blakspring

June is a few minutes away from being over and perhaps that is a good thing for me because I have felt like Sisyphus all month.  I try to push that boulder up the hill but it slips from me and rolls back down.  The apartment that I thought I would be settling into by now is still not finished.  It’s in the home stretch, with an actual toilet, tub, and sink but the floors have not been started yet.  My back is aching and my arms are sore from spending the last few hours prying off four layers of old tiles and linoleum from the entryway.  (I could swear that I saw a couple of tiny insects fly out from under the baseboards.)  And I am not even halfway done with this task.  Even when the floors get done (eventually) there will still be countless little things to fix up.  I wonder if I’ll be moved in before my trip to Bali.

And speaking of Bali, I have yet to book any accommodations.  I did buy two guidebooks a few weeks ago but still haven’t found the time to thoroughly look through them and do online research.  At this rate I’ll be forced to get very friendly with some Australian surfers when I arrive.

My summer vacation should be in full swing but so far I haven’t felt it, though I did dye my hair purple to commemorate not having to enter the school for two months.  Actually, it was my mom who dyed it for me.  First she tried to talk me out of it by telling me I was getting too old for crazy colors.  When that brilliant strategy failed, she decided to do a 180 and color my hair herself.  It was quite the luxury not having to use two mirrors and still missing spots.  Madre did a great job though she also used more dye than I normally do and the color has not stopped bleeding since Saturday.  Just running my fingers through my hair gives me a purple hand.  Purple drops of sweat roll down my neck and forehead in the sun.    Only black shirts for me unless I want a tie-dye effect around the collar.  Everything I touch becomes dyed; I’ve been rubbing my head on people’s arms to annoy them.

Somebody tell me that July will be less rdiculous.

Since yesterday afternoon, I have officially started summer vacation and decided to celebrate a bit by having dinner in Little Italy.  Back in September,I had received a card for dinner for two and a bottle of wine courtesy of my school president.  Obviously I’m a procrastinator since I finally used it in late June.  I had meant to use it months ago, was actually gonna take D for old times sake, and then more time passed and I realized that maybe the ex-husband was not the right person to have a fancy dinner with.  (Though last year I’d gotten the same card and gone with D.)

I decided to invite Mr. Ron Russo to dinner because I enjoy his company and also because I figured it would lull him into a false sense of security that I’d forgotten about the whole locking-me-in-the-AV-closet incident.  We met at the restaurant and I could tell he was excited about dinner because he wore a button-up shirt with no holes or stains.  The restaurant itself is very nice with a glassed-in “garden” area, the waiters are old-school elderly Italian gents, and there is a specific way that dinner goes when the card is presented.

Last year it went like this:

• the wine was very dry and barely drinkable but I wasn’t about to say anything
• the appetizers were delicious and so numerous that I didn’t see how I could possibly fit an entree
• the waiter “suggested” that D have the filet mignon while I have the chicken (or was it fish?)
• I replied that I would also like the filet mignon
• he tried to talk me out of it
• I insisted until he grudgingly gave in
• I asked for medium-rare but it still came out as tough as a shoe sole (maybe I should have had the chicken)
• dessert with tea and coffee was pretty good
• food coma ensued

Even with the crappy wine and disappointing entree, I did enjoy myself last year and was curious how this time around would be.

Last night went like this:

• the wine was pretty decent and much better than last time
• the appetizers were also delicious though not as numerous as last year, which is not surprising given the state of the economy
• pasta with tasty mushrooms in a creamy sauce followed
• we had to stop ourselves from eating all the pasta since that was still not the entree
• the entrees arrived - I was given a delicate fish with spinach while Mr. Ron Russo got the manly veal with mushrooms in a gravy sauce
• the waiter actually said,”the fish for the lady” in a soft voice and then said, “the veal for the man” in an exaggerated deep voice while making his hand into a fist and shaking it
• the waiter also gave us smaller plates so we could share
• you know the veal was better and I was making use of my small plate
• dessert was so good - sweet cream with raspberries and then a chocolaty creamy cake
• two shots of limoncello, which I’d never had before but will definitely have again
• food coma ensued

This year beat out last year and I had a wonderful Tuesday evening, even with my delicate fish.

If I’m really honest with myself, I admit that I am a lazy blogger.  My posts are sporadic and I always feel like I’m boring you guys to tears.  So I was completely shocked when the very funny Jules at Mean Girl Garage sent me following award:

Either Jules does not have a very discriminating taste in blog-writing quality or she is so ecstatic from starting summer vacation that she didn’t realize that my blog slipped onto her list.  Either way, I’m not complaining and am very thrilled.  If you really must know, I’m blushing.

There is a stipulation to the award:

Thanks Jules!  Maybe this will motivate me to be more entertaining

Sometimes I worry about where humanity is heading.  At least ten times a day I have students asking me if they can borrow a pen or a pencil.  There seems to be a shortage of loose-leaf paper.  Too many stare at me blank-eyed when I tell them to save their work to a memory stick.  This morning four students asked if I had a calculator I could lend them for their ALGEBRA FINAL EXAM.  Because it is totally normal to show up for their most important math test without one.

And then there was this lovely exchange last week:

Do you have…a little…umm…pen?

You want a little pen? (What?)

No, not a pen.  It’s kind of something like this. (Points to a paperclip.)

You want a paperclip?

No, something like a paperclip.  You squeeze it and a needle comes out.

… (What?)

You know, you squeeze it and a sharp end comes out.

You want a safety pin?

Yes! (Big smile.) A safety pin.  I ripped my pants.

Then again maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised about the students considering that just the other day two teachers thought it would be funny to lock me in the AV closet.

In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t all that funny.

On of the older clerks approached me when I was working at the public library on Sunday.  She was holding the latest issue of Cosmo magazine.  When she got to my desk, she put the magazine almost in my face and said, “If the young women of today are getting their advice from this, then they are in deep doo-doo.”  She spit out the word “this” like it was a bacon-wrapped turd.  I blinked a few times and raised my eyebrows.

“Look at this”, she said as she opened to a Q&A page and pointed to a particular question:

Q: How can I let my man know that I like what he’s doing?

A: Moan loudly and grind your hips into him.

I furrowed my brow and shook my head but all I could think was, “Yup, that’ll do it.”

The chaos that is my life refuses to abate.  Everyday is work and apartment and Home Depot and tile store and everything else.  Throw in the seniors’ graduation on Saturday, working extra hours at the public library, and trying to squeeze in time with friends, and I barely have a moment to myself.  Which is why I was really looking forward to seeing Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction at Jones Beach this past Sunday.

I was working at a library on Long Island till 5:00 that day.  (Hey, Bali is not gonna pay for itself).  The two friends I was going with were meeting me at the library so that I could leave my car in the parking lot and go with them in one car.  We got there early and hung out a bit by the beach.  A couple of little stoner kids started talking to us, making me feel like a cranky geriatric because 1) I was probably old enough to be their mom and 2) their combination jaded cynicism/wide-eyed enthusiasm was annoying me.  Yeah, I’m officially 89.

We finally got to our somewhat-nosebleed seats and the wind was blowing something fierce.  Most shows I go to are indoors in small venues with no seats so that the heat emanating from hundreds of sweatng moshers keeps me warm.  Even though I wore three layers and sat between my friends for a (minimal) buffer effect, I was goddamn freezing.  I  had to keep running to the ladies room every few songs because I was literally shaking from the cold.  It got so bad that I was using the hot air dryers in the bathroom to warm myself until I started a trend.

The show itself was really good and the bands did not disappoint.  I’d seen Nine Inch Nails at Webster Hall back in ‘95 when Trent Reznor was a skinny goth kid.  People, the man has bulked up, gotten a haircut, and become fine.  Not just fine but FINE, and when he sang “I want to fuck everyone in the world” I figured it’d be nice if he started with me.

We got out just after 11:00, so even with having to get my car I figured I’d be home around midnight.  Except I wasn’t because that’s when everything went wrong.  My friend’s car wouldn’t start even though the lights and wipers worked.  He figured it was the starter, which he’d had previous problems with, and we weren’t going anywhere.  He called his folks and they were nice enough to drive out to Long Island and get us.  A cop came around at one point and called a tow truck because Jones beach is a State Park and the car would be impounded if left there.  Also, only certain towing companies can go on the parkway - which totally reeks of nepotism - so we had to wait for the proper tow truck to get there.  We followed the tow truck to a service place somewhere on Long Island, then his parents dropped us off by my car, then I drove my friends home. and finally drove myself home.  By the time I dropped dead into bed it was after 3:00 am and I start work at 7:30.

Probably should’ve caught a ride with the stoner kids.

Damn, it’s been almost a week since my last post.  I’ve been meaning to write sooner but haven’t had the time.  This weekend was insane and exhausting and stressful to the point where I don’t know if I want to laugh like a maniac from the absurdity or cry from frustration.  The apartment is slow-going and in no condition to even sleep in.  On Sunday I packed the last of my stuff and Little Sister helped me take it over to the padres, in between getting about 500 pounds worth of construction materials at Home Depot and running other errands.

Most of my stuff is in bags and boxes in the basement, my clothes and toiletries are in bags in the middle of the padres’ living room, and I am sleeping on a sofa mattress half-under a table.  I am grateful that they’re letting me stay there temporarily, and it’s better than Harry Potter in the cupboard, but it still kinda sucks.

Most of the grunt work has been done and now it’s a lot of technical, precise stuff that takes longer.  I’m trying to do what little I can but end up standing around a lot awaiting instructions from my poor pops who is trying to juggle several tasks at once.  And while I totally love and admire my dad, he is also a perfectionist and micro-manager.  I was ready to go on strike yesterday when I apparently couldn’t paint a door with primer properly.  Seriously, it was PRIMER.  It will get painted over.  Aaaghhh.

If I ever figure out which bag or box is hiding my camera, I will try to put up some pictures of what my future home looks like right now.

I soooo deserve a vacation and so I finally did something nice for myself.  I booked a flight to BALI!  I’m leaving in early August and staying for a whole month.  If I decide to come back.

The Good News: I am officially moving into my new place on Sunday.

The Bad News: The new place is still a complete construction zone without even a toilet.

The Story: My folks have been kind enough to let me rent an apartment in the building that they own.  And while I’m not even mentally ready to ponder the Faustian bargain I may be making (cheaper rent but close proximity to the padres), the fact is that my last day at my current place is this Sunday.  My roommate is also moving out on Sunday and it just made more sense to vacate together than look for sub-letters or deal with the whole rent on my own.

The apartment is not in bad shape but still needed an overhaul.  Thankfully, the walls are good and won’t have to be replaced but the ceilings, floors, and bathroom are all being redone along with the wiring, plumbing, and all the other fun things that one doesn’t think about when it works.  My dad (who is really too old and has too bad of a back and should be relaxing on a sailboat in the Caribbean) is doing the bulk of the work himself, with just me and a few guys working for him.

While I’m no expert, I did help D’s father renovate about seven apartments, learning the ins-and-outs of working with sheet-rock, painting, preparing molding, caulking, etc. (In fact, I knew I won the man over when he started asking my advice on techniques and things instead of consulting with his son.) Inevitably, I became a demolition expert and the official bathroom destroyer, wielding a mini-jackhammer like a sword.  This time around it’s the same story only my dad doesn’t seem to trust me with power-tools the way my former father-in-law did.

We are behind schedule and everything is down to the wire.  I’ve been helping out as much as I can, especially in the last week.  I come home from work, eat a quick snack, and run off to the apartment, working there till 10:00 pm.  Besides demolishing the bathroom, I’ve been painting, scraping, cleaning, hauling, and doing a LOT of heavy-lifting.  All the guys at the construction store know me because my errands are never-ending.

It’s taking a toll on me physically but the more I do now, the faster it will be finished.  (And the more I do, the less my dad has to do.)  As it stands now, when I move in on Sunday, I will have to put my things into one semi-finished room that will still need floors.  My dad is hopeful that I’ll be toilet-less for only one week.  If the place is 100% ready at the end of June, I will consider myself blessed.

In the meantime, I’ve been promised an early release tonight.  Hopefully I’ll still have a bit of energy at 8:00 pm because Mr. Ron Russo has offered to take my tired ass for sushi.  And sushi is always a good thing.

Digital photography has made me less discriminating.  I remember fretting over every shot; is it worth taking a photo of this statue or that sunset?  Now I click at too many things and get overwhelmed when I return home from a trip.  Surprisingly, I didn’t take many pictures in Newport, which is actually a good thing.

Newport is all about the water and sailing, and I liked watching the yachts go by across the water:

There’s also a tiny island, Goat Island, connected to Newport and I was really excited to check it out.  Unfortunately, there were no goats.  In fact, there was not much of anything.  I decided to call it No-Goat Boring Island.  There was this cute lighthouse though:

On the bike ride to the old fort there were sheep (still no goats) and a llama.  I had a pleasant flashback to Machu Picchu:

The fort turned out to be closed because nothing much happens in Newport before Memorial Day, after which it is overrun with tourists.  I settled for less people and a cool cannon:

There was also this God Bless America train.  Yeah, I know, my vacation is so exciting:

I love the Cliff Walk which has beautiful views:

.

And because I am obsessed with all things Japanese, I really like this tea house, even though there is no tea in it:

I somehow ended up not taking any photos of the old houses that I want to live in.  Instead, here is a picture of me squeezed in with an organ grinder.  I’m not sure how I managed to fit, and after the photo was taken I thought I was stuck.  I was picturing the waitresses at the Barking Crab pouring melted butter on me in an attempt to dislodge me.  Luckily, it didn’t go there:

My Tuesday evening meet up with Dingo and The Coconut Diaries, as well as the three-day excursion to Newport the following day, were much needed diversions in this crazy month.  Dingo and TCD are amazing, hysterical, and absolutely gorgeous women who are even funnier in person (as if that were possible).  We had a very tasty dinner, served by very cute waiters, after which we went to Sweet Revenge for cupcakes and more drinks.  There was lots of girl talk to be had and they humored me enough to let me indulge in all sorts of self-absorbed pre- and post-divorce topics.  Thanks ladies!

The trip to Newport was really nice since it was pre-Memorial Day and the place wasn’t crawling with tourists yet.  My days consisted of devouring amazing lobsters and crabs (though I opted not to order the 7 pound lobster named Trevor), bicycling all around till my lady-parts hurt, doing the Cliff Walk, dominating at skee ball, and getting my ass handed to me at air hockey.  I was in full vacation mode which consisted of eating about 3 pounds of fudge in bed while watching educational, informative, somewhat interesting,  crappy cable shows like Dog The Bounty Hunter.  I also found about 37 houses that I would buy if I magically inherited all of Bill Gates’ money.

I got back from Newport on Friday night and since Saturday morning it’s been nonstop work.  I’m so physically exhausted that I can’t even bring myself to write more about it right now.  Hopefully, I will get to it soon.  In the meantime I will leave you all with one little preview: I am moving to my own place in seven days!