You're going to a dance AKA why I'll never let my mother pick out my clothes

I sort of view this entry as a companion piece to the one I just published.


About two years ago, my mother, sister and I were in the mall. I was looking for a pair of shoes to go with a dress I'd planned on wearing to the annual "Sweet Valley Middle School Christmas Party" So, my mother picks up a pair of shoes. Flat, black and pointy patent leather with a bow on them. Something I'd never wear and she told them they'd be perfect for me. I took one look at them and tried not to laugh. My sister, who's never short on things to say took one look at them and said, "you're going to wear those? They look like something a fourth grader would wear." Then I got into the spirit and said, "Oh I can see it now, here I am almost 40 and I'd wear these shoes out and people would think I'm a mentally challenged 40 year old going to her first dance. You're going to a dance!!! People would crow. How nice for you!!" While I certainly have nothing against the mentally challenged and am all for them going to dances, I really did not want to be perceived as one based upon my footwear. My mother, of course, was highly offended and told us if we wanted her, she'd be over at Sears.

This is precisely why I would rather she not pick out my clothes for me. Her idea of a great outfit is something I like to call "Garanimals for Grown-ups" You know, that clothing women of a certain age wear where everything in the store matches everything else. There is nary a zipper or button in sight. There is, however, miles of elastic waist bands. Now, I have nothing against elastic, it just to me, feels like I've given up. If wwha I'm wearing to work is so comfortable that I can wear it to bed, there's a problem.

Last Christmas, she bought me a sweatshirt with an embroidered cartoon dog on it. A sweatshirt that says, "Life is better when shared with a dog." While I may wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment, wearing it out in public is another matter. I have since donated the sweatshirt to charity where I hope it goes to an animal lover that enjoys cartoon dogs.

So, in all of this, what did I learn? I learned that just because you love your mother that doesn't mean you need to share everything with her, that includes taste in clothing. Oh, and by the way, if you're looking for me, I'll be no where near Sears. That's what I learned today.

Happy Mother's Day, I love you mom.

The "Holiday Sweater vs. Mother of the Bride" smackdown

Today, I went out to eat with my mother for Mother's Day. While waiting 2 hours for cold food, I started to notice what other women were wearing. In all of the uncomfortable pauses that come with waiting 2 hours for your food, I formulated this theory. When it comes to getting dressed to go out, there are two kinds of women: Holiday Sweater and Mother of the Bride. Please, allow me to explain.

First up is Holiday Sweater. This woman believes all you need to do to get dressed up is wear one thing that is shiny or has some type of decoration on it. My mother, bless her heart, falls into this category. She never goes out without some type of insect or animal embroidered on her clothing. This type of woman will go to a party in the summer wearing shorts and shiny flip flops, and consider herself dressed. She is the type of woman that would rather be there then be dressed to get there. Her key word is comfort. As long as she's comfortable in what she's wearing, she's happy. She looks upon mother of the bride with a mixture of confusion and pity. A look that seems to say, "What on earth were you thinking?!? Can you even stand in those shoes? Who wears a girdle to Charlie Brown's? I used to be Holiday Sweater. Her only competition is, you guessed it, mother of the bride.

Mother of the bride is an entirely different animal. Mother of the bride spends at least an hour getting ready, no matter where she's going. If she wants to wear her evening gown to Charlie Brown's Steakhouse, no one is going to tell her no. She's the type of woman who spends an hour getting dressed and made up to go to the supermarket. Any night out is an excuse for her to get as gussied up as she can and pile on what she can so everyone can notice the time and effort she's spent getting ready. Her motto is, "If it's comfortable, it's probably boring". She looks at Holiday Sweater and thinks, "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to dress? Not every place is the beach." As you can imagine, while these two smile at each other and wish them well, deep down they just don't get it.

Like I said before, I used to be holiday sweater. Now I am a proud member of the "Mother of the Bride" party. If I could find a dress that shoots fireworks out of it, I'd probably buy it. I almost bought a pair of 5 inch heels today, but alas they didn't have my size. I thought about squeezing into them anyway, but in all honesty, I didn't want to give holiday sweater any more to talk about.

So, now that you know what I am, what are you?

That's what I learned today.

Who Do You Think You Are?

Today, I was talking with a colleague of mine at Sweet Valley Middle School and I realized that for the beautiful person that she is, she still puts a great deal of her self-worth into her job. That got me thinking: where does who we think we are come from?

I, as you may know, spent most of my adult life as a very over wieght person. Funny enough, though, I never really spent much time thinking about it. Yes, I'd look in the mirror and be unhappy with what I saw, but most of the time, I thought I looked fine.

When it came to work, I did the best I could and sometimes it was brilliant and sometimes it sucked, but I did what I could do. It never occurred to me that maybe I should relate what I felt about myself to the type of job I was doing.

Several months ago, I was talking to a woman I work with, I'll call her "Dory". Well, "Dory"says to me, "don't you feel so much better about yourself now that you've lost weight?" I looked at her confused for a moment and said, in all honesty "I never really felt that bad about myself to begin with." It really got me thinking, "should I have felt bad about myself?" Now, I'm more confused than ever. If I felt ok about myself before I lost weight, what am I doing it now for? It's a wonder I ever got to sleep at night.

I used to work in a middle school in Florida, one I'll call "Orange Middle School". Well, the principal of the school tells me that she won't sign off on my probation, because I have what she deemed a "self-esteem issue" I asked her if she meant that maybe she thought my self-esteem was too low. "No" she says "It's just the opposite"

I ended up leaving that job, the only job I'd ever left (and hopefully ever will) because my self-esteem was just too darn high.

I know who I am, what I look like and what I'm capable of. If that's high esteem, then I don't really get it, I think I'm cool most of the time, but at times I can be a complete idiot.

I guess what I'm trying to say is self-esteem can only be found in you. If you try to look for it in other places or things, you'll only be disappointed. That's what I learned today.

A life less ordinary

A while back, someone once said to me that teachers should be paid more than movie actors. I smiled and agreed, but inside I was thinking, "What are you nuts?" Think about it, I know I'm a teacher and I should agree, but really movie stars get paid big bucks because people pay to see them. No one I know is coming to see me teach and apologies to all my colleagues at Sweet Valley, but they ain't comin to see you neither.

I don't begrudge celebrities for the money they make. I'm sure they work very hard at what they do. I get paid ok, I guess, I mean it could be a lot worse. I guess what I begrudge is that they're famous and I'm not.

Did you ever wonder if you were leading the life you were supposed to lead? Well, I have and I've often thought for some reason that I should be famous. I always felt that I should be leading a life that's more exciting than the one I lead now. I know I can't sing, I can't dance, I can't act so why the hell should I be famous? I have no idea but for some reason the thought won't leave my head. My only hope is that there are people on TV right now who have a no talent like me but they're famous, that gives me hope. See, I knew there were other reasons I love Snookie.

I'm hoping I won't have to get arrested or live in a house eating roaches with 20 other people to become famous, who knows? Maybe I'll win lotto and start my own show.

I guess that's part of why I started this blog, so maybe people would get to know me and be interested in the things I say. I only hope that if I'm not interesting, that someone will just come out and say it so I can put this dream to rest. Until then I'll keep hoping for the life less ordinary.

That's what I learned today.

Thank you Tiger Woods

I read in the paper today that Tiger Woods is going back to playing golf again professionally. I have to tell you, I was a little sad to hear it. No matter how sad I was, I knew he gave me and the country a great gift and I for one am thankful.

Let me start by saying I have no interest whatsoever in golf. My husband loves watching it on tv, God forbid he'd actually go out and play it. I however, would rather watch paint dry. No, you see my debt of gratitude towards TIger Woods has nothing to do with golf.

Every morning before I go to work, I buy the newspapers to read in my car, it's just what I do, don't judge me. Anyway, the stories of late have been pretty depressing, unemployment, recession and the like. Every where you look are stories of people losing their houses, jobs and hope. I'm lucky, I guess I have a home and a job. However, it was pretty damn depressing to go into a job, which can be pretty damn depressing too, after reading all of these stories. Then, one day around Thanksgiving magic happened.

Tiger Woods had gotten into a car accident near his home. I didn't much care, as long as he was all right, I mean people get into accidents every day no? Then, the stories started coming out. Every "hoo-er" from across the country started saying they were sleeping with Tiger Woods. Now, I thought, things are getting interesting. These women had no shame whatsoever in talking about the personal details of their sex lives. Now, if you'd ask them if they had cellulite, I'm sure they would've clammed up fast. They had, like I said, no problem talking about all the sex they were having, the kinkier the better.

All of a sudden, I noticed that all the doom and gloom that was usually front page news now had been pushed back in favor of Tiger Woods and all his "hoo-ers". I was thrilled. Now instead of going in to work thinking about all those poor people, I could now keep a running total of how many women Tiger slept with. (I found out later that keeping the list was unnecessary, the Post had done it for me, cool)

Then of course there was poor Elin, the scorned wife. Would she leave him? How much would she get? I was dying to know. My winter had suddenly taken on a purpose.

Now, Spring is here and all good things must come to an end. Tiger is back with his wife, he's playing golf again and I'm left with nothing good to read about in the papers in the morning. Oh well, anyone know how long until "Jersey Shore" starts up again?

That's what I learned today.

The Irish get the short end of the shileighle

Happy St. Paddy's Day to you all. Now, that I've gotten that out of the way, as a first generation Irish woman, I've got a gripe.

First off, I have no idea who Erin is or why she'd want to go braless, so please stop asking me. Also, no I don't have to wear green today, see if you can't tell I'm Irish by looking at me, wearing green won't help.

Recently, the Italian's were in the news up in arms over the portrayal of Italian Americans on the "Jersey Shore". They felt that they were being portrayed as brainless guidos, in search of a tan and a buff body. Let me tell you something, the Irish wish we had that to complain about.

First off, none of us tan. Yeah, yeah I know all about the "black Irish" and I don't buy it. If you're really Irish, then you don't tan, period. First degree burns, yes deep dark color that isin't red, NO.

Secondly, we'd love to have a buff body, but with all the children the Irish families pump out, women's bodies are shot and since you can't drag the men away from the pub to eat their dinner, they damn sure aren't going to any gym.

If you remember years back, the Italians also complained about the "Sopranos". They said that it made Italians look like they were all in organized crime. Again, the Irish wish they had these problems.

Look, at least they're being put on TV, when was the last time you saw and Irish family on TV? "All in the Family?" I think one of them was Polish, so I'm not sure if that counts or even if they were Irish.

Oh no, not us no tv shows for us, all we get are lame jokes about how much we drink all day. So, while I sip my iced tea while eating my grilled chicken and brown rice I ask you please to spare a kind thought for your Irish friends.

Top O' the Day to you all.

Everything I need to know in life, I learned from Snookie

Recently, like most of America, I find myself fascinated by the show, "Jersey Shore". When I first saw it, it was like watching a car crash. It was horrible, but I couldn't look away. I couldn't figure out why I was was so enthralled by this show. I know now.

The cast (especially the girls) were me, or more accurately what I wanted to be when I was their age. Growing up on Staten Island during the 80's all my friends and I wanted was an Italian boyfriend with a tan and muscles. Sad to say, I never got one but it didn't keep me from hoping. We also spent a lot of time at the Jersey shore drinking way too much. The only thing we didn't do was invite guys back to our house, since none of us had enough money to rent a house. But let me tell you, if we did.......

The character on that show that fascinates me the most is Snookie. Now if you're not a fan of the show, you can stop reading now. If you are, keep going and I'll tell you all the life lessons I learned from her.

1. When you're short, do what you can to make yourself more noticeable. Now, I'm not short, but it's still a good lesson for someone. Snookie wears her hair with this awful bump in the middle of it, and what do you know, she's at least an inch taller.

2. Take time to appreciate the little things in life. Snookie spent her summer working in a t-shirt shop when she wasn't partying or drinking that is. When I was her age, I'm pretty sure I had a full time job I wish I could've had a job selling t-shirts and hanging out all day.

3. Learn to relax. Here's a girl that can drink all night and still finds time to tan during the day. I'd be way too shot to even get out of bed after all that drinking never mind go and give myself third-degree burns for fun.

4. Be creative. When her ex-boyfriend didn't want to hang out with her, did she go home and cry about it? Well, maybe she did, but not before she decided to put on a show. There she was in the middle of the boardwalk at the jersey shore, dancing her little heart out. Was there any music? No. Were there any other people dancing? No. Did she look like a complete fool? Yes. Did it get her her boyfriend back? No. But was it impressive for it's sheer audacity? Oh yes.

5. Make the most of an opportunity. How many people do you know that can make a career out of getting punched in the face? (that aren't professional boxers that is) It's been years since I've been punched in the face, but if I thought I could use it to get paid as much as she's getting, lay the "smack down" on me I'm ready.

So, the next time you read in the papers people making fun of the cast of the "Jersey Shore" just think about all I've said while your trudging through the snow on the way to your lousy job, while they're getting paid to drink and hang out at the beach. If that fails, remember there are life lessons to be learned everywhere, even from Snookie.

That's what I learned today.