Randoms.
So, I've been silent for a spell. Yea, it happens to the best of us. I could easily write a novel on the dynamics of students these days, but since I've got a stack--or three--of papers I'll save that for tomorrow.
Instead, in short . . . and no, that's not a pun on me.
Last night the Yanks swept the Twins in the ALDS series. I may, or may not, have consumed an entire bottle of South African burgundy in less that two hours. This would have left me sans wine by the seventh inning, tragic, and I might have drunk texted. I know that I did not tell anyone I was pinning for them, but I drunk texted. When I went back to the liquor store today, for a second bottle, the clerks might have looked at me like I linger on the Drunky McGee side. After all, they do remember me for buying my bottle of bourbon in there not long ago. A five block radius from my house also knows I love the Yankees like a fat kid loves cake.
After spending an afternoon aimlessly wandering through the city's most famous park--Central Park for any fool who feels that need to say "What park?"--some chick flashed her cooter at me on the subway. She didn't just flash her cooter, but she raised her eyebrow at me and then flashed. That was special. Super special. This also occurred moments after I rode a few steps below someone on an escalator. The person in front of me was tall and wearing a mini. She had on no undies.
In a series of lectures/discussions in my Women's Studies class on body image and sexuality, this three lettered gal learned something. My students taught me that "pop" is a term given to a particularly skanky girl, and the term derives from "pay one price." Nice image. Also in the course of these lectures, while immersed in articles on body image, I looked at my class and said "We all have a skinny person inside of us, but if you are like me you shut that bitch up with cookies." Two point five seconds later the laughter came.
Around this time my pants became noticeably too big, and I began sporting a pair of Express size tens. I had kept them. The need for pants that fit led me to gladly and unabashedly accept Calvin Klein, Common Sense, and another pair of hand-me-downs from a friend who recently took off her depression weight too. Good times.
Went down to Dixie for 48 hours, and couldn't wait to get back to NY. I had noise and pollution withdrawal.
Has learned--actually I already knew this--that teaching those college courses in three prisons left me marked in many ways. I've been known to have PTSD moments . . . While writing on the board, before class, the group was coming and going and chatting. As the noise continued, I had to take deep breaths and force myself to write. All-the-while, as I stood there in three and a half inch heeled boots, jeans, a blazer, and smelling of perfume I had to remind myself that I don't have to worry about turning my back anymore. FYI, in prisons when noise occurs like that it means something is going down. This is not an experience, the PTSD moments or prisons, that I want to repeat.
And . . . some dude wearing a Superman cape asked me out. From the wear and tear on said cape, he sports that bitch a lot. Go on, say it. I'm flypaper for freaks.
Though, I will say that on nights like tonight when I am--literally--that girl walking alone along the East River, with the bustle of Astoria and lights of Manhattan, life is pretty good. As the wind rustled my hair tonight, and I saw one solitary star over my 'hood I wished of what I have been. I won't tell you that, but it is for the same two things. I would give up one for the other, but not the other for the one. In the end, I'm okay these days . . . in many ways I've lost myself but found myself again. Time will heal the other crap.
Instead, in short . . . and no, that's not a pun on me.
Last night the Yanks swept the Twins in the ALDS series. I may, or may not, have consumed an entire bottle of South African burgundy in less that two hours. This would have left me sans wine by the seventh inning, tragic, and I might have drunk texted. I know that I did not tell anyone I was pinning for them, but I drunk texted. When I went back to the liquor store today, for a second bottle, the clerks might have looked at me like I linger on the Drunky McGee side. After all, they do remember me for buying my bottle of bourbon in there not long ago. A five block radius from my house also knows I love the Yankees like a fat kid loves cake.
After spending an afternoon aimlessly wandering through the city's most famous park--Central Park for any fool who feels that need to say "What park?"--some chick flashed her cooter at me on the subway. She didn't just flash her cooter, but she raised her eyebrow at me and then flashed. That was special. Super special. This also occurred moments after I rode a few steps below someone on an escalator. The person in front of me was tall and wearing a mini. She had on no undies.
In a series of lectures/discussions in my Women's Studies class on body image and sexuality, this three lettered gal learned something. My students taught me that "pop" is a term given to a particularly skanky girl, and the term derives from "pay one price." Nice image. Also in the course of these lectures, while immersed in articles on body image, I looked at my class and said "We all have a skinny person inside of us, but if you are like me you shut that bitch up with cookies." Two point five seconds later the laughter came.
Around this time my pants became noticeably too big, and I began sporting a pair of Express size tens. I had kept them. The need for pants that fit led me to gladly and unabashedly accept Calvin Klein, Common Sense, and another pair of hand-me-downs from a friend who recently took off her depression weight too. Good times.
Went down to Dixie for 48 hours, and couldn't wait to get back to NY. I had noise and pollution withdrawal.
Has learned--actually I already knew this--that teaching those college courses in three prisons left me marked in many ways. I've been known to have PTSD moments . . . While writing on the board, before class, the group was coming and going and chatting. As the noise continued, I had to take deep breaths and force myself to write. All-the-while, as I stood there in three and a half inch heeled boots, jeans, a blazer, and smelling of perfume I had to remind myself that I don't have to worry about turning my back anymore. FYI, in prisons when noise occurs like that it means something is going down. This is not an experience, the PTSD moments or prisons, that I want to repeat.
And . . . some dude wearing a Superman cape asked me out. From the wear and tear on said cape, he sports that bitch a lot. Go on, say it. I'm flypaper for freaks.
Though, I will say that on nights like tonight when I am--literally--that girl walking alone along the East River, with the bustle of Astoria and lights of Manhattan, life is pretty good. As the wind rustled my hair tonight, and I saw one solitary star over my 'hood I wished of what I have been. I won't tell you that, but it is for the same two things. I would give up one for the other, but not the other for the one. In the end, I'm okay these days . . . in many ways I've lost myself but found myself again. Time will heal the other crap.
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