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Chris and I spent a whole lot of time up in the great state of New Hampshire this weekend. Having grown up there, one would think that I would be mostly immune to its charms, but it seems that I still find myself constantly amazed, even after all these years. I guess living in the city I tend to forget that such a… simple… place exists. This weekend was really a great reminder.

And so, for you, my dear, dear readers, I present a photo montage. Enjoy.

I started off my weekend by registering my new car. Not only did I have to plan my visit to the Town Hall very carefully, but then I managed to forget both my old registration and my checkbook! Good times were had by all.

So we ended up taking Chris’s ride to the most anticipated event of the year: the Deerfield Fair!

We very much enjoyed the ambiance.

And Chris got schooled by a pig.

I couldn’t laugh at him too much though, not after he caught me making out with this giant pumpkin. I couldn’t help it, it was just so damn sexy. All 812 pounds of it.

Chris displayed his NH pride.

The next day we went to the mall. We ran into a MILF. I guess it was our lucky day!

And so concluded our weekend of bliss. I hope you all enjoyed your respective states as thoroughly as I did mine.

 

 

Because I know you’ve all been missing it. And a day early! That’s right, I care about you. Don’t act so surprised.

1. Did you ever have one of those days when everyone is complimenting you on a certain outfit, or your hair, or the fact that you finally managed to put on two matching socks in the morning even though it’s still dark out when you leave for work? But they state it in a way that seems surprised that you managed to pull it together for once, like, “Hey, NPW, your hair looks great! Did you buy a hairbrush or something?” Like normally you look like ass but just now you’re passable as a functioning adult? Yeah, today has been that day.

2. Speaking of hair, a slew of recent events in the library have left me wanting to tear mine out. Let’s just say that teachers are probably the most inflexible creatures that I have ever had the pleasure of working with and the frustration has only been mounting in the month or so that I’ve been back. Something’s got to give or someone’s head is going to break. And let me tell you: it won’t be mine. I’m certain I would be the victor of a smackdown with at least 95% of the faculty here; most of them are old and/or little. And the rest? Are WEAK.

3. That being said, it’s the little things that brighten my day and make me laugh. Like when students ask me if I’m the “book checker outter”, or when they get excited about a new book that has come in when I’ve ordered it and they leave me a note on my computer saying “Ms. NPW, you’ve really outdid [sic] yourself!!!!”

4. It’s that time of year again: the kids are gearing up for the Name the Puffer Fish Contest here in the library. In the past we’ve always had a pair of the puffer fish; previous winning names were Puff Daddy and Puff Patty, and last year’s Fish and Chips. This year I believe we will have a total of three puffer fish (if they all manage to not eat each other before I can get them named); I’m not sure how well the kids will do with trio names. Who knows? Maybe they’ll surprise me with their creativity. Or maybe I’ll end up with 200 entries for Moe, Larry, and Curly.

5. Speaking of fall (wait, weren’t we?), the children here at school are once again being driven to a frenzy of magazine selling and weepul collecting. While I understand that this is the one big fundraiser they do a year, and that it raises an insane amount of money for the school (no joke- I’m talking tens of thousands here), it still doesn’t change the fact that these kids turn into crazed, maniacal selling machines once a year. The cafeteria turns into the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. And then, of course, there is the inevitable crying when the Principal comes around with his kazoo and a bag full of candy to hand out to students with the weepuls. Thanks, Principal, for adding insult to injury to the kids with no weepuls. They also get cheap and ridiculous prizes, which they then use to hit each other, tease each other, distract each other, and in general become completely unmanageable children. Take, for example, yesterday’s prize:

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this case, the words are all profanities.

6. After my public urination post earlier this week, I was amused to find that most of you were as concerned about my not eating ice cream as you were about parents teaching their children to squat where they please. I would like to clarify a few points on the matter: firstly, it is not just ice cream that I have given up. It is everything sugar and flour; basically, everything that I love. I have pretty much been eating lean proteins and vegetables and the occasional whole-grain for a week now. Man, it seems like way more than a week.

I can hear the resounding “BUT WHY? WHHHY?”.

Like I said, it is my attempt to stop myself from eating whatever I want (pizza, beer, ice cream, Elvis peanut butter cups) whenever I want. I have become far too lax in my eating habits and both Chris and I have been eating out far too much. I wouldn’t call it a diet so much as a kickstart to a healthier lifestyle.

Secondly, as much as I love junk, I love feeling healthy more.

And thirdly, I need my $150 Seven jeans to fit again. NEED.

So expect bitching to ensue because, really, who wants to give up Sam Adams Octoberfest? But also note that I am doing it for my own good and that I do not actually need ice cream to survive. I promise.

7. Yesterday I reluctantly signed up for the annual library conference. I say reluctantly because it is always held on a Sunday and Monday, and I can honestly say that there has never been a Sunday that I thought to myself, “You know what would really complete this last weekend day? Cold chicken kiev and a keynote speaker.” So I somewhat guiltily only signed up for the Monday session, got all the paperwork in, requisitioned the appropriate funds, and went to request a substitute for the day when I discovered: that Monday is Columbus Day. WHICH WE ALREADY HAVE OFF. If there’s anything worse than a conference on a Sunday and Monday, it’s a conference on the Sunday and Monday of a long weekend. I’m seriously considering writing the planning committee a letter. I will sign it NPW, Conference Malcontent.

8. Today is the last day I have to register my car and get rid of the temporary plates. I feel like that signifies that my car is no longer new, which is weird, since it still has less than a thousand miles on it. Also, I feel lucky that the Town Hall is open tonight, since their posted hours are something like “every third leap year, from 2:13 a.m. to 2:15 a.m”. In addition, they require about 30 kabillion forms of identification: do you think my school bag is big enough to hold my license, passport, both my parents, and the doctor that birthed me?

9. Wow, I forgot how long thirteen updates on my life could really be.

10. This Friday brings with it the much anticipated Deerfield Fair. The website does not do it’s hokiness justice: the fair is my favorite event of the entire year. And that is no small thing. Last year was the first time EVER that I missed it and there is nothing (nothing, I say!) that will prevent my attendance this year. And you know what? I may even indulge in a caramel apple. That is how much I love the fair.

In fact, words can’t even do it justice. It’s just something you have to experience. Moving on.

11. The weekend also brings with it an event that is very close to my heart: Saturday is Union Square’s What the Fluff Day. Despite my new intentions to eat healthy, I still have a tender spot for peanut butter and Fluff sandwiches on wheat bread. One bite instantly transports me back to elementary school (and middle and high school as well, actually) and brown bag lunches with a giant smiley face from my Mama. I may have mentioned this before, but my slight tendency towards being OCD about certain things led me to eat the same lunch every day for four years: you guessed it! Peanut butter and Fluff. Along with an apple, a can of Sprite, and a bag of chips. Just thinking about it is making me wish I never decided to stop eating junk.

12. I felt it worth mentioning that I am absolutely melting here at school. I’ve mentioned the greenhouse effect of my library in the past, but somehow it seems far worse when it’s this hot and we’re nearing October. Where are my cool fall breezes? Where are my new sweaters? Will I ever get to use the heated leather seats that caused so much drama? The suspense is killing me!

13. I recently received an email from Chris that simply said, “Why so few blog updates?”. Which, if anyone should know how busy I’ve been it should be Chris, but I can see his point. I used to freak out if I didn’t post every day, but now I feel so overwhelmed with stuff to do that whenever I get any free time I use it to, oh, I don’t know, breathe? So I’m very sorry if you feel that my posting schedule is lacking and I promise to try to update more frequently. Hence, this early Wednesday edition of the Thursday Thirteen.

As an apology, I hope you will accept a picture of the scariest baby costume, pretty much ever in the history of baby costumes.

Saturday night after enjoying an amazing meal at some hole-in-the-wall Korean joint, a couple of us decided to walk down to Davis Square to partake in some delicious homemade ice cream. I mean, not me, since I am no longer eating ice cream in an attempt to be less gluttonous healthy healthier, but I digress. In any case, the weather was unseasonably warm and I enjoyed the walking part of it. Even though everyone was eating pumpkin spice ice cream in my face, I was a good friend and I remained supportive of their unhealthy eating choices. So there we were, everyone wolfing down their frozen dairy products while I steadfastly looked away, making myself comfortable on a park bench on the edge of the Square.

Suddenly I noticed two young girls, maybe two or three years old, running in circles around their parents, singing, “We need to pee! We need to pee!” The young mother sighed, put down her ice cream, motioned to her husband, and together they picked up both girls.

Did they then take the girls into the Store 24 located directly in the Square so that they might relieve themselves? No, they didn’t.

Oh, so they made use of the port-o-potties across the street? Again, no.

Instead they hunkered down in the little garden area IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SQUARE, pulled the girl’s underwear down, and cradled the girls in their arms as they peed all over the walkway. I quickly looked around, like, did anyone else see that? Or did I just hallucinate those people stripping down their children and having them pee all over the place I just walked? No, I couldn’t have imagined it because people all around had the same horrified look on their faces that mirrored my own.

The parents then calmly pulled up the girl’s underwear (without so much as a napkin or tissue, I might add) and continued to eat their ice cream and converse with each other as if they hadn’t just encouraged and allowed their children to defile a public area. Everyone else in the Square collectively looked at each other, sort of shrugged, and continued eating their ice cream as well. I found myself wanting to comment on the lack of decorum, or societal norms, or at the very least the benefits of washing your hands after you pee, but after considering for a few moments, I, too, shrugged and went back to people watching.

I’m no psychic, but I’m going to hazard a guess that those two girls are either going to be a.) very embarassed when they grow up and subsequently get arrested for public urination, or b.) feel very comfortable being the drunk sorority girls in college that will go anywhere.

Oh, and the rest of my weekend was lovely, thank you for asking.

Simply being around me the past few weeks has been a trial of patience for everyone involved. I’ve been moody, to put it mildly, and my moods have ranged from outright rage and indignation (work), to vaguely down and out (everywhere else). When yesterday’s weather turned out to be amazing I decided on a whim to ask a co-worker if she wanted to walk and she readily agreed. Two minutes after hanging up the phone with her I thought to myself, “Self, why did you ask her? You know you are just going to bitch about work for a solid hour. Then the next time you ask her to walk she will think to herself, ‘Self, why on earth would you want to hang out with that downer NPW?’ and then she’ll make up some excuse so she can hang out with someone who doesn’t make her feel like quitting her job and commiting hara-kiri.” So I did the only sensible thing and called her back to let her know I was far too crabby for human interaction and that I was instead going home to try to nap it off in solitude.

And you know? I actually woke up feeling a little bit better and a whole lot groggy. Which kind of made me think that my mood seems to be in direct correllation with the amount of sleep I’ve been getting. Not that I’m going to change anything, of course. I just had that thought.

The weekend will be a time for me to recup some of my sleep loss, especially since C will be out of town with his band and I will have the whole gigantic bed to myself. I mean, nothing says love like an elbow to the mouth every now and then, but for just one night I won’t be sleeping next to a living, breathing furnace. And while he and his bandmembers are rocking out up in Vermont in front of hundreds of skanky half-dressed high school girls and dudes dressed in their finest flannel with their long, scraggly ponytails, I will be dreaming quiet and peaceful dreams. Or, you know, getting drunk with my cousin. Either way.

I’ve been irritated all morning. Would you like to know why? Of course you would, that’s why you’re here: it’s because I have been ordering books all morning. I know what you’re thinking: why would NPW be upset about ordering books? Isn’t that her job? Didn’t she pay an inordinate amount of money to get a degree which would allow her to peruse and purchase books all day long?

And normally, you would be 100% correct. In fact, I usually love ordering books. Picking them out, reading reviews, getting a big box of books in the mail (just like Christmas!), it’s all quite fun, really. Except that every time I log onto the book company’s site I am forced to encounter THIS:

C’mon now. You’re a multi-million dollar corporation, you actually paid someone to create a logo for your website, and that is what they came up with? Or did you maybe just do a google image search for “creepy cat balls” and pick the first picture that came up? SERIOUSLY. What the hell is that? How did they manage to make the cats look both cartoonish and sinister? And it’s on every page of my order! All day long! I have to stare at those ugly! ass! cats! It’s enough to push a girl to the edge. The edge of ordering from another company, that is.

In other, non-cat related news, I would like to make a recommendation to all you dear readers: NEVER BUY A NEW CAR. I discovered this morning that I am now making payments on both my old Honda and my new Nissan, despite having already traded in my Honda and having a receipt for the pay-off. Why? Because baby Jesus hates me. And also because car companies are evil. I just don’t know if the heated leather seats and sweet ipod connection are worth the hassle of spending my morning faxing bank statements and talking to rude customer service representatives.

Ok, that was a lie. The seats are totally worth it.

A big shout out to the Jews: thanks for celebrating your New Year on a random Thursday in September, dudes! One would think that after having two months off for the summer that it would be excessive to then have another day off two weeks into the school year, but one would be wrong. It was lovely.

Anyway, I managed to get some tasks done in addition to enjoying the fine weather. I made an impromptu trip to Ikea with a friend, ostensibly to help her carry items, but if I thought I wasn’t going to buy anything I probably should have left all forms of currency at home. I ended up buying a new duvet cover, which I liked a lot in the store but when I got it home I couldn’t decide if it was cute or if it screamed “I’m a college frosh shopping from the Delia’s catalog! OMG does this come in extra long and narrow?!”. But C said he liked it and it was cheap enough, so I’ll see what I can do with it. You can weigh in with your opinion:

Actually, don’t even bother giving me your opinion: I realize from this picture it looks horribly girly, but I swear in reality it looks much nicer and more subtle. Especially with the dark blue sheets and the other pillows and shams. Moving on.

I also decided on a whim that I was sick of my hair and needed to be free of it RIGHT NOW. Which, in the past, has always proven to be a very dangerous and risky decision for me to make on the spur of the moment, but this time ended up being okay. The hair, she is fine. Not awesome, mind, but at least it wasn’t a repeat of the David Bowie debacle. And C’s response of “your hair looks cute” is certainly better than him humming Major Tom every time I walk past. If you’d like, you can also submit your opinion of my new ‘do: here is a picture of the Random Haircut Decision of 2007. As a side note, I was looking at the pictures of my haircut and was disturbed to note that my nose appeared to be getting bigger. Is that even possible? And if it is, am I going to be all Barbra Streisand by the time I hit 70? Anyway, please be kind about the hair, I can’t take bad hair AND a bad nose in the same day. I would show you a comparison picture of what my hair looks like today, styled by NPW herself rather than an actual, qualified stylist, but shockingly it seems to be holding up pretty well under my own care. I think I might even like it better my way; she had sprayed some product in it that she claimed was a “salt-water serum”, to make my hair appear as though I had spent the day on the beach. Which is a laugh, really, because if she ever saw my hair after a real day at the beach she’d know it looked like a brush had never graced my scalp. But it seems to be doing just fine with my trusty Bed Head and Aveda products.

I was also enthused to cruise around the city in my new ride, despite my fear of Boston drivers and their tendency to smash into other cars. I actually parallel parked it once and didn’t even use the bumper car method of getting in. Go, me!

And on that note, I’m out to enjoy the end of week. See you all on the Monday.

I’ve been back at school for a week now. Within minutes of being in the library it felt like those two entire months of being away from this place were erased from memory and I swung right back into full-on stress mode. Within this first week I have managed to surpass my stress level of last June and have now reached the point where no librarian should ever be: wishing she was not in the library. I keep reminding myself that things will settle down, the beginning of the year is always hard, that once I’m organized and better acquainted with the schedule I’ll be just fine. Sometimes that helps. Other times I want to rip my hair out.

Anyway, I was going to wait till tomorrow and do it up Thursday Thirteen style for you (because I know how you enjoy my lists), but I felt a little guilty about not posting from Sunday to Thursday and so I’m taking care of business on a Wednesday and you’ll all get a pretty painted picture of the Life and Times of NPW. I mean, really. I should just start my memoirs now and get a jump on it.

Yesterday I was finally able to pick up the Brand New Car, and as I pulled into the dealership in the torrential rain I had a moment of regret that I had been so cavalier about giving up my little Civic. Then I spied my new car and angels started singing and one ray of sunshine shone down on it amid the sheets of water and I leapt away from the Civic without a backwards glance at it’s window cranks. Because people: my new car is BAD. ASS. I was afraid to drive it off the lot, convinced that the second I pulled out of the driveway some uninsured idiot driving a Ford Focus would smash into my Amazing Vehicle and that would be the end of the pipe dream that this car was actually mine, to drive WHENEVER I WANT. Then I got home and I was afraid to leave it on the street, convinced that I would wake up the next day and in it’s place would be my little Civic and this would all have been a lovely, disappointing dream. But it was still there! And I could listen to my ipod all the way to work! And on the way I put down both the back seat windows on the highway because I totally could, without even climbing back there. And maybe if I leave school this afternoon and it’s still out there, I might be convinced that it really does belong to me.

Of course, I imagine that once I get that first bill from Nissan the reality that the car belongs to me will sink in for real. But until October I get to just enjoy it, payment-free. Woot.

Then this morning I was checking out a book to a sweet little sixth grade girl and asked her last name. When she told me, I was all, “That’s funny, I had a teacher in high school with that last name.” And she was all, “Oh! Mrs. So-and-So? Did you go to Timberlane? That’s my Mom!” I stared at her for an awkward amount of time before I regained consciousness and shook my head a little.

“Yes. I had your Mom for English.”

In itself I suppose this isn’t so strange, except that when I remember back this woman must have been about the same age I am now and I recall her being pregnant in my senior year of high school. Eleven years later, here’s her daughter, showing up in my library. The idea was so insane to me, that I could possibly be getting old, that I was floored. Seriously, I thought about it all morning. I’m still thinking about it. And sharing it with the internets. It’s crazy.

Then I got distracted, just for a moment, by an email from my Principal with the subject: “I’m not above begging!” and images of tube steaks and kissing balls flooded my brain. Oh, school. One minute you make me feel old as hell, the next you make me giggle like a 13 year old girl. Even when pushed to maximum stress, it never ceases to amaze me.

Well, well, well, look who’s a-postin’ on a Sunday evening. Apparently my strict Monday through Friday schedule has not yet fallen into place, and frankly, I don’t actually know that it will. I’m busier than a witch’s tit at work this year, what with having an entire extra job added to my own for NO EXTRA PAY. As you can imagine, it’s pretty sweet. No sooner do I finish deciding on which task I should tackle next when someone emails me that they’re out of printer ink, or asks me to locate a laser disc player (really? a laser disk player?), or makes the comment, “Wow, it sure was nice of you to take on all these additional responsibilities this year” when it actually wasn’t nice of me AT ALL, just that I don’t have tenure yet, and then I get sidetracked and all the actual duties of the library (where, just as a reminder, I WORK) fall to the wayside while I scurry to do other things.

So Friday was a bit of a strain on me, sanity-wise. I kid you not: I sat through 60 full minutes of a photocopier sales rep giving me a tutorial on how to make double-sided copies. The entire time I had one of those smiles on my face that was so fake that I was actually making myself feel a little ill and I wanted to smash in the photocopier glass and inform this man that I had pretty much invented double-sided copies, so could he please just leave me to my 90 kajillion other tasks? Finally, it was the end of the day, and I cheerfully waved goodbye to everyone and headed out to pick up my brand new car. Hooray!

I arrived at the dealer and started gathering up my belongings out of my old car, mentally saying my goodbyes to the Civic, when the guy who sold me my car popped up beside my shoulder. “Hey!” he grinned. “What are you doing here?”

Umm, picking up my brand new car? Which you told me to pick up on Friday at 3:30? You know, the car that I paid a lot of money for and would like to take home with me now? And I really, really hope that you’re kidding with me because otherwise I might just crack you one in the jaw?

No, people, he was not kidding with me. They really did not have my car. They did a bit of waffling and apologizing about the “miscommunication”, gave me a $50 Dunkin’ Donuts gift card “for my inconvenience”, and sent me on my way with promises that it would certainly be ready by Saturday. And guess what? IT WASN’T READY ON SATURDAY. The salesdude is lucky as hell I didn’t drive all the way up to New Hampshire, that I called him first to ask him about the car, because there would’ve been a regrettable but unavoidable throw down at the Nissan dealership. As it was, I calmly said “So it will be ready on Monday for me to pick up after school then, correct?” His reply: “Weeeell, I hope so. You might want to give me a call Monday morning so I can have a better idea.”

I’ll give him a better idea: that Altima better be sparkling clean, gassed up, and ready for me to drive off the lot when I get there on Monday afternoon or he’ll be feeling the wrath of Chris on his ass. I’m almost looking forward to it.

How could I forget how little the sixth graders are when they show up in September? They’re all scrawny, little bony macaronis. The two or three tall ones in the bunch all hunch over so they don’t appear to be giants among their peers. The tiniest ones look like they came straight from kindergarten, fumbling their tiny fingers around unwieldy combination locks. Yeah, try explaining how to turn the lock clockwise/counter/clockwise to kids who look like they just stepped out of their mother’s womb. There’s such a huge divide among them; the confident, overzealous, super-organized kids who show up with giant smiles, excited to be free of elementary school, and the shy, quiet, stare-directly-at -the-floor types who shake (and sometimes cry) at the thought of leaving behind the comforts of their 5th grade cubbies.

Then there are the new kids. One seventh grade girl showed up today in a flowy black dress with tall, black Chanel boots and super black eyeliner, her blond hair all loose and pretty. But in a class of preppy, snotty little girls, she was doomed to stand out. When I helped her figure out her schedule she grinned, then frowned and added, “I’m just a little scared.” I just about died for her, but I plastered on a big smile and told her she’d be great, then introduced her to some of the cooler, alternative girls in the class so they could help her find her next room. Last I saw she was running around with them, laughing like crazy.

It’s strange and fun and a little sad to be back at school. I won’t be all super sappy about it, like “in the moments that I feel overwhelmed I just look at the kids and I remember that they’re the reason I’m here at all” type of bull, because waking up when it’s still dark outside sucks no matter how much you love your job. But lots of kids have come running into my office to tell me about their summer trips to Venice, Paris, Bermuda, the “not-scary part of the Bronx”, all with the same glee as if they were telling me they had spent their summers winning PowerBall and discovering the formula for cold fusion. So I’m glad that they’re excited to be back, it makes me less sad to have summer vacation end.

Plus I only have them today and tomorrow and then it’s the weekend anyway. That definitely makes everything feel a little more bearable.

My last weekend before school was not spent lazing about, which is a shame, really, since it feels a bit like I squandered away my last bit of freedom before I return to the world of the employed actually doing things. That’s not to say that those things weren’t productive, just that there’s nothing quite like spending your days reading entire novels in your pajamas with maybe an occasional break for a little one-on-one time with Bob Barker, say around 11 a.m. or so.

As I was saying, it was an unexpectedly productive weekend in that C and I went car shopping for a solid three days, on a whim. Strange? Yes. But that’s how we roll. So I am finally going to trade in my little Civic for something that has power windows and power locks. Crazy! And it was providential that we picked this weekend, since there were insane Labor Day sales going on all over the place and desperate salespeople trying to hit their numbers for the month.

Going with C was a strange experience; the only person I’ve ever been car shopping with was my Dad and his version of haggling goes something like this:

Dad: How much is this car?
Salesman: $4,900,000.
Dad: Sounds reasonable. She’ll take it.

C’s version involved him talking to the salesmen for SO LONG that eventually they just wore out and gave him whatever he asked for. Which is time consuming, yes, but exceedingly helpful in getting what you want. And we looked at a lot of stuff. I’m not kidding, we went to at least 9 dealers over three days. I test drove at least six different types of cars and listened to endless hours of specs and options and pricing. I won’t bore you with the details, it’s enough to know that by this evening I am really, really tired of cars. BUT! I have narrowed it down to two choices (I think), and you all have to help me decide by Tuesday afternoon (please):

sporty little Scion tC

OR

bad-ass Nissan Altima

Help a girl out, will you? There were a couple other options still in the loop (Scion xB, VW Jetta, Mazda CX-7) but I had to make an executive decision and restrict it to these two. I think it shows remarkable restraint on my part.

Anyway, as if I didn’t wear C out enough with all the car shopping, I also made him wake up today at 6 a.m. to “support” me at my Iron Girl 5-mile run. Which meant he took pictures and carried my goody bag around looking cute. And let me tell you, I am the opposite of cute after running, so it was nice that one of us got to look good. Unlike LSass, I do not so much enjoy the running, but hey, it was for charity, and also all the women at my school did it together so I didn’t really have much of an out. And forced charity is still charity. At least I got a snazzy medal out of it.

And tomorrow: back to school, back to school. Can you believe summer’s OVER? I sure as hell can’t.

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