Tuesday January 27, 2009 at 6:24 pm
Tuesday January 20, 2009 at 2:19 pm
Pretty things
I’ve fallen into a weird obsession with crafty design blogs, if that’s how one would classify them. I’m not sure. The salt stain halos on the bottoms of my jeans are cutting off circulation to my fancy.
Luckily, there seems to be a bottomless barrel of quality sites, and as Pittsburgh has yet to show signs of coming out of its sooty winter greyscale, this is the closest alternative I have to experiencing the serene ambiance of my future cottage on the Italian countryside.
Rummage
Loobylu
wee birdy
A Cup of Jo
Cafe Cartolina
poppytalk
something’s hiding in here
I’ve fallen into a weird obsession with crafty design blogs, if that’s how one would classify them. I’m not sure. The salt stain halos on the bottoms of my jeans are cutting off circulation to my fancy.
Luckily, there seems to be a bottomless barrel of quality sites, and as Pittsburgh has yet to show signs of coming out of its sooty winter greyscale, this is the closest alternative I have to experiencing the serene ambiance of my future cottage on the Italian countryside.
Rummage
Loobylu
wee birdy
A Cup of Jo
Cafe Cartolina
poppytalk
something’s hiding in here
Friday January 16, 2009 at 9:45 am
A whole ‘nother ball game
I had a meeting yesterday for a small job at my old high school, and it felt sort of strange being on a similar level with people who were once the pinnacle of authority in my prom-planning, french-fry-with-ranch-dressing-eating, jeans-too-low life. As we toured a newly-renovated athletic area, and I passed my old gym, it took a great deal of self restraint not to run out in the middle of a matball game and lob a dodgeball at a cluster of emo kids on second base.
I did the whole student teaching deal, and if anything, it only solidified the growing notion that I would suck at it. I don’t have the patience or the stamina for teenagers, and truly admire those that do. I dropped the certification sometime during my sophomore year, sentencing myself to years of being asked what are you going to do after studying English…teach? and having to answer uh, well, der…
Those that know me in real life may be thinking to themselves, whatever, Rachel, great story coming from a COACH. And to them I say, when I am able to approach an English student, one of my beloved pupils, who is completely massacring Shakespeare in such a way that his distracted classmates have decided to remove the cell phones from their baggy pockets to forward pictures of my chalk-covered ass to their 9th-grade girlfriends, and remind him in my loadest, angriest, shrillest voice in front of a stadium of onlookers, including his parents, that he is UNWORTHY OF THE MUD ON HIS BACK, I will take it to the classroom.
I had a meeting yesterday for a small job at my old high school, and it felt sort of strange being on a similar level with people who were once the pinnacle of authority in my prom-planning, french-fry-with-ranch-dressing-eating, jeans-too-low life. As we toured a newly-renovated athletic area, and I passed my old gym, it took a great deal of self restraint not to run out in the middle of a matball game and lob a dodgeball at a cluster of emo kids on second base.
I did the whole student teaching deal, and if anything, it only solidified the growing notion that I would suck at it. I don’t have the patience or the stamina for teenagers, and truly admire those that do. I dropped the certification sometime during my sophomore year, sentencing myself to years of being asked what are you going to do after studying English…teach? and having to answer uh, well, der…
Those that know me in real life may be thinking to themselves, whatever, Rachel, great story coming from a COACH. And to them I say, when I am able to approach an English student, one of my beloved pupils, who is completely massacring Shakespeare in such a way that his distracted classmates have decided to remove the cell phones from their baggy pockets to forward pictures of my chalk-covered ass to their 9th-grade girlfriends, and remind him in my loadest, angriest, shrillest voice in front of a stadium of onlookers, including his parents, that he is UNWORTHY OF THE MUD ON HIS BACK, I will take it to the classroom.
Friday January 9, 2009 at 8:14 am
Save me, Batman
In accordance with my recent health kick, I’ve been skimming articles about better living, and first let me say that I hate how that sounds. I’ve always been an advocate of fast food and laughing at yoga, until I realized that I was no longer sixteen and suddenly had ten pounds on my boyfriend. We took some pictures on New Years Eve and I hated them, even though he looked great. There’s nothing more motivational than routinely being next to someone who hasn’t put on a pound since high school.
Lately I’ve come across, on more than one occasion, reports on the importance of sleeping well, namely in darkness and without sound. Late last year, I mentioned that along with my need to disconnect the cable came the dread of sleeping without the TV on. Luckily, my DVD collection has since grown. For the past couple weeks, I’ve been playing The Dark Knight and passing out before the end of the opening robbery sequence, but on Wednesday night, I decided to completely unplug and see what happens.
I don’t think it’s that I’m afraid of the dark as much as capable of driving myself insane. When there’s nothing to focus on, I’m always waiting to hear something, and now that I think about it, that sounds a lot like what goes on with the dog. Will there be something moving in a minute? A sound now? Now? A car outside? Another car? A sound? A sound?
I was tired enough to fall asleep after rolling around for an hour, and woke up at 3AM from the most terrifying, paralyzing nightmares I’d had in years. And the fact that the Joker is able to lull me to sleep but I can’t be left alone with just myself for a half hour may be more telling than I’d like to accept.
In accordance with my recent health kick, I’ve been skimming articles about better living, and first let me say that I hate how that sounds. I’ve always been an advocate of fast food and laughing at yoga, until I realized that I was no longer sixteen and suddenly had ten pounds on my boyfriend. We took some pictures on New Years Eve and I hated them, even though he looked great. There’s nothing more motivational than routinely being next to someone who hasn’t put on a pound since high school.
Lately I’ve come across, on more than one occasion, reports on the importance of sleeping well, namely in darkness and without sound. Late last year, I mentioned that along with my need to disconnect the cable came the dread of sleeping without the TV on. Luckily, my DVD collection has since grown. For the past couple weeks, I’ve been playing The Dark Knight and passing out before the end of the opening robbery sequence, but on Wednesday night, I decided to completely unplug and see what happens.
I don’t think it’s that I’m afraid of the dark as much as capable of driving myself insane. When there’s nothing to focus on, I’m always waiting to hear something, and now that I think about it, that sounds a lot like what goes on with the dog. Will there be something moving in a minute? A sound now? Now? A car outside? Another car? A sound? A sound?
I was tired enough to fall asleep after rolling around for an hour, and woke up at 3AM from the most terrifying, paralyzing nightmares I’d had in years. And the fact that the Joker is able to lull me to sleep but I can’t be left alone with just myself for a half hour may be more telling than I’d like to accept.
