After spending some quality time with Laura and Susie today, it has become incredibly clear why I am still single: I am too old. Twenty-six may not seem old -- I have to actually THINK about how old I am now --but trust me, when the men (boys) I have crushes on are mostly years younger than me, it seems even older.
Zac Efron. Perfect hair, great smile, sweet abs.
Twenty-two years old.
Taylor Lautner. Have you seen New Moon?
SEVENTEEN years old.
Anthony Fedorov. Can sing, is kind of a nerd, would provide me with naturally blonde children.
Twenty-four years old.
After watching (500) Days of Summer twice today, I've decided that my new, age-appropriate celebrity crush is Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He is darling, has great dimples, is not seven feet tall (it's a habit), and starred in one of my favorite movies: Angels in the Outfield.
It is no longer okay to be in love with Taylor Lautner.
*On a more serious note, please do not go and see New Moon. It's quite embarrassing to be the only two people between the ages of 14 and 35 in a movie theater where everyone SCREAMS whenever RPatz comes on screen to smolder and wrinkle his nose at Bella. Kristen Stewert is the worst actress ever (besides Nicolas Cage) and Kellen Lutz had maybe three minutes of screen time. Edward still sparkled like an 80s music video and the rest of the wolf pack forgot to go to the gym. I should probably write movie reviews for the Seattle Times.
Other things that aren't great about turning 26:
*Being carded. "26? I would have guessed 19, maybe 20." Thank you.
*One step closer to 29, my Do Not Want To Be age.
So...if I'm going to turn another year older, you'd better believe I'm going to do it In Style.
Not that I was living in complete luxury, but back when I had a full-time teaching job (with benefits! with a retirement plan! with summers off!), I spent my money. Often. I wasn't extravagant, but I took vacations, I bought nice jeans, and I handed over my credit card at the end of a dinner with friends.
Fast-forward to now.
My full-time preschool teaching job was recently cut to part-time and then even more recently cut to no-time. My boss "let me go" because I took a second part-time job to pay my rent. And nice jeans. I miss the kids and that's about it.
I now have the best job in the WORLD working in special ed at the best elementary school in the WORLD, but alas, it's only part-time. Which brings me to a fun game I like to call "Then and Now."
Then: Beautiful townhouse in Seattle, two blocks from Gasworks, half a mile from Fremont, and dangerously close to many many boutiques. Now: Awesome condo in Redmond, far far away from my beloved Seattle, but closer to everything else important in my life.
Winner: Now
Then: Nordstrom card, Macy's card, GAP card (platinum level, might I add), Victoria's Secret card, two credit cards, one debit card, and ZERO credit card debt. Now: All these cards, hopelessly collecting dust in my wallet. Except my Tinkerbell Visa, which obviously is still used so I can collect Disney points!
Winner: Then
Then: Eating out at least three times a week, happy hours, coffee dates, ice cream dates, movie theater popcorn... Now: I'm learning to cook. Surprisingly, I'm not a horrible cook. I'm learning to grocery shop without just tossing boxes of Pasta Roni into my cart. I also have a crock pot!
Winner: Now? (I still go to happy hour...cheap food...cheap drinks!)
Then: Frequency customer of Borders. Granted I DID have a teacher membership which I mostly certainly abused ("Of COURSE this copy of "Sex Lives of Cannibals" is for my first grade class."). Now: Library books. Right now I'm reading through the Narnia books, which are awesome, but I miss being able to fold down the edges of my books to save my place.
Winner: Then
Just think, when I finally get back into a classroom, I'll have my Masters plus two years plus about 15 credits. Which means I'll be able to afford someone to clean up after me when I cook, because seriously, this cooking thing isn't actually so bad!
I played kickball this evening. You can all kindly pick your jaws up off the floor. I didn't suck.
My dear friend Jeff (who knows better) called this afternoon and said, in an overly excited tone, "What are you doing tonight?" Expecting an invitation to dinner or perhaps an offer to give me my blender back, I responded, "Nothing! What's up?" "Oh good, you're going to play kickball."
I panicked. I backpedaled. "Jeff, you know I'm not athletic AT ALL. You don't want me on your kickball team."
"I know. This is how desperate I am."
Upon arrival at the kickball field, I learned that my friend Erika was responsible for the phone call. Thanks Erika, off the Christmas card list. I pleaded with my friend Annie to come play, but as she is currently "injured," she was happy to sit on the sidelines and take pictures to prove to everyone that I actually own a pair of athletic shoes and that I can move quickly even when there's not a bee in the vicinity.
Attempting to keep me out of the outfield, Jeff suggested that I pitch, which was a genius decision on his part. I was so good. I barely had to run and I only had to throw the ball to first base four times.
I caught a pop-up, struck a girl out (which really meant that she kicked it foul two times, but still...), made it on base three times, and didn't look like a complete spaz when I ran. Erika scraped up her knees (karma?) and Annie supportively shivered in the dugout. HOWEVER. I do not appreciate the sarcastic comments from my friends.
Text from friend #1: WAIT. You played kickball?!!?
Phone call from friend #2: Did people see you run? And they still let you play?
Comment from my own mother: Like actual kickball? On purpose?
Best one - BBM from Jeff: Totally proud of you. You were really great.
I'm fairly certain Karen is the only person who reads this, and I really don't think my stories translate well in writing (at least through impromptu blog-writing), but this is a good one.
I now work in special education, as a one-on-one para-educator for a seven year old girl with Autism. She's very involved: no speech, no responding, no anything really. She's darling and incredibly sweet, so I love her, but I am TIRED at the end of the day. As her one-on-one, I have to be with her at all times. All. Times.
Today we went swimming.
I'll start this story by explaining that the swimming instructor - we'll call him "Skinniest Man Alive" - is great with the kids, but somewhat of an interesting character. As I paraded into the swimming pool area in my neon green Speedo, holding the hand of a little girl in a swim diaper and a swimsuit that kept falling off (who cares, she's a little girl, and no kid in that pool knows nakedness is inappropriate), I glanced into the pool to see if Skinniest Man Alive (SMA) was ready for us to get in.
HE WAS IN A WETSUIT.
This is a special ed pool. It was probably 95 degrees in there. When I got in the water, I almost fell asleep. A wetsuit?? The kid must have absolutely no body fat. A wetsuit buttoned up to his neck. Are you kidding? I wanted to shed my suit as soon as I got in the water. It was like a sauna. PS - The wetsuit was TOO BIG for him, so it wasn't even tight. Just awkwardly bunchy.
So we swam for thirty minutes and my little darling managed to pull my top off (thank you), splash my mascara off into the water (as a little Downs girl screamed, "BUG IN THE WATER"), and swallow approximately five gallons of pool water. At least she was hydrated. It's a concern.
After changing out of my swimsuit in front of three children and two adults (nightmare), we went to join the rest of our class in PE. During the "brain dance," where the rest of the class attempts to cross the midline and stand on one foot and even normal first grade boys can't do that, LD and I (Little Darling, as I will henceforth refer to her as) sat on the floor and cuddled. It was a long day.
Flash forward to the end of PE when LD climbed off my lap and I realized I was soaking wet. Was her hair dripping onto my jeans? Did I forget to take her out of her swim diaper? The pool of water on the floor was at least a foot in diameter...what on earth? Smelled like water. Looked like water.
It was pee.
LD had peed all over herself. LD had peed all over me. Not one adult in that room was sympathetic. Giggles. Laughter. Pointing. I am seriously soaked and LD's skirt is soaked. Her defective Dora the Explorer diaper is disintegrating onto the floor. Her brown tights are dripping all over the floor and when I took her pink cowboy boots off a few minutes later, they were FILLED WITH PEE. And I've still got my fingers in the puddle going, "I think it's just water!"
Still, the best part of this story is that the swim instructor wore a WETSUIT in the pool.
I signed up to be a teacher for the following three reasons:
1. I love children.
2. I love learning.
3. SUMMERS OFF!
Thanks to this lovely economy, I had to give up my premium teaching job (read: best first graders EVER) for a second-best teaching job: preschool. My preschool continues during the summer.
Wait a sec.
(Those of you who have a year-round job, do not tell me I'm complaining. You can take a vacation whenever you want. I have three (THREE) personal days every year. Do you know how crowded Disneyland is in the summer?)
Granted, I've been a nanny during previous summers, but last summer I brought the kids to the gym, to happy hour, and left them at home for hours at a time because they were 14 and 15. One time we drove to the outlet malls because I wanted new shoes and completely forgot about soccer practice. Whoops.
So this summer, I've had my first real summer job. My days have consisted of filling up countless water bottles, bandaging countless owies, cutting up countless apples and bananas, and collecting countless, priceless memories.
*Most of the kids (who are 3, 4, and 5) can appropriately use the phrase "That's what she said."
*I drowned an ant hill and scarred 18 children for life. "YOU'RE MURDERING THEM!"
*My co-worker tricked me into eating a green pepper.
*I've fallen completely in love with a two-year-old named Jack. (Have you seen the South Park episode when the kindergarten teacher dates her student? Just curious.)
*I have only changed one diaper all summer. And when I was finished, the two-year-old told me, "Good job Miss Catlyn."
