions lately, I am going to list out the pros and cons and let all you people do the hard part for me! (But please do it quickly, as I have to write out a check this afternoon):

PROS:

• The place is huge, two bedrooms, enclosed porch, refinished hardwood floors, living room, dining room, brand new kitchen and bathroom.
• We got a sweet deal with the price and I won’t be paying more than I already do.
• The street is non-permit, which is clutch since C & I both have out of state license plates. It’s also very rare to find non-permit parking anywhere in the city.
• It’s right near both the highway (so I can get to work) and the route Chris takes to work.
• There’s a possibility I could have a little dog.
• It’s a quiet neighborhood.
• We would get to live above the landlord, who is very interested in making the apartment awesome and also has a sweet Greek accent and might make us baklava if we ask nicely.

CONS:

• The apartment is far from the T. Probably too far to walk in the bitter cold of winter. In fact, I don’t even know if there is a bus stop that’s nearby. I should check on that today. Basically, this means I would have to drive everywhere, which sucks bad in the city. This should count a double con, I think. One of the things I like best about the apartment now is walking everywhere.
• The apartment is right above the landlord. Seriously, it would be just us and him. And while I enjoy the Greek accent, I don’t know that I want a landlord that is able to “pop by” any old time he feels like a chat.
• There’s a possibility I won’t be able to have a dog, little or otherwise.
• We have to pay a rental agency fee to get this place. Like writing a huge ass check for two months rent up front while still paying for your current place isn’t a big enough kick in the ass, I need to give a realty dude an extra $700 out of my pocket.

I think that’s it. Those are the major factors that are swimming around in this crazy brain of mine. What say you?

…But until then, such is my life.

Cripes. There has been a little black storm cloud hanging over my head for the past 5 days and I forgot my umbrella.

It all started last week when my body decided to malfunction and I stayed in bed Thursday and Friday, wishing I was well enough to be in my lovely library. By Saturday I had mostly recovered from my sudden illness, just in time for a raging New England storm complete with driving rain and gale-force winds to strike the city. Oh, and did I mention that I had to go look for a new apartment out in the fair fall weather? Nothing like wading through a river of city trash that got stuck in the swollen storm drains and dripping your soggy umbrella all over someone else’s apartment.

To top things off I woke up on Sunday morning to get ready to go to church (yes, you read that correctly), only to realize that I had woken up a wee bit earlier than intended- like a whole hour. Damn you, Daylight Savings! You get me every time. Anyway, back to the church bit: I am now the proud godmother of an angelic little boy and I have renounced Satan from my life in front of an entire Catholic congregation. There’s nothing more uncomfortable to me than organized religion and there’s nowhere I feel more out of place than in a church. As I was sitting directly in the front row, I worked very hard at holding my tongue and not cracking jokes, but a few slipped out. At one point the priest was holding the baby, who was placidly sucking on his finger, and Father Whatshisname declared: “99 out of 100 babies agree: Father Mc[insert Irish name here] tastes delicious!”

You can imagine the lengths I had to go to to cover up my snort of laughter. The entire chuch community probably thinks I’m apoplectic or something. It was all just so… boring. At least if they were preaching fire and brimstone it would be interesting; I just can’t hack the listless, uninterested priests and parish members.

Moving on, I think we have found a suitable place to live. One slight problem: my salary is less than stellar at the mo’. Seriously, Massachusetts with it’s 8% income tax and 11% retirement deduction and union dues? I might as well work at Starbucks. (Speaking of, if anyone knows of anyone looking for some after-school hours help, I would love to be a coffee brewer or some such nonsense a few days a week.) So once again, I find myself over a barrel with the cash flow, which is not a good situation to be in in any case, let alone two months before Christmas.

Regardless, I need to not be homeless and as such I will find a way to persevere. Sally forth, dear readers. Onward and upward. Brave smiles.

We ran one of our mandatory crisis drills today and even though the teachers all cracked jokes about taking bullets for each other and gunmen hiding in the library stacks (thanks, guys, for the mental image), when I actually stopped to think about it it was quite scary. Both the lockdown procedure and the evacuation made me nervous- standing outside with 500 kids to be responsible for gave me a shivery feeling. The nurse had her emergency kits, the teachers had their crisis binders, everything was very “Code Red”.

Plus, it was in the middle of my lunch. I’d think if some crazy dude had a thing for rich suburban kids they’d at least have the decency to take the school early in the morning or late in the afternoon, not during my lasagna time. Seriously.

There are definitely some days when there is nothing better than working in a school. Days like today, when first and second period are taken up by a “Diversity Brunch” during which teachers (and librarians!) are invited down to the cafeteria to sample native cuisines from foreign countries. My breakfast consisted of some delicious Jamaican coffee, some fried plantains, a taquito, an almond cookie, a “Belgian” waffle (actually a half-frozen Eggo with whipped cream and strawberries), and some mango and pineapple salad. Umm, yum, anyone? Of course, it kind of ruined my 10:30 a.m. lunch of leftover lasagna, and I was forced to listen to Bob Marley at top volume, but hey, at least I got my diversification in for the morning.

Sometimes, when you’re having a really bad day, just walking to the staff room and finding coffee and muffins waiting for you can make things seem a little brighter. I heart random snack days.

My will is strong. I survived the weekend. And bonus for you: I’m not even going to tell you anything about it because my Mama always said- if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

So anyway, I’ve been fairly blasé this year about Halloween. I’ve just been so busy running around like a fool all the time that I haven’t had time to process that October is nearly over. Then this morning I was hit with a sudden bout of costume anxiety. I don’t exactly have a party to attend (yet) but I’m sure the second I decide to skip Halloween altogether this year I will suddenly be flooded with invites to some crazy costume-only Monster Mash Bash and I will be stuck throwing something together like a white sheet ghost or a a black cape with plastic vampire fangs.

It could be fun to hop on the commuter rail over to Salem, MA, for my annual haunted house/Witch Museum visit. For anyone who has never been to Salem at Halloween, I have two things to say to you: 1. Do not drive there. You’ll be sorry when you find that there is nowhere to park and the roads are overrun with witches, both real and costumed. 2. It’s amazing, a Mardi Gras-style costume party, but the actual Witch Museum is amazingly bad. No one would know more than I, since I’ve been forced into sitting through that place a minimum of 15 times. Let’s just say they use the term “museum” loosely up there on the North Shore.

I guess this week I’ll swing by the Salvation Army, where I usually get my brilliant costume ideas (i.e. last year’s UFO Flight Attendant costume) and see if anything strikes my fancy. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Chris and I dress as Steve Irwin and a stingray? Oh… too soon?

I’m sure there must be a finite number of posts I can dedicate to my complete disinterest in weddings before I start getting emails that say things like: “We get it, NPW- you’re a wedding hater and it’s obvious that you have a burning, bitter resentment towards people spending tens of thousands of dollars on a dinner party when you are worried about spending a few hundred bucks on getting a new apartment and still driving a crappy little Civic because you can’t afford a car upgrade yet. Now quit your whining and entertain us, bizotch!”

But this weekend I am to attend yet another fine matrimonial event, this time out in the Syracuse area. I am trying hard not to be uber-bitchy about it, even in my own mind. Intellectually, I know people do not invite you to their wedding simply to inconvenience you by making your entire weekend revolve around them. And yet…

So anyway, that’s my plan for the weekend. C and I will drive 5 hours out, attend the wedding, spend the night in a pretty lodge (oooh, I hope there’s a fireplace!), and wake up on Sunday to drive the 5 hours back. Although I probably should refrain from dwelling on all the cool things I’m missing this weekend (don’t want to become too severely embittered before the weekend even gets rolling), here’s just a little taste: the Keene Pumpkin Festival, the Taste of Charlestown, the Life is Good PumpkinFest, a wine tasting, and my friend Ace’s Zombie Birthday Bash.

Just yesterday I received an invitation to the wedding of one of my oldest friends; today I opened my email to find a long, apologetic note about how she hadn’t included “and Guest” on my invitation, but that she was had already invited 225 people to a wedding that would hold 190 and if there were open seats she’d try to fit Chris in but that she couldn’t even sleep at night thinking there wouldn’t be enough seats for everyone. I spent most of the morning composing an email to reassure her that I was not in the least offended and that she was not the worst Bridezilla I had ever encountered. Exhausting! Now don’t get me wrong- I’m not opposed to marriage. I enjoy the idea of monogamy and commitment and there are certainly some legal benefits as well. (Oh, and have I mentioned I love diamonds?) It’s just that 99% of weddings are so formulaic and dull, I don’t see how they even remain in fashion. They just seem so… archaic. And unnecessary. Especially if you’re not even religious.

It’s funny, I had never attended a wedding in my life until I was a sophomore in college. Since then, I’ve attended more than I can even remember and been in three. I long for the days before people became obsessed with things like petticoats and seat covers and place settings.

One drizzly autumn day Chris was taking a leisurely stroll down the Arlington bike path, very much enjoying the sight of the brightly colored trees contrasted against the gray New England sky. Suddenly, he heard a distinct rustling to his right and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a disembodied hand scramble into a pile of dead, dry leaves. But when he whipped his head to get a better view there was nothing there.

“That’s odd,” Chris muttered, but continued walking.

As he traveled he was sure he heard scratching, dragging noises behind him. They sounded very close, but each time he looked back the bike path was empty. Empty. Well that was strange- the bike path was usually clogged up with joggers, cyclists, and pregnant Cambridge ladies pushing strollers of triplets.

Chris shrugged to himself, pretending not to notice, but quickened his pace. Despite the chill in the air and the impending darkness, a thin sheen of sweat had broken out, goosebumps rising up on his neck. The scratching sounds were definitely getting closer and he was certain he had just heard a moan. The path also looked strangely unfamiliar, as if he had never seen this section before, yet he knew he could not be far from home.

That was it. Chris had had enough. Without looking back, he broke into a sprint towards home. After running till he had a cramp in his side big enough to stun an elephant he slowed and finally stopped. He leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. It was then that he felt it.

A half-rotted hand, christened with numerous corroded silver rings and pentacle tattoos, seized Chris’s ankle and pulled with the strength of a man who had just drank 12 Starbucks coffees. Horrified, Chris yelled for help and wrenched his leg this way and that, hoping to break free. It was no use; the hand dragged him closer and closer to the edge of the path, towards the giant pile of leaves that had followed behind him. Suddenly a surly voice sounded next to his ear: “You city kids think there’s nothing better than big chain coffee places, do you?”

Despite his terror, Chris couldn’t help but utter a confused, “Huh?”.

“That’s right. Think I don’t remember you? You were the guy that wouldn’t sign our petition. Closed down the Someday Cafe, you did. Perfectly good local-owned coffee shop- so what if the couches had mold and the homeless slept in the corner and it smelled like pee? Make more room for a Dunkin’ Donuts, I suppose! You’d LIKE that, wouldn’t you?!”

Still struggling, Chris squeezed out the words. “That wasn’t me! That was my girlfriend! She just… she just really likes Dunkin’ Donuts!”

“Well then lucky us… we’ll just take the both of you!” With a roar of soul-crushing anguish and rage, the hand (and voice) made one final tug and Chris was sucked down into a leafy grave.

So goes the tale of the Mysterious Disappearance of C.

Gotcha! Chris wasn’t taken by leafy Someday Cafe zombies at all; he’s off at training in Arizona this week, and semi-incommunicado, at that. Had you going, though, didn’t I?

*Thanks to this dude for his art work- it at least made me crack a grin today.

I could lie to you and tell you that we had yet another Monday holiday yesterday, thus relieving me of my posts. But I think you deserve better than that, dear readers. The truth is I was just too damn busy to get anything out. That’s not to say that you didn’t deserve a post! But it’s been a struggle to get things done around here as it is, so you’ll have to overlook my absence just this once. And anyway, you’re probably used to my Mondays off by now.

This afternoon I had a meeting with my team and my Principal. At one point, my Principal turned to me to ask my opinion on something and at exactly that moment I realized that my cuticle was bleeding. Bad. How did it happen? Well, I’m fairly certain it has something to do with the mysterious atmosphere in this school- both morbidly humid and searingly dry in turns. Point being: my skin was dry and I probably snagged it on a piece of paper or something, causing me to bleed out, directly in front of the head honcho.

Mortifying? Well, it would have been, had I clued anyone in to my pain and loss of blood. Instead, I wrapped my other hand around it and blathered on about adolescent literacy or some such nonsense until I could make my escape to the little girl’s room and quietly pump blood into the sink drain. I finally staunched the flow with paper towels and retired to my office, woozy and in need of juice and crackers. My one consolation: it wasn’t a nosebleed on my Principal. Oh, and I didn’t drip onto my khakis. Huzzah.

Don’t worry about me though, I’ll be ok. Really.

This week has kicked my ass. For real. This has been the longest 4-day week I’ve ever experienced. I haven’t gotten home before 5 p.m. once this week- and bear in mind that I drag my weary self out of bed at 5:30 every morning, so it’s been 12 hour days. And people wonder why teachers need so much vacation time? Anyway, being up past midnight last night certainly didn’t help make me the most wide awake person today, but it did help me get rocked out by a bunch of crazy musicians.

For those of you who have never graced the wonder that is Central Square, the upstairs at the Middle East Club is roughly the size of my bedroom. And my bedroom is not particularly large. So when I tell you that Estradasphere had at least a dozen instruments on that tiny little stage, you can imagine how loud their sound was. No joke! They had an upright bass, some kind of Asian mandolin thing, an accordion, a violin, two keyboards, a trumpet, a banjo, drums, and two guitar players. And goddamn, they were serious about playing. It basically boiled down to awesomeness being slammed into my eardrums for two hours. Oh, and they had PBR tall boys! Suh-weet.

So what’s up this weekend for everyone? I, myself, will be enjoying a pleasant nap directly after work today (as long as the pansy little kid next door doesn’t slam his Razor scooter into a fire hydrant like he did yesterday afternoon- the wuss screamed and cried so much I thought he was being murdered out on the street by gangs of mutant squirrels), and then hopefully gliding right into a relaxing weekend. Chris takes off for training in Arizona on Sunday night and I am crazy jealous- I love Phoenix almost as much as I love Boston. Then I am on my own for a week! Whatever will I do with all the free time?

GIRL’S NIGHT OUT! Or… going to bed at 9 p.m. Which ever I get to first. Good day to you.

I feel like I’ve done a lot of traveling in my lifetime. I mean, why wouldn’t I when I used to work for an airline and all? But looking at this map of places I’ve been, it seems so… small. And sad. Time to get to work on that!

And the rest of the world…

Where the hell have you been?

Look real close and you’ll see I’ve actually been to a bunch of islands. Those tiny red dots? They’re not Microsoft Paint mistakes, they’re actual countries. Ones that I’ve been to. So hush.

Oh, and just a fair warning: I might be a bit sleepy and/or cranky tomorrow a.m.; I’m going to get rocked out by Estradasphere at the Middle East Club tonight. The show doesn’t even start until 9, which is already pushing my bed time, so we’ll see how I cope. ‘Till then, rock stars.

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