Is it possible that the last time I blogged was February? Sheesh!
I was pretty busy second semester...besides teaching and mommying, my spring break was spent in a drugged stupor on the couch (my fault for waiting until the age of 32 to get my wisdom teeth removed), and I directed a one-act at my school--only a one-act, but when I direct, it tends to completely occupy my brain, for better or worse.
I quit the magazine I was writing for...not enough free time to get interviews done and churn out a quality product. Plus, I wasn't getting paid, which was starting to chafe a bit considering the amount of time it required. But I do miss the writing part, so here I am, like a guilty ex-lover, returning to my poor little blog. :)
NR and I made a pilgrimage to New York on Thursday. My wonderful sister and parents agreed to watch the Teege, our neighbors happily took Rocco the Wonder Poodle, William Shatner negotiated a great Tribeca hotel for us on Priceline, so we hopped on the train and returned to the Big Apple. (My brilliant hub forgot to pack pants, so our first stop in NYC was, embarassingly, the 34th Street Kmart to buy some khakis...)
NR had been invited to graduation at Nativity (where he used to be principal), which was amazing. That school has such an incredible spirit and sense of family. He was pretty much a rock star...everyone was so psyched to see him. Plus, they organized a fabulous spread of Dominican food for the party afterwards...God, I've missed good pernil!
We also got to catch up with some dear friends, some of whom are at major turning points in their lives (just married, about to get married, leaving New York, switching jobs, etc.) It's reassuring to know that nobody really "has it all figured out"--nor should they. Where's the fun in that?
While it was awesome returning to the city where we fell in love and spent our twenties, it was even better returning to the town we've started our family in. New York was just as loud and dirty and crowded as ever--exciting, for sure, but I was quite happy to come back to trees and wide open sidewalks!
I finished a book on the train: The Song Is You by Arthur Phillips. Completely annoyed by it...I'm pretty sure it was a thinly veiled defense of stalkerdom. Skeezy old dude falls in love with a young, hot singer and becomes completely obsessed with her. But instead of being freaked out by him, she's romantically intrigued. Um...no. I'm so TIRED of this plot, because some guys eat this sh*t up, and then call women picky or snobby when they aren't bowled over by what the guys consider some sort of charming persistence.
I call it the "Say Anything Syndrome." Sure, when I was sixteen and first saw Lloyd Dobbler holding up that boom box in the rain, blasting "In Your Eyes" into Diane Court's bedroom, I swooned. But when a guy several years later threw clothespins at my window, sobbing openly (ick...), it wasn't quite so adorable. In fact, it was pretty creepy.
So now I'm reading Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne. So far, no icky pseudo-stalkers...yet.