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Today I am going to present you with a hypothetical situation. Let’s just pretend for a moment that I am entertaining the idea of starting another (potentially the third) round of the Choose Your Own Blogventure series. If I were going to offer such a thing, I would say that this time around it would be a little different. This time I would have each participant pass the entire story plot, including their own segment, on to the next writer so that each segment would become a (mostly) coherent story line. Also, if I did decide to pull this thing together, I would need to decide whether or not to have a theme. The last story, No Way Home, had a sci-fi twist and it seemed to flow better when the writers had a concrete idea on which to base their stories.

I’ve been pondering the idea of another CYOB for a while now, and had a vague notion I was going to try do it during the summer months when I was relatively free from work-like obligations. Then I had a quiet nervous breakdown, defected to the UK for nearly a month, came back to a job I resented, and now here we are. Nearly October! Suddenly I got an email from out of the blue from Trev, thanking me for the last round of the CYOB that he had randomly found. “Oh yeah,” I thought, “that was fun. I should do that again sometime.” The same week, Jamie twittered that she wanted to do some fiction writing, and where was the next Choose Your Own Blogventure already? It appeared the time had arrived.

Now maybe you’ve been feeling the itch to do some creative writing, or maybe you are thinking “NPW, you one crazy ho, with your ‘hypotheticals’”. Either way,  here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to leave me a comment and let me know what you think, so that my hypothetical can either become reality or one of those things that I nervously laugh off with a “phew, really dodged the bullet on that one!” sigh to punctuate it. You can also help spread the word to see who else may or may not be interested.

Yay or nay?

Are you in or are you out? You know, hypothetically.

When I was in England this summer (god, I wish I was still in England), my cousin’s wife informed me that she was sorry she couldn’t attend a BBQ with me because she was off to Glasgow for a hen weekend. I must have looked puzzled because she added, “you know, a weekend trip with the ladies! Just us hens.”

A hen weekend! I love it.

This Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I will be enjoying a fantastic hen weekend with some very lovely ladies, including three former co-workers. We are heading north into the White Mountains of New Hampshire to celebrate a friend’s 30th birthday in style. And by style, I mean pajamas and paper cups of wine. We’ll also throw in some kayaking, geocaching, a waterfall, a couple of great meals, and a little outlet shopping to round things off.

I was telling someone at lunch today that I would need to bolt after the last bell on Friday to get on the road before traffic becomes unbearable. She asked what kind of camping equipment I was bringing and I just stared at her blankly. “Oh. I don’t… camp.” I could actually feel the distaste as I said the word camp. No, friends, I do not camp. It’s not that I don’t see some of the romance potential in it- sleeping out under the bright stars, alone in the wilderness, communing with nature. It’s more that I hate being uncomfortable,  sleeping on the ground, not taking showers, and the idea of bugs, snakes, and bears being in such close proximity with nothing to protect me but some flimsy nylon.

Nope. Definitely not for me.

Luckily, we have rented a house that sleeps ten so there will be plenty of room. We will also be well stocked with delicious fall beers, stuff to grill, and baked goods. Because what kind of birthday would be complete without funfetti cupcakes? Really now.

I don’t know if any of you out there reading are waiting for an update about how my new school gig is going, but if you are, this is your lucky day. If not, move on, nothing to see here. Anyway, as you may recall I am a middle school librarian with a Master’s degree in (you guessed it) Library Science. For the past four years I worked doing what I loved, even when things got crazy and my co-workers made me want to pull my hair out. This year, I am a full-time classroom teacher, the library is locked, and I am choking down my feelings of resentment that because I need A job I ended up being drafted into a position I never wanted.

For lack of a better term they are calling my class Computers, which is a joke since the first thing I do with the kids is have them take out their class schedules, cross out the word “Computers” and write in Research and Media Literacy. Computers! Like this is 1989 and the kids don’t know how to use a floppy disk! Just because my class takes place in a computer lab does not mean I am going to be covering their hands and asking them to type QWERTY without looking down. I am teaching them how to discern information; how to evaluate websites, mine data from online databases, develop essential questions and thesis statements, create blogs and webpages, write full and paranthetical citations, use spreadsheets effectively, and most importantly, how they can become better researchers and writers.

Unfortunately, I am also fielding questions from the kids about why they’re not allowed in the library, why they can’t check out books, and hey, how are they supposed to do research without books, anyway? When I tell you it’s like a knife in my heart every day I am not exaggerating. I have been in the school library twice since I started this job and it is dismal. Dusty, dark, shelves and shelves of valuable materials going to waste; it’s pretty much the opposite of everything I stand for.

So where does that leave me? As you can imagine it’s awkward, and sometimes unpleasant. On top of being dissatisfied with my role in the school and bitter about how little librarians are valued in general, I took someone else’s job, and my co-workers are definitely feeling that. They still come to ask me library and technology-related questions, and it kills me that I have to refer them to the Prinicpal rather than pop into their room and help solve their problems, since that is what I actually want to do. I want to help people, and now I feel like the girl who is being purposefully contrary when I can’t interrupt my classes to cart printer toner down to someone else’s classroom. And I won’t even go into the number of emails I’ve received from my OLD principal asking me library-related questions about my OLD school, where my job was cut. After playing the nice librarian and answering the first few emails I realized they were never going to stop, and I had to concentrate on what I was doing now. Hopefully my radio silence this past week has made my point. A cut position should still be a valued position, and it never will be if I continue to play people-pleaser.

When I was feeling down the other day, missing all my friends and former co-workers from my old school, I got a few Facebook messages from them about how much they missed me and it cheered me up. Then I realized: I haven’t gotten one single Facebook friend request from any of my new co-workers. I think that about sums up my current school social life. I don’t want to be the anti-social girl who spends all her time making photocopies and Twittering from her iPhone during planning periods, and I do make myself eat lunch in the faculty room, but so far, not really all that impressed with my colleagues. They’re going to have to really step it up for any of them to make the blog post cut.

But the kids- well, the kids are pretty priceless. I’m guaranteed a huge laugh at least once every 45 minutes. So… there’s that.

Guys. You’ll never guess where I was this weekend.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Okay, I give up, you’ll never guess. I went to CHURCH! I will give you a minute to get over your laughing fit.

Better now? Okay. I didn’t just get up and go willingly, of course, being an atheist and all. I was conned into going to the baptism of my cousin Jake, whose adorable little face could convince me to follow him into the seventh circle of hell, or worse yet, the Wal-Mart in Salem at 2 a.m., if he so wished it. He wouldn’t wish it, since he is a smart little bugger and would never want to cause his beautiful Aunty NPW a migraine from dealing with the horror that is the DubyaMart; the point is, I went to church just to see his darling smiley face.

Unfortunately, that meant I also had to sit through the baptisms of the five other children whom I could have cared less about, with their screech-y little voices and crying jags. I also had to endure the forty-five minute sermon on the mount, of which I do not remember one word. Seriously, if there are any priests out there reading this (doubtful): if you want people to come to church, try to make it a little less boring. Put some effort into it! Oh, you know what you need? You need a Whoopi Goldberg to liven things up a bit, with her ragtag bunch of singing nuns! For real: no one wants to listen to another insipid white man droning interminable platitudes at the masses. Been there, done that, dude. You are STALE.

And because I am so bored while I am there, I never know where to look. If I stare at the creepy tapestries too long I give myself the willies or the giggles, and it doesn’t help to have my dad next to me whispering things like, “Why do all the pictures of Mary and Joseph look like they’re stoned?” If I stare at the back of the person’s head in front of me, eventually I am going to creep them out  or turn them on, and neither prospect sounds at all appealing. If I stare at the floor I just appear to be somewhat retarded, and so that seems like my best option most of the time.

Even worse is that I still know all the call and response sections of the service, so now when the priest says things like “peace be with you”, instead of saying “and also with you” I stare dully at the back of the greasy pew thinking of every horrible thing I could say in response instead.

“Peace be with you.”
“Where can I grab some hundred calorie packs of this Body of Christ?”

“Peace be with you.”
“I bet Santa and Jesus totally make out on New Year’s.”

“Peace be with you.”
“You know what I hate, Father? Those t-shirts that say ‘whirled peas’ on them. They’re super annoying, don’t you think?”

Then comes the part where you’re supposed to shake hands with everyone around you, from the nasty little kid you just saw picking his nose to the ancient old man who looks like he had his last shower sometime during the Reagan administration. Listen, churchites, have you ever heard of a little something called contagions? I don’t shake hands with people unless I am trying to get them to give me a job, and even then my first trip after the interview is straight to the bathroom for some soap and water. I didn’t want to come to church in the first place, you think I want to spend the next three days heaving up everything in my stomach so I can wish you peace? BACK OFF, RELIG PEEPS.

Ahem. Yes. So that is how I spent a portion of my morning. It almost made me wish I was at work, and when I am wishing I was at work you know something must be terribly amiss.

A bunch of people have been participating in the Grace in Small Things challenge this year. Basically, I thought I was above such a challenge because really, who wants to read what Little Miss Sunshine over here has to say? You come here for cynicism and sarcasm, and I aim to please. But lately I’ve been bordering on depressing, and judging by the number of concerned emails I received after my tales of dating a sociopath I thought it might be wise to mention that there are a number of things about which I feel happy, nay, ecstatic!

So, while I truly appreciate your concern for the well-being of my mental health, I’d like to allay those concerns by presenting you with a rather large, somewhat random list of things that bring me considerable cheer.

• The return of pumpkin flavored things: coffee, beer, muffins, scones
• Buying a 42″ plasma TV for my as-yet nonexistent apartment (keep your fingers crossed for October 1!)
• My mother making potato pancakes and attempting to call them “pommes frites” but really just saying “po fremmes” (and then completely denying it)
• The cute police officer that goes to my gym grinning at me when I got off the treadmill with my headphones still plugged in
• An impending girls weekend in the White Mountains, where we will drink wine till we’re silly, splash around in kayaks, and laze in hammocks for three glorious days
• Getting my hair cut tomorrow- the eternal question: to bang or not to bang? (get your minds out of the gutter)
• Having multiple co-workers and students compliment my outfits/glasses- it’s always nice to hear, even from 12 year olds (we’ll ignore the fact that they probably like my shoes since I bought them from Delia’s)
• Some lovely friends planning a visit in October, and my British cousins coming to visit again in November- just in time for my birthday and my fave holiday, T-giving.
• A TV lineup that includes Lost, Fringe, Dexter, Project Runway, and SYTYCD
• Baking blueberry lemon scones
• Leaves that have just started changing into fiery fall colors

So what’s been floating your boat this September?

A few of you commented that you would like to know more about the dude I went on a few dates with and ended things with an email that basically called him, as I so subtly phrased it, a suicidal sociopath. I thought about ignoring those requests for deets because while it’s probably just another funny story for you all to read about and go on with your merry lives, I’m embarrassed to say that this one kind of hurt. I actually liked this one, which just goes to show that I should not be allowed to date. My judgment appears to be entirely off its rocker.

Clearly I like the dudes that have an edge, something mysterious and hard to reach. I tell everyone that I like easy-going, funny, intelligent men, but what I mean by that is complicated, dark, tortured men who are able to use humor as a defense mechanism to avoid real human interaction. I want someone with layers. I want someone brilliant, who will wow me with insightful philosophical thoughts about life and how his childhood permanently fucked up his adulthood so that he is now functionally unable to relate to another human being without subsequently freaking the fuck out. I want someone emotionally unavailable, but who will give me just enough of a glimpse into his head that I will feel like I could take away some of that vulnerability by being completely and totally there for him.

I want someone creative. I want to be dazzled by words, so that I can feel like I am reading between the lines and seeing the words “I need you”. I want someone with a story to tell, but not in easy conversation, oh no. It has to be told to me in a sculpture, or song lyrics, or a mosaic made from feathers and glass and blood, sweat, and tears. Someone who feels his aloneness keenly but is unable to stop himself from sabotaging any relationship he has. Someone who has the tragic life that I do not.

Everything I want is bullshit. I am an idiot. Therefore, my next date  will be with an accountant, or a banker, or a statistician. I’m done with the goddamn artists, they’re nothing but trouble and heartache, Suicidal Sociopath included.

Yeah, feeling any kind of connection at all with new people is pretty rare for me right now. But I deserve to be happy, just as soon as I figure out how. Looks like it might take me a while to figure it out.

Welcome! You are entering the shitpile that is my life! I’m sure you will all be pleased to know that this morning I spilled an entire large iced coffee all over myself and my classroom, basically the minute I entered the school building. I like to start things off with a bang! Then I called my Assistant Principal a hypocrite (not in so many words) and called the guy I went on a few dates with a suicidal sociopath (again, not in so many words). Continuing on with that theme of awesomeness, I had a few good lessons and then an 8th grade lesson that made me question both my sanity and my commitment to working in a school.

Usually on days like these, the only thing that makes me feel remotely better is some quality time with my BFF, the internet. The sweet relief of opening my email, the excitement and curiosity of who may have written me, all of that died when I saw what that evil corporate giant Amazon had sent me:

Apparently it’s not enough for my life to suck. The Universe would like it to suck while I wear Crocs, AKA the shoes people only wear when they care so little about themselves that they might as well give up now. Now with free shipping!

That long weekend was pretty sweet, right? I valiantly tried to pretend I was back in vacation mode by doing summery things like going to the beach and staying up past 10. I managed pretty well until last night at 11:30 pm when I realized, oh crap, I had to get up in six hours to teach kids how to center text in a Word document. And if that isn’t a thrilling enough reason to wake up at 5:30 then I don’t know what is.

So I firmly shut my book and turned out my light and ordered my brain to sleeeep. Unfortunately, my brain is a rebel and I tossed and turned forever until I fell into a fitful slumber where I dreamed about my Post-It dispenser going on the fritz and shooting Post-Its at the kids when they walked into the classroom. Personally, I think that would be hilarious if it really happened, but in my dream I was worried about it. Stupid subconscious.

Anywizzle, by the time I rolled out of the house this morning I knew that I needed a pumpkin spice latte in order to make it through the morning. It wasn’t until I was stuck in the drive-through line at Starbucks that I realized I had morning “duty” and I was going to be late. What the crap! Why would they give a new teacher the first week of morning duty? And how am I supposed to wake up even earlier to make it there in time? I’ll tell you what, this new school is bullshit.

I will spare you all the details of my misery because hell, we have ten whole months to discuss how much my working situation sucks. Let’s just leave it at me, searching through library jobs at 3:30 this afternoon from my work computer, and researching what it would take to get out of my current year’s school contract. Because I have my lesson plans done through the next week and a half I have basically been using my planning periods to tweet about how much I hate everything and sending whiny, self-indulgent gchat messages to anyone likely to commiserate.

However, one good thing has come out of it: my raging headaches from being interminably cranky have only one outlet, and that is serious exercise. I ran my first 5k this afternoon in a very, very long time. Maybe I’ll be ready for that end-of-fall triathlon, after all.

As a joke I posted a Facebook status update saying that I was going to make t-shirts with the slogan “I Survived Week 1!”. And I did survive, but it kind of feels cheap because I really only had kids two days this week. Believe me, to someone who used to see maybe one full class a day, a full teaching schedule is fairly torturous, even for just two days. Thankfully all my classes but one were a piece of cake. The little sixth graders are too timid to make a peep, the seventh graders are easily squashed if they start up, and the eighth graders are too busy thinking about which girl they want to ask out next to bother making my class miserable.

My one tough 8th grade class was my own fault. I made the mistake of letting them write the answers to my questions on the SmartBoard and it was like a comedy of errors watching them try to use the fiber optic markers. Lesson learned: from now on, I will be doing the writing. I don’t need to be blamed for ruining a $3000 screen.

My new principal, who is a million times more competent than my old principal and actually a nice human being (but still woefully inadequate), stopped by this afternoon to let me know that the kids have been saying “Ms. NPW is super nice!” Really, kids? Nice? I can’t help but feel as though I should have gone for “hard” or “tough”; I am far too smiley for my own good. At least they’re not calling me the Evil Librarian Lady. Yet.

As for the rest of it, I miss my old co-workers. I miss my old library, and my Chinese people, and even the batty senior citizen volunteers. I still haven’t found anyone I’d really like to hang out with outside of work, and I can’t tell if that’s normal, if I was just lucky to find actual friends at my old school, or if I just haven’t given it enough time. Probably the latter, but that doesn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at all my new colleagues when they’re not looking. I think maybe I’m just a little bitter that they don’t yet realize that they are working in such close proximity to supreme awesomeness. That time will surely come, but for now I am left with the occasional person stopping in to see how things are going (I know they are secretly hoping to be able to console me after I sob to them about how hard teaching is), and the occasional teacher stopping in to ask me for technical help. It’s amazing to me the number of people who can’t figure out how to use Outlook. Really. It’s astonishing.

But now, long weekend. And tonight I am going to a Degrassi Junior High party with my former colleagues where we will drink wine and commiserate about how we are far too cool to work with anyone new.

And if you haven’t seen the original Degrassi Junior High, what is wrong with you? Seriously. Get on that.

Personal life:

• Well, the boy called back. He had some random excuse why he hadn’t called earlier involving a friend in a roller derby accident. No, I am not kidding. So despite the fact that I actually rolled my eyes at his lame boy attempts at justification I agreed to give it another go sometime this week. Sadly, I am not exactly thrilled, which is too bad because I actually liked this one. To me it feels like he ruined it before it got a chance to start by being incommunicado. Really, in this age of technology there is never a time I am not available by phone, text, IM, email, Skype, Facebook, Twitter, USPS, or pigeon carrier. That means that other than hospitalization or death there is no reason to not contact someone for four days. Ever. The end. If only boys understood how little it took to make me happy (ie, a text message) they could be living the golden life. Fools.

School:

• Today was my first day at my new school. I cried. Twice. Not in front of other people, thankfully, but still. In one day I managed to cry the same number of times I cried at my old school in the past four years. That has to be some kind of record. I was very much overwhelmed.
• My new principal brightly announced to the entire staff today that he is adding “library duties” to the rotation, where teachers can check out books to kids. It was basically like a slapping me in the face while shoving my Library Science degree into the shredder. Yes, that is how strongly I feel about it.
• I didn’t meet one single person that I thought, hey, I’d like to be friends with that person, or, I’d like to have conversations with that person every day for the next 180 days.

Glasses:

• My Zenni glasses came in! FINALLY. They’re both a little crooked, but once they are adjusted I think they’ll be super cute! I apologize for the poor lighting and my messy ponytail hair, but feel free to weigh in.

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