Fresh out of batteries, but still making noise.

Until Teaching Bootcamp, I did not know the meaning of the word "tired."  In the past, I've believed that I was tired.  Oh, those were the days.  I have been lethargic.  I have been sleepy.  I have been wiped out, fatigued, weary, and even pooped.  But now...I'm tired.  Not only am I mentally exhausted, my body is fighting back from the abuse.  My face is breaking out, my back hurts, my head aches, and skin is peeling off of my toes (that one I just don't get).  It's rough.
And it doesn't help that I've become an autobot:

wake up

get dressed

get lunch

get on bus

learn

teach

learn

lesson plan

fight with printer

sleep

rinse and repeat.

EVERY FREAKIN' DAY.

This mundane schedule is punctuated with the occasional mental meltdown, or tearful breakdown, or raging tirade, or delirious laugh-fest, but generally I've been too tired to be a person.

Here is a list of things I've been too tired to do.

1. catch up on True Blood
2. move into my apartment
3. sign important documents
4. be a friend
5. watch the Nanny
6. pick paint colors
7. scrapbook
8. get drunk
9. blow dry my hair
10. write a blog post

So...I'm sorry.  I'll try to write more as my work load dies down.  Soon I'll be back to my witty hilarious self.

love,
me

The Kiss of Death

I recently told this story to a friend and I think it's blog-worthy.

My kiss is lethal.
But let me start from the beginning.  In elementary school, my friend Caitlin and I were superior frog catchers (in addition to being professional tree-climbers, bee hunters, film makers, and fort builders).  We caught everything from big bull frogs to little toads.  Once, we caught almost 100 tiny little frogs that we found in my backyard - no joke.  Another time we "saved" tadpoles from the pond in my backyard (a perfectly fine habitat, in retrospect) by moving them to a nearby stream (which led into said pond).

One time, I caught a frog and played with it for a while.  We grew to be friends.  I named him Kermit (creative, no?) and we had the best time.  I made him dance, I poked his eyes, I made him hop around...he had a blast.  After our antics I decided that he should go back to his family, so I walked him to the pond.  (Now, I can't quite remember if Caitlin was with me that day, but if she was I have a sneaking suspicion that she dared me to do this.)  When it was time to say farewell, I decided to double check that Kermit wasn't a prince.  (After all, we had had such a nice time together and wouldn't it be nice to have such a fun-loving guy in my life?) So I kissed him.  Nothing major, just a small peck.  Sadly, he remained a frog.  With a sigh I said "goodbye Kermit!" and tossed him ceremoniously into the water.

I expected to see my little buddy swim away, but instead I saw him float slowly to the top of the water.  "Kermit?" He flipped belly up. "Kermit!" What had I done?  My kiss was the kiss of death!  What had once been a chipper little frog was now the victim on my venomous lips. 

I ran as far as I could from the scene of the crime.  I washed my face and brushed my teeth, trying to scrub away my sin.  Later that night, as I laid in bed, I could hear the familiar sound of bull frogs croaking.  I could have sworn they were chirping "MURDERER!"

They call me baby driver...

...and once upon a pair of wheels, I hit the road and I'm gone.

I'd like to tell you about the day I got my license.  My big bad 17 year old self drove in my friend, Chris's car down to Salem county for my test.  Chris jabbered in the back seat about his driving test and how I would have no problem passing, while I gripped the wheel at 10 and 2 with white knuckles.  My mom interrupted my friend's 60 mile-an-hour talking to coax me to speed up my 35 mile-an-hour driving (on a free-for-all stretch of country road). Wanting to compensate for my timidness, I floored it the rest of the way and proudly walked in to the testing center.  In an effort to boost my own confidence, I told the woman at the desk that I had scored a 100% on the written exam to which a scruffy looking man behind me replied "That don't matter." I could only reply with nervous laughter.

My actual test was uneventful except for the occasional distraction of the 70 year old instructor hacking up a lung with his smoker's cough.  Most importantly, I passed!

I celebrated by taking my mom's giant boat of a Mercedes to the school to pick up my two friends, Rachel and Grace for lunch.  I felt so cool and independent...and nauseated. My mother's car felt too big. There were too many other cars on the road. I was already violating the terms of my Cinderella's license by having two friends in the car at one time. It was all just too much. Mercifully, we arrived at the Hollywood Cafe Diner (isn't that a redundant restaurant name?) I felt much better and surprisingly less nauseated after scarfing a cheesesteak.

Backing out of parking spots had been a tricky task for me during my driving lessons, so I always tried to be very cautious.  I slowly reversed out of my parking spot, checking my mirrors, and having Grace and Rachel monitor my blind spots.  No one, however, was monitoring the front of the vehicle.  Just as I thought I was home free, I heard a "screeeeech crunch!" My mother's headlight had scraped the side of the poor unsuspecting vehicle next to me. Stunned, the three of us simply sat in silence. Then we all yelled "DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE!"  I peeled out of that parking lot like I had just robbed the place.

Trembling with guilt and picturing the poor senior citizens' faces when they saw their vehicle's wound, I didn't think I could continue my journey. Knowing I couldn't return home in this emotional state, Grace suggested a trip to the Dollar Store, which always resulted in delightful treasures and lifted spirits. (Looking back, I wonder if I should be proud that we could find joy in such simplicity...or if I should be embarrassed that we were so lame. I'm going to go with proud.)

I pulled into the most remote parking spot on the whole lot (a practice I continued for many months after that day), cried a little, then pulled myself together and walked toward the Dollar Store with my friends. On our way across the vast deserted parking lot, we spotted a Polaroid picture face down on the asphalt. Curious adventurers that we were, we skipped over to the photo, bent down and picked it up. To our shock and horror, the photo was of a man engaging in masturbation. Yes, a very erect penis was front and center. I only saw the picture for a second before screaming in terror, but that image is burned into my brain for all of eternity. My eyes! My innocence! What is this world coming to?!

After the terror wore off, we broke out into laughter and ran for the store to buy trinkets that would reclaim our childhood. I then dropped my friends off at their homes, pulled into my driveway, walked into my house, and burst into tears, crying to my mother that I was a failure. She comforted me, gave me some birthday cake, told me not to tell my father, and sent me to bed.

My adventures on the road continued to be rocky for a while and thankfully ceased during the blissful months I spent riding NYC's public transportation. Now that I need to be on wheels again, I hope I've finally got the hang of it.

an example of a "rocky" park job

Amen to NYC

I'm extremely melancholy today.  I moved out of my apartment, away from my wonderful roommates and away from the city I love.  Hamna says my room is echoing and empty...like my heart.  Melodramatic?  Maybe, but it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.  I will start Teach For America training in June and officially move to Philadelphia in August, but in the meantime, I plan on lying in the sun, drinking, and soaking in every last bit of friendship I have near me.  I'm lucky to have so many wonderful folks in my life...so if you're one of them, THANKS!

Tiny Disasters

Background

Now that my thesis is done, I've been looking for things to do to feel productive during the day.  I've done lots of unnecessary, but beneficial tasks like pasting all the recipes I cut out of magazines on to note cards, sorting my pictures, and today, I took inventory of all the food left in the apartment.  Yes, an actual inventory in an Excel spreadsheet.

I'm under the delusional impression that this will come in very handy.  Anyway, I realized that we were out of Parmesan cheese and olive oil, which will be key in using up all the food I had left.  I planned on picking some up after the party with my lab.

Events

So I left dinner with my awesome professor and the fabulous people in my lab feeling happy and nostalgic, but not so much so that I forgot my mission to purchase cheese and olive oil.  I stopped by a grocery store and found the items without incident.  I grabbed store brand cheese and the biggest container of olive oil I could get for not too much money and went up to the register.  Due to my frequent meat consumption and love for air conditioning, I try to be as green as possible when I can.  I already had a bag from a CVS run earlier so I put my new groceries in the same bag.  It was heavier than I anticipated and as I was shifting the weight, the bag tore and the giant bottle of olive oil fell to the side walk...and shattered all over my feet.  There goes $8.00.

After a few expletives, I moved aside to pick the glass out of my toes (only one of them was bleeding.)  The olive oil was everywhere.  My feet were soaking in it.  My strappy sandals were covered and slippery.  Being the optimist that I pretend I am, I tried to think of this slippery mess as the ultimate foot moisturizer.  I focused on my newly softened callouses as I literally slipped and slid the 8 blocks to the subway.  I wish I had video.

Once I very slowly and carefully got down to the subway, I got out my Metrocard and went to go swipe when a lady stepped on my very oily foot and somehow managed to get my shoe off.  While I was trying to hold on to my stuff and fix my shoe and swipe into the station, the train came...and left.

By this time, part of me wanted to laugh, part of me wanted to punch someone in the face, and part of me wanted a drink.  I finally got on the train and decide to get off a stop early and go to my favorite wine store to get a nice New Zealand sauvignon blanc.  In the process I somehow dropped my beloved iPod and step on my head phones, so now one of the ear buds looks like this:

I slip and stumble into the wine store when I realize I must look like a drunk.  I can't walk straight, I have one earphone in, the cord isn't even attached to an iPod, and I'm carrying a bottle of Parmesan cheese.  If only I had a picture.

On the bright side they sold me the wine, I hobbled home, washed my feet (which do feel softer) and now I'm sitting on my couch about to watch the United States of Tara with a nice chilled glass of wine.  I hope this gave you all a bit of a chuckle.


P.S. anyone know the best way to clean olive oil off of shoes?

Sleepwalking Nightmare of Doom

Let this be a warning to you all.  Exercise extreme caution when ingesting any medication with the suffix "PM."  Normally I consider myself pretty impervious to these types of medications since I suffered from extreme insomnia my sophomore year of high school and became immune to any over the counter sleep aide.  However, it's been a while since I've needed that little extra shove into Dreamland, so when I finally decided to just take a pill last night, the effects were stronger than I anticipated.  Last weekend I stayed up for 20 hours straight for NYU's annual Relay For Life for which I am one of the overall event chairs.  I also worked at the hotel (aka got up really early), went to a party (aka stayed up really late), and took a praxis II exam (got up early...you get the idea).  Basically my sleeping schedule was completely out of whack and remained so all week.  I was getting pretty fed up with not being able to fall asleep until 3 and then being awakened by the piercing (but lovely) rays of the sun at 9.  To many of you hardworking people reading this, a 6 hour night does not sound so bad, and it's not - I've been functioning, but I'm an 8 hour girl.  I feel weird and cranky without my full night's sleep.

But I digress.

Last night after popping my pill I was looking forward to 8 (maybe 10!) hours of peaceful slumber.  Instead, I awoke to the sounds of demon voices screeching my name "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnn."  Startled, I jumped out of bed and stumbled to the door.  When I stepped out into the hallway, the entire apartment was flashing with an eerie blue light.  All around me I heard incomprehensible voices.  I ran to the bathroom, where the screeching resumed. "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!"  Then suddenly it sounded like people were banging on the walls around me.  As I was sprinting back to my bed, I somehow had the presence of mind to remind myself to write about this in the morning. 

If you can't read that, it says "sleepwalking nightmare of doom!" on a notebook that was beside my bed.  Clearly, I wanted to share this traumatic experience with you all.

After another fretful night's sleep, the sun not only forces my eyes open, but illuminates the true events of last night.  Here is a code to what actually happened:

screeching demonic voices: really damaged breaks of a garbage truck
eerie blue light: the lights from our cable box in the living room
incomprehensible voices: Hamna speaking Urdu in a Skype conversation
more screeching: more bad breaks (really people, go see a mechanic)
banging on the walls: old pipes making noises

I'm fine now, but let this be a lesson to all who are considering taking the medical route to sleep - it might not be as restful as you think.

Balancing Equations

Lately I've been feeling a mixture of pomposity and dejection. On one hand, my fabulous lab partner and I just won an award at the Undergraduate Research Conference. On the other hand, I've been rejected from all the law schools on my list. On the bright side, I got into Teach For America so I won't be completely lost come May. Anyway, my mixed emotions have put me in a reflective mood...

Since I became a mole-person of the psychology lab, I've spent very little time in any other academic building at NYU. So I found myself reminiscing about my pre-med days as I walked through the Silver Center (main academic building) after the Conference. I remembered having to meet with some big-wig frog-lady in order to get approval to take Honors Chem. She peered at me from behind her glasses and basically said that she did not advise that I take it. I wouldn't do well. Forget it. Obviously I took it, got a B and now I'm going to teach chemistry.  Funny how things work out.  

 This post is random, I need to be funnier.

Side note:  honors chem turned out to be horrendous because of this terrible man -> isn't he terrible?  He might look harmless with his beard and his carefree tie-less outfit, but he made my first semester of college quite tearful.  If you see him, step on the back of his heels...everyone hates that.

Maybe I'm speaking another language...

So about 2 weeks ago I quit my waitressing job at a hotel restaurant…or at least I thought I did.  I said “I need to stop working.”  And my manager said “Ok I’ll try to have you out of here in a few weeks.”  I’m not sure that’s how quitting works.  April is a busy month for me – like many important things happening, not just a bunch of doctors appointments - so him saying I’ll be done by the end of the month was not really comforting.

So anyway, I was still working there last weekend.  Now, the weekend kitchen-bus boy dude is very creepy.  Every time I walk in his face lights up – not in an “I’m happy to see you” kinda way, but in a “I’m raping you with my eyes” kinda way.  It’s very unsettling.  I try to stay on my side of the kitchen door, but when he comes out, I make sure to send him on some kind of errand far, far away from me.  But this past Sunday I wasn’t thinking on my feet.  He snuck up behind me and said “¿Cansada bonita?”  Startled, I took a few steps to the side, but I was basically trapped behind the breakfast counter.  “Ha ha…sí, estoy cansada.”  So apparently “yes, I’m tired” translates to “please give me a massage” because that’s what he started to do.  He started rubbing his creepy little hands on my shoulders.  Thank the lord, a customer came in so I scampered away.  This never would have happened had quitting worked like I thought I was supposed to.

So I was also STILL working this morning.  And I was hit by the swinging kitchen door FOUR TIMES!  Back! Head! Arm! Other arm!  Then 10:30 AM finally rolled around and I could finally start closing up.  When a couple walked in...

Me: Oh, I’m sorry, we’re closed.

Couple: You make us bagel?

Me:  No, I’m sorry, we’re closed.

Couple:  Bagel?

Me:  *Sigh…I make you bagel. 

After making the bagel…and a hot chocolate…and a coffee, I finally got to go home. 

Working at this restaurant job has made me question how people understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.  I think I’m speaking English but…I guess people are hearing different things.

Some explanations

You may be wondering about the title and description of my blog.  

"gold-hatted, high bouncing lover" comes from a poem by Thomas Parke D'Invilliers a.k.a F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

if you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"

The interpretation kinda sucks because it's talking about a man that needs to use a lot of flash and/or "bling" to impress a girl.  But as it applies to me, I often feel like I do a lot to prove myself.  I try to take on a lot of things, be a good friend, look nice, dress well, be funny - all to basically make people say "I must have you!" in whatever the case may be.  One of my greatest fears is mediocrity and not taking advantage of every opportunity available to me.  So I will wear gold hats, and bounce, and love until I am satisfied and until you are satisfied.  That makes me sound like a terrible people pleaser, but it's not really like that.

Speaking of opportunities...that brings me to my title!

The Halo Effect is a psychological phenomenon related to a quote by Sun Tzu: "Opportunities multiply as they are seized."  Basically, the more accomplishments you achieve, the more likely it will be that you will achieve more.  For instance, if I receive an award and put it on my resume, then people evaluating my resume will see that others have decided that I am valuable in certain ways, and add that value to their perception of me.

So whenever we do something interesting, useful, prestigious, or different (even if it seems totally unrelated to our goals) we increase our chances of seizing new opportunities in the future and gaining what we want out of life.

That may have bored you and I apologize.  However, I think it applies to my life right now because I am taking a detour.  I'm teaching even though I ultimately don't want to be a teacher.  I have a Psychology degree even though I don't really want to be a psychologist.  Eventually I'd like to go to law school.  And culinary school.  And many other things that seem unrelated.  But I think that as I go along and collect evidence of my various interests, my true passion will come to me.  And I'll be prepared to seize it.

New Things

Thanks to Stumble, I've recently become interested in a number of blogs, my current favorites being Hyperbole and a Half by the hilarious Allie Brosh and Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond's blog.  Anyway, I thought that perhaps I too, could attain internet notoriety (or at least have some kind of personal account of this next phase in my life).

Things are changing fast for me at the moment, but I won't talk about that now - I want to talk about Oreos.

We've all thought at some point or another "What am I doing with my life?"  I experienced this the other day.  My room exploded.  Obviously not literally, but most definitely figuratively.  Stuff everywhere.  Clothes, shoes, make-up, electronics, important medical documents, school work, food...you get the idea.  I would have taken a picture for you all to see, but alas, my camera was lost in the explosion.  So I'm sitting in my bed, 100% hungover from the previous night's shenanigans, eating Oreos for breakfast, in a sea of crap and I think "What am I doing with my life?"

In fact, what I was doing with my life is preparing to become a high school chemistry teacher.  In my hungover, oreo-filled stupor, I took the Praxis I exam (which I aced, oh yea I did).  That story is lame and anti-climactic, but it's late and I'm new at this, so be patient.

Anyway.  This blog will most definitely contain more tales of my attempt to teach America's youth, funny anecdotes, childhood memories, social commentary, and possibly even pictures (if I can figure out technology)!  I may also supply you with quotes and songs I enjoy.  Get pumped.