“Do you know what that looks like?” I still remember the first time. It all started with Taby’s and taking a bite of stuffed grape leaves. I love them. Alone or on Greek Salad: I love cold, vegetarian stuffed grape leaves (the only way they come on Long Island). People comment and turn their noses up. This last time I nearly threw a plate at the person’s head.

“Shit?! Are you going to tell me it looks like shit?! And, do you think I haven’t heard that before?” Followed by, “Can you not see that I’m about to eat this?”

It would have been interesting to calculate how many miles we drove together. Probably more than I’ve driven with anyone else. Pointless drives, all around…the routes we developed, soundtrack perfected, choreographed “car dance” to Violent Femmes’ “Add It Up.”

All of my memories of those drives are good, just one bittersweet one: driving up a hill in Cold Spring Harbor and looking in the rearview mirror. I was curious about the life we were racing toward, but acknowledged all we were leaving behind, so quickly in that mirror… realizing that some day we’d be here, grown up, missing those drives.

Dear B---,

You know, I almost don’t want to admit this: I’ve been horrible to you the last six years. Any other friend would have walked away. Said, “See ya!” and “Have a nice life,” but faithfully you trod on, taking the abuses I dole out. Perhaps it’s because every once in a while I start to change my ways, treat you with respect, give you the time and attention you deserve. It never lasts long, though, before the abuse starts again. I’m sorry. I really do want to take better care of you before you quit.

Love, Nancy

Recently I noticed a building for the first time. Brick and boxy, it had weird cone-like glass skylight-type things sticking up. Hideous.

I have always questioned why buildings in Europe are so much more a fixture than in America. My mother told me it was because Europe is older than America.

My mother make things up when she doesn’t know the truth.

I think it’s because Americans believe in disposability for attention’s sake. Why create something for permanence when you can knock it down in a few years to build something that will once again gain attention?

It’s sad, really.

Screaming and crying and snot-streaming through the aisles, kids seem to hate grocery shopping. I never hated it, but it made me sad. We would go to the grocery store in Pine Hollow and I would be overwhelmed with melancholy and mourning. I’m not too young to remember that this used to be a roller-skating rink. I still remember birthday parties and going with my sister, and Maria rolling over my finger. Even now, at 31, when I go home and have to pick something up there, I cannot help but think of couples skate, ladies’ choice, darkness and neon.

I moved to Bennington to run away. It’s not a secret. I needed to get away from my life in Brooklyn; the holes I’d dug for myself. I needed to retreat to where I could be reminded of who I was before the chaos, before the drama, before the dim place I’d entered. After settling in, unpacking, setting up, I got in the car and drove to campus. Parking in my old spot I walked and breathed and my head was more clear than it had been in years. I knew I had made a decision that would facilitate healing.

We’d walk there, my sister and I. It only required one major crossing. Downhill nearly the whole way, past a school, some stores, the roller-skating rink, small Carvel (one of the stand-up ones with only a counter). It didn’t take long.

There it stood: the smallest movie theatre ever. I saw Annie, Bambi, and several Star Wars movies there. In all of my memories of it, the lobby didn’t have lights but depended on sunlight. That can’t be right.

Oyster Bay used to have fun spots for kids. Before skating rinks became grocery stores; movie theatres changed to BMW dealers.

Black and white, matted with gray, contained by a silver frame; a large b/w pencil drawing (or maybe photograph) hangs on the workroom wall. The fact that I can’t remember exactly is proof: I’m just not into hands. This might make me less human, people seem to be fixated on them… they should be… they’re what makes the world work.

Kris likes my hands because they are soft. I hate them. I have short fingers that are stubby and fat; my nails are freakishly small. It always boggled people’s minds that I could play the piano so well… mine, too.

As a child, I couldn’t stand “old” people. Even as I got older I couldn’t handle people older than say 50. There wasn’t anything wrong with them but they were a reminder of mortality and the fact that I would be there one day… despite feeling, each year, that I haven’t done nearly enough for my age.

I always thought there’d be some defining moment when I became an “adult” and yet I feel the same as I did ten or so years ago.

My idea of old shifts constantly. I don’t know if it’s an excuse or a truth.

“This is a very popular couch,” the guy at Seaman’s said to me. There on Atlantic Avenue, across from Kings’ Plaza, I was doing my first bit of furniture shopping as a grownup. My mom and I had gone to IKEA to get some other things, shelves, etc. but this was the big purchase: living room furniture.

The couch was black, softer than anything I’ve felt, a pull-out, and went back far so that you could nap really comfortably. I couldn’t wait to try it out.

I kept it through Brooklyn and Bennington but it never made it to Detroit.

I have always been anxious. As a child I let this get the best of me, causing debilitating digestive issues. They came and went depending on life, but considering how nervous I generally was, they were frequent. As I got older I learned to cope, and they happened less often. At times, my anxiety was “normal”.

Along with learning how to cope with my anxiety, though, I developed a new fear. The fear of being nervous. And so before a situation, when I wasn’t anxious at all, I would become panicked that I might become anxious… how irrational is that?

On my first day as a UniServ Director, Larry, a former president of MEA and long time UniServ Director handed me a stack of maps. A general one of the area and then more specific ones for each of the districts I serve. There were highlighted spots, routes, notes on quick ways to get to and from various sites.

Clearly he had done a great deal of work to help me.

I stood there awkwardly, not taking them. Looking from the maps in his extended hand to his face and back.

“What?!”

“I can’t read maps. I need written directions.”

Checking email, text messaging, playing Sudoku, emptying the dish washer, picking at my face in the bathroom, updating one my many blogs, doing a crossword puzzle, chatting with the girls at the office, going for a walk, Eden, paying bills, checking my FaceBook, cleaning the bathroom, going to the grocery store, creating Pandora stations, online shopping, playing with the dogs, baking, napping, making lists, answering phone calls about minor things, answering phone calls about unrelated things, calling people to catch up, showering, reading a book, exercising…

These are just some of the ways I have avoided writing post hearing briefs.

Getting rid of television was a wonderful choice. I spent more time reading, writing, thinking. The reason I got rid of it was because I had fallen into a terrible routine. Once I got home from work, I would sit, Indian-style on my bed, with papers to grade, sometimes bills to pay, put on the tv and watch and grade until dinner. I had never watched more than 3-4 hours a week before this, and could finish grading sooner with music on. Sometimes I wish I could get rid of my television now. I know that’s not going to happen.

Looking back as an adult, my thoughts on childhood summers changes. Still considered the best of times: Otter Pops, bike rides, exploring the woods… just endless adventure and a time so carefree. I feel I spent the most time with Kristin, meeting up in the morning, alternating at whose house we’d eat lunch when the twelve o’clock whistle blew. We had to head in when the streetlights came on. Walking to the corner of our two streets saying, “see you in the morning!”

That friendship was the best part of childhood summers. I wonder if she remembers them that way.

I’ve never been a collector, which is strange because I document everything. There are a few things I have tried to collect, like antique typewriters. I have two.

Vinyl would be awesome… DM, The Smiths, some New Order. I’d love to collect new wave albums, finding a safe way and using the album covers to create a mosaic on the walls. A cool headboard that would make, eh? But I picture it behind a bar or as a border around a room… or my basement. I actually have a collection comprised of my sister’s old records and some of mine.

We put the picnic basket in the back, out of the dog’s reach. I loved that he didn’t know Bennington; it was our second date. The drive is short but picturesque… very Vermont. I always come close to missing the turn, a right, onlto a seriously rutted road. Turning down, into the thickness of the woods, he joked, “You could leave me and no one would ever find me.”

At the bottom we parked and started walking. It was six. Curves, Hills, woods and water it opens onto a beautiful expanse of grass and water. I definitely knew that night.

If I could outlaw one thing it would be the inability of people (sadly most) to accept accountability and follow basic rules. The phrase, “It’s just ho I am,” has permeated our vernacular to the point that it makes an excuse for things inexcusable.

It also allows for abject hypocrisy and the picking and choosing of beliefs to fit a situation. Like, ‘I hate him because he’s gay and it’s against my religion,” said by someone engaging in sex outside their marriage who doesn’t go to services.

I’d also get rid of people who are lacking basic manners and sense.

It sometimes shocks me to think about some of the things teachers do… the wonderful, but also the terrible… and downright stupid. But I’m learning it’s all professions, all roles, really. But it bugs me with teachers because some day I’m going to have kids in school with teachers like the ones I taught with at M****. Who belittle, don’t to grades, get too close, teach the wrong things. And while 98% are thoroughly phenomenal, it’s the lousy ones I taught with that I remember.

She taught “Go Ask Alice” and said it was true. Research!!! It’s well known fiction.

The fifty hours a week don’t matter in the long run. The briefs, the meetings – they’re important and a priority but what’s most important are the simple things. Long drives, talks over dinner, watching Mugsy swim, napping with Spike. Days like “The Perfect Day” in October ’05: small moments of joy and smiles. Finding a cache, playing a crazy fame of scrabble over coffee with my mom. Learning something about a new friend. These things are what matters and are probably the reason we often long for childhood. So maybe taking more time for these makes life totally worth it.

“Stimulus package” is something I hear daily. Last year, when Bush did the stimulus check I never got mine because I never changed my address. But honestly, I didn’t miss it. A $300 check isn’t going to do much other than inspire me to go to the mall… or shop online. Perhaps the type of stimulus I need would simply be a charge to my social life. What social life? See? Or maybe a new activity? Really, the stimulus I need is spring. To be able to go outside, have dinner on the deck, cache, walk the dogs, feel sunlight.

The fact that we live in a world that still differentiates between the sexes as far as what various activities, interests, colors, etc. are masculine and feminine bothers me greatly. When my job does it’s too frequent personality testing, which I do buy into, it always points out that a woman with my particular personality will have difficulty finding a mate due to so many “masculine” traits. That said, many of the times I’m into aren’t considered “girly”. My love of (intelligent) debate, adventure, lack of a need to spend hours primping, the fact I don’t get regular spa treatments…

The last time I was sick was a few days ago. In Mexico, where I was the poster-girl for sun protection, I managed to get sun poisoning, most likely brought on from an allergic reaction to something in the sunscreen I switched to for one day. It was wretched. Hot, hard, itchy, ugly, spreading, blistery and the doctor was a complete idiot, making me more miserable because, of course, it could be some weird flesh eating disease. I’m not sure how I feel taking Mexican prescription drugs (which can be purchased ANYWHERE… without a prescription)… but it is getting better.

Greek Salad from Taby’s in Oyster Bay… the small one with fries and 2 of their dolmades. Without a doubt I could eat that every single day for the rest of my life, and be completely satisfied. I don’t know if I can pinpoint one thing about it; it’s just the perfect combination not only of ingredients but methods. The fact that the lettuce is shredded and not wet AT ALL (I hate wet salad). The fact that theirs is the best feta I’ve ever tasted. The fries are perfect, the dolmades cold, firm but perfectly done. The perfect food.

The Seven Deadly Sins... which am I most likely to commit? I don’t know if I can narrow it down to one. Sloth? My job is exhausting, mentally and physically. This results in often getting home at 8 or 9 pm and immediately curling up on the couch watching Sex and the City DVDs or just going to sleep. Of course, considering that I do get out of bed every morning (weekends included) and DO stuff, I don’t know if I’m really guilty of sloth, although feel that way when I get home from work wanting to be left alone.

Fastened to the fridge, with an ugly, black, circular magnet, is a small slip of white paper. Most would miss it amidst the random fridge adornments: shower invite, notepad, colorful transparent mini-clothespin magnets and salary schedule. The paper is a fortune from a cookie received at P.F. Chang’s the night before the rehearsal dinner. We were in Albany, and after a day of last minute wedding errands and visiting with a few people who had gotten into town, we thought it would be nice to go out to a quiet dinner.

Don’t be afraid to take that next big step.

Olivia Palermo is the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t care that when she opens her mouth she’s usually a complete cunt. Most of the time she’s right. Considering that I will most likely never meet, hang out with, befriend, or have a friend in common with her, I’m not really worried about her personality. So, yeah, if she were to keep her damn mouth shut and just sit there and be pretty, I’d totally go in the other direction for her. Or at least get tips on how to apply eye makeup as well as she does.

At some point in high school or college, right at the start of the summer, I purchased a large purple astrology book. While I can’t remember the name, anyone who’s into astrology would know… because it’s “that” book, you know?

I cast my chart that summer… working on it each day. Using a sharp pencil on a piece of loose leaf. I worked on it at the beach, or in my bed at night. Diligently using the charts to figure out where the symbols needed to be placed and then writing in the information that corresponded.

It was scarily accurate.