Talking Like a Brit

Bahahahahahaha! I just finished reading Bridget Jone's Diary. Again. It's like Pride and Prejudice. It just gets better with each read.

I can't pick a favorite line; she had so many good ones. I think I just love how Bridget is so relaetable. When I shout outloud into the book, "Why,  Bridget? Why? Why are you trying to make confit?" I don't feel so dumb doing it because I am not shouting warning to a fictional character but to me, at some point in time or another, when I dream up a ridiculously impractical idea, set about to do it, and then wonder why it failed.

And the funny thing? I keep on doing stuff like that. Just like Bridget. All women do!

That's why we love her. And her mother is the woman we love to get frustrated at. Oh! And stupid Daniel. And how about Mark Darcy...bahaha. Diamond-patterned sweater. Ha! (Read the book to know what I mean). Still, the perfect hero for Bridget.



There's only one downside to reading Bridget - for the rest of the day all of my thoughts are in a British accent. I feel both posh and pretentious at the same time. I also get surprised with a dose of modern reality. British people actually have normal lives. And that's always a little disappointing to realize.

Anyway. I got a great idea, all due to Bridget. Why not start a book club? But rather than try to be hoity-toity smarty, just really read the books that book club girls really want to read anyway. Romances and Chick-lit! Great idea, me!

Cheryl and Melanie agree, and because these are usually quick reads, we can meet about every two weeks (which we do anyway). But this time we'll have literature to gossip about, and not coworkers/neighbors/family.

Love!!!

Any suggestions? I am thinking the newest one to come out by Amanda Scott - should be out in July.

Plus, it'll give me a good excuse to buy it and not feel embarrassed at the counter. "Oh, it's for the book club" and the clerk will say, "Ohhhhh," (because book clubs make ANY reading legit) and I won't feel like an uneducated, unwanted, unromanced singleton.

I am very educated.

No Pain, No Gain

First things first: Sorry for not having posted in a week. Last week was finals, then graduation followed by the All-Night Grad Party, of which I was a chaperone. (No, CH was not there). By the time Saturday rolled around, I was exhausted. And Sunday was Father's Day, so you know how that goes.


Remember how I mentioned that I want to take full advantage of Summer? Come what may, I'll embrace it? Well, I'm embracing.

This weekend I am going to a friend's beach cottage on the Sound. Melanie's place is in Stonington - swanky, cute village next to Mystic - and I couldn't be more thrilled! Good friends, great atmosphere, history all around, and cute, rich New Yorkers.

 (My favorite light house in Stonington)

Wait, men will not enter the equation. This is the Summer-O-Me.

And Me said yesterday that it's time to shed the winter coat and get groomed. Pedicure, check. Manicure, check. Legs waxed, check. Bikini wax...what?

I don't know what I was thinking when I told Karen (the salon owner of Pretty Girl and the only person whom I allow to rip hair from my legs) "Sure, why not?" when she asked if I wanted the Beach Body Beauty special.

Perhaps this image came to mind, and I was momentarily deluded?

Maybe Koreans have a different idea of personal space and modesty. Or maybe, after seeing one Girly Zone, you've seen'em all and nothing phases you (kind of like being a gyno). But whatever it is, I was in complete and total shock when suddenly, Karen goes, "Too hard. Take off."

And before I could say, "Take off what?" my panties were pulled down to my ankles and hot wax had gripped onto me, and then was mercilessly ripped off.

"Ahhh!"

"Don't be a baby. You good girl."

I shot an incredulous look. Precisely. I am a good girl. Shouldn't people buy you a few dinners and gifts first?

Rip. Rip. Rip,rip,rip.

"Oww. Karen, don't you think -"

 Riiiiiip.

"Ahck! Can I have a break? How much longer?"

"You Italian  - lotta hair. No breaks, line waiting. It's okay."

 Line waiting? Who would sign-up for this? And okay for who?

"Owwww!"

Rrrrriiiiiip. Rip. Rip.

A phrase from my childhood came to mind as I bit my lip in horror:
Suffer it with dignity.

I used to hate it when my mother would tell me that. "I don't want dignity," I would whine. "I want sympathy!" and then I would stomp off to my room in true teenage melodramatic fashion.

However, while laying on the torture table, I saw wisdom in the phrase. And speaking of torture, was I sure Karen wasn't North Korean?

To add insult to injury, I was being scolded by a five-foot-nothing lady as she ripped follicles from their homes. "You sweat a lot. Why? Stop it. Makes things harder."

Why am I sweating? Well...let me think...

Shortly thereafter, the terror stops. I take a minute to breathe, my muscles involuntarily tensing, suspecting a sneak attack at any moment. Karen walks to the supply table, and out of the corner of my eye I see a something reflect light.

Tweezers.

"Nooooo!"

 Karen shoots me the Evil Eye, since I startle her and make her drop them. "Don't be a baby. You want pretty Beach Body, right?" she asks, practically salivating at the opportunity to inflict more pain.

"I am sure it'll be okay, Karen. I mean, somebody will have to get awful close to me to notice what hasn't been tweezed down there."

She pursed her lips, thinking. I prayed, hoping she would set me free.

"And, you know, with the line out there..." I tried coaxing. Wherever that mythic line was.

"Yeah, alright. But still pay full price."

"Of course," I sighed in relief, hoping that I didn't sound too pathetic. I would pay double the full price, just to get out of the excruciating pain the tweezers would exact.

As I waddled out to the car - note to readers, if you ever do a bikini wax, don't wear tight jeans. Chaffing's a mother - I just kept hoping this would all be worth it. And though this is a Summer-O-Me, a guy better check me out on the beach this weekend. I did not go through all of that for mere indifference!

On the plus side, I feel neat and tidy.

Where the Party At?!

"Oh,oh,oh,oh...and all my giiiiiiirlsss, up in the cluuuuuuub..."

Remember that summer jam from what, early 2000? Here, let me refresh your memory.

 


It's okay. I had completely forgotten about it until it popped on the radio while I was out driving, doing my thang, yo. (Okay, okay. I'll lay off the thug style. But I just couldn't help it. Too tempting).

They don't call them oldies but goodies for nothing. I am proud to say, I turned up the volume and started busting moves in my seat - as well as a safe and responsible driver can - right there in the middle of traffic.

Yeah, people gave me looks. But you know what? I didn't care! I was having fun! A whole host of summer memories came back to me, and that's when it happened.

The Epiphany. (Cue in chorus of Angels.)



(Fine. A choir of adolescent British boys will do. I guess...)

Anyway. I realized that I am wasting my time. I am so busy trying to get Jackson's attention, trying to make something out of this, that I am losing the whole point of summer. And I am a teacher for crying out loud! I should know this.

The summer is not for playing by the rules. The summer is about taking a vacation. I need a vacation from myself. Staid, play-by-the rules Elsie will be back in September folks. Gettin' jiggy with it Elise is here to play! (Well, maybe not gettin' jiggy. That phrase kind of freaks me out).

But I will wear a bikini and not want to gouge my eyes out! I will stay out past 12:00 on a Friday night, and go dancing with my girls! I will meet lots of guys - tons of guys - and enjoy basking in their admiration! (Or at least dance with a few guys and not obsess over his feelings towards me). Yeah, reasonable, baby-step goals are good.

And who knows? Maybe I'll be wild and crazy enough to hit the Jersey Shore. You never know. A Guido or two, or a hundred,  just might be the distraction I need.

My World Cup Runneth Over

So when Jackson called me last night and asked, "Hey, a bunch of us are meeting up at The Drunken Toad to watch the USA vs. England game Saturday. Interested?"

I responded, "Of course I am interested!" all the while thinking, What exactly am I interested in?

The phone call lasted all of two seconds. My research went about 2 hours.


I can't believe how much I have been depriving myself all these years, by not ever following the sport. Have you seen the bodies on these guys? Holy Hooligans, Batman!

Just to get into the spirit of things, I have decided to post my top - five favorite things I have learned about the game, while researching.

And when I say "things" I mean really cute athletes. And when I say "researching" I just mean clicking on as many cute athlete photos as possible.

Ahem. In Descending Order:

     5. U.S.A. Forward (the guy who's in the front of the field), Jozy Altidore

 Okay, so this picture might not say that much, but I actually did see some footage of him play and WOWZA, has he got a physique on him. Plus, there's something kind about his eyes...

     4.  Vive la France!

Although I think Midfielder Yoann Gourcuff is the most handsome on the team, with his Abercrombie stare,

I think I'll have to give the 4th spot to his teammate and Goalkeeper, Cedric Carrasso.

Look at that smirk! I can almost hear him taunting, "Moi? Afraid? I can take all that you've got, cherie, and still teach you a thing or two about living!" I mean think about it; this man thinks facing down cannons flying at 60 - 80 mph towards his face is fun! A date with him, and I think I'll be bored the rest of my life.

3. German Defender, Holger Badstuber

I see a little Brad Pitt in there, don't you?


2. Italian Stallion, er, Forward, Antonio Di Natale

I think "Natale" in Italian means Christmas, or something close to that. How about finding that present to unwrap under your tree?

Drum roll please...

1. Portuguese Midfielder, Cristiano Ronaldo

Ummmm, remember that image of the ice cube, representing me from a couple of posts ago? Yeah. Someone should red card him, just for being too hot!

Well, there we have it. Now I can hang out on Saturday, feeling confident that I know at least a little bit about the Beautiful Game. (And just by judging these 5, the person who dubbed Soccer with that name wasn't kidding!)

Agree with me? Think I left someone out? Think I am completely off? Let me know who makes your top 5 :)

"Bring It On"

Disney is magic. Disney can capture the whimsical dreams and secret princess desires of any little girl in any part of the world.

So is it any wonder that when this closet-princess was faced with an impending doom, a Disney movie scene was the first thing to cross her mind?

Imagine my onset of agita when, as Jackson and I were being seated at our table tonight (yay! he wanted to take me out for dinner and a baseball game!), none other than CH walks to our table and says, "Can I get you started on anything tonight?"

Somewhere in time, while the handsome 30-something year old caucasian male placed an order of drinks and appetizers, a pretty almost 30-something year old caucasian female stopped breathing, and her ability to speak, act or think coherently was over-taken by The Emperor's New Groove; a favorite of hers, and something her subconscious instinctively knew was right for the situation:

 


Thank you, Kuzco. Thank you for facing all-too-certain death with calm and dignity. Thank you for being that example.

Unfortunately, I don't thing I was quite so stoic or nonchalant about the whole thing. In fact, I am pretty sure I failed miserably.

How could I possibly focus on food, or even attempt deep - nay! - even flirtatious conversation with what could possibly be the man of my dreams when all the while, I know CH can round the corner with a plate of cheesy fries?! And worse, know that tomorrow I'll be drilled by him, and probably all of the faculty?

(Small tangent: Cheesy Fries, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...)

And, even though I know it is part of his job description,  I don't think a waiter needs to check on the status of my drink, my food, my (dis)comfort every 2 minutes.

Yeah, I timed it. Not kidding. It's like CH had a special radar knowing when Jackson was going to turn the conversational mood from "light and easy banter" to "Hey, this girl seems interesting. I think I want to know her better" mode.I was so nervous that I don't think good conversation was possible, anyway.

To make matters worse, by the end of the meal (which I shoveled into my mouth as quickly as possible just so we could leave the dreaded place, looking like a starving heifer in the process, with Jackson wide-eyed and probably thinking, "Can her digestive system handle the speed of intake? Will she throw-up on me? Again?"), I practically yelled at both Jackson and CH when he oh-so-innocently - but I know better - asked, "Any room for dessert?"

"No! We don't want any dessert. We just want to get the check and go. Hurry up."

CH just was biting his lip, trying to hide a smile. Jackson sat across from me, in a mixture of shock, judgment, and disapproval.

Jackson: You know, if you didn't want dessert, "no thanks" would have covered it.
Me: I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. But can we just go? Please?
Jackson: Okaaaay. But don't you think you owe him an apology?
Me: What? To this waiter? No. No,no,no,no.
Jackson: What's wrong with this waiter? (And here I could tell he was really starting to get upset). Are you that much of a snob?
Me: Snob? Of course not! I am a very humble person. (I said this knowing that that is probably one of the least humble statements ever. I felt like such an idiot). I like waiters. I have nothing but respect for food servers. I -
Jackson: Prove it.
Right then, CH comes to our table with the check.

Jackson: (To CH) Thanks.
Me: (Spitting the word out like poison) Sorry.
CH: Exuse me,what was that? (Then he winked at me while Jackson bent his head to search for cash in his wallet. Oooooo he wasn't making this easy).
Me: (Deep, calming breath) Sorry. For rushing you.

He didn't say anything but smiled and grabbed the check from Jackson, then wished us a good night out as he disappeared into the kitchen. Or Hell. Wherever.

As we were walking out, Jackson threw his arm around my shoulders (a momentary feeling of joyful bliss), and jerked me back from the clouds with these little words:

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Oh Jackson, if you only knew what awaits me tomorrow in the teachers' lounge.

Climb Aboard the Crazy Train

Remember that Britney Song, pre-Federline and meltdown, "You Drive Me Crazy"?

(Ah, Britney. We miss you. Where is that sweet, virginal, mentally stable singer we used to know and love?)
  
Yes, well, it might as well be the soundtrack of my life. Only substitute the "You" with "I" because when it is my time of the month, and especially when it coincides with me meeting a really cute guy who seems interested in me, the Crazies are in full swing.

And that's where the danger happens. We all know, I am not exactly a suave seductress to begin with. But my monthly increase in estrogen just about kills romance in my life.

This is due to the fact that I get either highly snippity and irritable, or sulky and paranoid. It seems like poor Jackson (and poor me) have to negotiate around sulky and paranoid this month.

Mind you, it's not like Jackson even knows. I mean, we only have gone out once (it was rather magical), with hopes of perhaps ice cream or something tonight. So far, ho-hum normal. I know.

But it is not!!

Beeeecauuuussssse....he promised me to call me! And he didn't! And out of the other 3 weeks of the month, I would think this is fine because it's not like we are boyfriend and girlfriend, or even seeing each other. But instead, I am in hyper-sensitive, scan my cell phone's ID, check my gchat, stalk the man on facebook to see how many other girls he is flirting with, CRAZY mode.

I thought we had fun on Friday. Lunch was great - we talked as if we had been in touch for years. I mean, the man has read and likes Emile Zola for goodness sakes! Nobody I know has ever heard of Zola.

Between telling me, "I like it when a girl asks for real soda. None of that diet garbage," after noticing that I confidently asked for Pepsi with lemon, and Zola, I ask you, is it a little crazy to be picking out the bridesmaids colors? Okay. Maybe a little.

But it is not so crazy to be disheartened when he says, "Let's do this again. Call you this weekend," and then the whole weekend comes and goes and nothing. Not  a ring, not a text, not even a wall post.

I shouldn't care, but I do. I shouldn't feel rejected, but I can't help it. And I shouldn't be angry, but I am.

The one bright spot is that I can blame all this on the red wave, and hopefully by the time I am done on Sunday, Jackson will be a small blip of a penciled-in appointment on my day planner.

Now onto the true men who never disappoint me: Ben and Jerry, Cherry Garcia. Yum :)

Let's Do Lunch

Have you ever heard three more beautiful words in your entire life?
(Well, short of "I love you.")

That's right ladies and gentleman. Tomorrow, I, Elsie Lastname will be going on a lunch date with Jackson Keverly. This is the stuff dreams are made of!

For the curious, Jackson looks pretty much looks like Channing Tatum's twin, only with black, wavy hair and ears that don't stick out:

Now, I know this is only lunch and not a dinner and a movie date, but cut me some slack. I was the one doing the asking out, let's not forget. It was all by way of reparable damage. And not wanting to pressure him, I figured lunch is a nice juncture of "I'm Sorry-ville" and "Can I have your babies?"

If lunch goes well - and I think well for Jackson means all of my food stays inside of my body - then maybe he'll want to duplicate the happy experience. Maybe. I hope.

(Dreamy Sigh)

He was so sweet about my calling, too. He even offered to pick me up at my school, but I didn't want to risk my students seeing me get into his car...and, not that I really care what CH has to say on the subject, since he is apparently all flexy and limber with Yoga Christine, but, I wouldn't want him asking me any questions either.

So I politely declined and said we could meet at this cute little cafe  - Peaberry's. (If you ever go, and have gone all Eat, Pray, Love, order the Oreo Brownie. You will not regret, and you'll want it forever. Promise.)

But this is where he got really cute! He goes, "Okay, Elsie. We can meet, but I'm paying." To which I replied, "What? NO! This is my way of saying I'm sorry for, you know, throwing up all over you."

Then, oh my gosh, I almost melted for the second time today. He chuckled and said, "If it means that much to you, then I'll settle for splitting. But promise me one thing."

Me, all curious, "What would that be?"

In a very sexy, mock-stern voice, "If I even see you think about ordering anything with Mayo, I'm bolting and sticking you entirely with the bill."

Then he laughs, and I think, This is too amazing to be true. He is cute and charming. Am I in a Disney movie?

If I am Cinderella, let's just hope that if I do end up losing anything tomorrow, it's my ability to concentrate, and not my actual lunch. Those things are like lightning, right? They can't hit the same girl twice!

Miracles Really DO Come True

Alrighty, I don't have much time because the school newspaper kids will be filing into my classroom any minute but I HAD to update you guys. More to come later tonight.

Are you ready for it?

Jackson. Keverly. Left me a voicemail!!!!

And it wasn't angry! Yaaay!

(I know, I am a little exclamation point happy, but it is the only punctuation mark that can properly express how I feel right now).


This, verbatim, is what it said:

"Uh, hi, Elsie? This is Jackson. Jackson Keverly. I just wanted to see how are you holding up from Monday. No hard feelings, and hope you are feeling better. So, I'll be around for another week. Give me a call if you get bored. Okay, so...hope to hear from you soon. Bye."

Yup. That deep, sort of gravely voice got me so hot and flustered I had to cross my legs.

This is me right now -

Well, the students are coming in, so I gotta get it back together. What do you think? Should I call him tonight? Would that be too eager? How about tomorrow? He waited a couple days...should I? Enough! Must focus on students. Paralyzing indecision later...

Ominous Happenings begin with Potato Salad

I am not even going to segue this:
I threw up all over Jackson Keverly!!

Potato salad, you are dead to me. Never again will I be enticed by your carbolisciousness.

Yes, and if this post sounds like a complete diatribe of self-pity and woe is me, well, can you blame me?

How would you feel after seeing the man of your high school dreams after a hiatus of seven years, and when it looks like the stars are finally aligning and maybe, just maybe, an innocent, non-committal yet I'm-slightly-into-you invitation to the coffee house is about to happen, you start to taste some potato salad and suddenly without warning all of that mayo and potato goop spews right out of your body and lands smack on your Adonis's Ralph Laurn Polo!?!?!?

Whyyyyyyyyyy, Love Gods, why?

And if that weren't devastating enough, both my mother and his mother ran up to the two of us, club soda and a flurry of paper towels in waving arms.

My Mom: Oh my gosh, what happened?
Jackson: I think I'm going to throw up...
Me: I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry (x 100)
Mrs. K: Oh dear, oh dear. Club Soda, Elsie? Jackson, take off your shirt!
Me: (In between the "I'm Sorry," ogling his cut abs). Oh. My. Gosh.
My Mom and Mrs. K: Do you feel like throwing up again?!
Jackson: Somebody get Elsie a bag quick!
Me: No, no. I'm okay. Now.
My Mom to Me: How could you do this? (As if I wanted to throw up on the man).
My Mom to Mrs. K and Jackson: She really is usually more gracious than this. (As if I were a rebellious teenager, purposefully out to ruin the family picnic).
Jackson: Whatever.
Mrs. K: It's okay, Sandy (My Mom). There's so little we can do to control these things. (Hellooooo. I'm still here!)

At that point Jackson and I were ushered into the house, where he showered and changed.

I was forced to lay down on the couch. And because they were out of ice, since it was all in the coolers outside, was forced to lay a package of frozen peas on my forehead, and was told not to move.

"Really, Elsie," Mrs. K explained, "you don't want to be playing softball or anything like that, not with the way you are feeling."

And that would be completely mortified with a side of "can I go hide under a rock."

I stayed on the couch for about another 20 minutes, then decided to leave a nice note for Mrs. K and texted my mother that I would be leaving. Then, with the air of one admitting defeat, got into my car and beelined it for the solitary comfort of my apartment, where I promptly hid under the covers, hoping that things would look better in the morning.

They didn't. But they do smell better.