There are 2 things at which I really SUCK...

They are:


1. Blogging
Explanation: No explanation needed. I just suck at it.

One small comment in my defense: Work has been tremendously stressful these past few months, so blogging has been pretty low on the priority totem pole.

2. Striking
Explanation: We (i.e. my union) went on strike for four days, and I can honestly say that it was one of the worst experiences I've gone through in recent years. I do not wish to be involved with such an ordeal ever again. I will definitely write more about this experience at some point, but I need some time and space from the whole mess right now. Perhaps next week.

I've already broken all my resolutions...

...so I can pretty much do whatever I want this year. Bring on the Twinkies.

Here are some pictures from the annual "New Year's Up North" trip.

Kev, Rach and Me by some barn. Too bad we aren't in a band, cause this would make a great album cover.

Rach and Jer: Almost a year and they still act like newlyweds.

Live free or die, man!

Pretty.

What happens in New Hampshire, stays in New Hampshire.

"Cause nothin's haaader than a New England gangsta..."

So we (i.e., my coworker buddies and I) were totally living the THUG life in Martha's Vineyard this past weekend--hence, the above video seemed apropos.

Here are some pictures of all our thuggery.

Christa and I are totally representin', though I have no idea who we are representin'.

John and I are also representin', and I still seem to be representin' the same gang.

Quite frankly, whatever Kim is representin' in this picture kinda scares me.

The whole Friday Night Crew--minus Annie (Where did she go, BTW?). Good times.

Thanks, Kim (and Uncle Jim), for inviting us.

It was a much needed getaway weekend. Word.

'Cause Every Once in a While, Everyone Needs a Little Bruce

Holy Shit! The Dems Actually Won Something?

I had almost forgotten what it felt like.

So in light of all the political jazz that's been going on, I felt that it was necessary for me to post SOMETHING about my thoughts on the matter. I don't have have the time to really do this post justice, but I can't keep putting it off. (Trouble is--I don't have enough time or energy these days because the little school children are such energy-drains, so I feel all overwhelmed and don't do anything. BUT, then I feel all guilty about not living up to my blogging goals, and who needs that? It really is a vicious cycle.)

BUT, the truth of the matter is that I am actually feeling a little bit...hopeful. And I don't mean that in any sort of ironic way--I actually see some potential for positive change.

I like Deval. He seems like a stand-up guy. He supports teachers, seems intelligent, is well-spoken, and doesn't seem to be desperately suppressing any sort of pedophiliac desires that manifest themselves in militantly homophobic leanings. Then, too, he truly seems to be committed to breaking down some of social and racial barriers that are (sadly) still problematic in Mass....

...though I am not sure that trying to dispel the myth about the black man's penis size was really the best opening move.

Welcome Deval. Now don't eff it up.

Imitation Is the Sincerest Form of Flattery?

For Halloween, I dressed up as my colleague and good friend (still, I hope), Mr. Columb. It was supposed to be fun for the students (because we've many of the same students), but really it turned out to be kind of scary. Seriously--my adrogeny frightens me.

E. Fast Came to Town!

Erin is finally here!

She will kill me when she sees that I posted this picture.

Let's see how long it takes her to actually check my blog.




Lots more action to follow...

Steve's Sperm Actually Works...

This is Kristin and Steve.

For those of you who have absolutely no clue who Kristin and Steve are, you probably haven't ever listened to any of the stories I've told you about "those crazy times back in Jersey." 'Cause if you had been listening, you would know that this is my "oldest" and still one of my closest friends from the old neighborhood. She and I have known each other since Kindergarten. She knows way too much about my life, so I keep her around to be safe.

Steve is the man she finally settled on after years and years of extensive research with other men. In all seriousness, I heart Steve. He's the greatest...

AND, even though we had our doubts, it turns out that Steve's juice has still got the magic because he knocked my friend up good.




Even though Kristin is one of the cutest (and tiniest) pregnant women I've ever seen, she was feeling pretty unattractive the other night, so Kraenzlin and I decided to join her in her misery. Sad thing is, this might be the closest I ever get to actually being pregnant.

P.S. I have no idea why Kraenzlin's version of being pregnant involves a do-rag.





Letter of Endorsement:

Kristin and Steve,

I just want you to know that despite the strong possibilty that the responsibilty of who will change your baby's diaper might come down to a came of cards, I offically support your decision to become parents.

I have known you both for a long, long time, and I have babysat for a lot of children--not to mention, I have had my fair share of interactions with completely retarded parents at parent-teacher conferences. All these facts speak to my expertise in the field of "parent judging." Having established that, let me say that I have complete confidence in your ability to raise this child right. This is a child who will be raised to understand the lyrical genius of Springsteen. This is a child who will understand the value of any and all pop culture. This is a child who will know no taboos as far as the bathroom is concerned. And this is a child who will be able to quote all movies with a freakish degree of accuracy.

Ok, now that I've written my "Hollywood Squares" paragraph, here's where I am going to be serious. Even though this whole thing is a little surreal for me, it is so exciting, too. You guys are the greatest--as cliche as that sounds, it's just true. I am so happy for you, and I am really happy for your baby. This kid is lucky. You guys are some of the most honest, funny, sincere, loving, and good people that I know. In short, the world needs more people like you to breed.

Now move back East.

Love, Amy

Funeral Arrangements and Whatnot

In light of our (you know who you are) recent discussion and subsequent pact (Rachel excepting) regarding our funeral wishes, I feel it necessary to actually write my requests down. This is not because I do not love you or trust that you are capable of carrying out my requests, but, rather, I wish to impress upon you the fact that I was being DEAD serious (pun shamelessly intended). I am somewhat concerned that my desires might be ignored, or worse yet, confused with the absurd requests of other members of the “death pact committee.” SO, if you’ve ever loved me at all, you will kindly:

• Send all my IKEA furniture to starving college students in the tri-state area.
• Hand out the rest of my crap as party favors at my funeral in addition to noisemakers and Michael Bolton Christmas tree ornaments bought exclusively from the Dollar Store. Get my mom to take care of that one. She’s probably already got a stash in the basement.
• Set up a karaoke machine at my wake for anyone who may need a little “rockatherapy!” Plenty of Bruce and Neil should be on the choice list.
• Insist that friends and family should come dressed in appropriate attire—which means in costume from one of our parties of yesteryear. Rachel gets dibs on the Halloween sweater vest.
• Have me seated upright, hand extended as if to shake, at my viewing. As friends and family come to shake hands with my corpse, I want one of those scary-ass haunted house chain saws to come out from underneath my chair, playfully jabbing at my loved ones’ ankles. Sure—it might give people a start, but I think people will appreciate it later when they think about it.
• (after the viewing) Make sure that I am frozen like Hans Solo, blasted apart, and then distributed among friends and family members to discard of in the most creative way they can imagine. The individual with the most creative disposal will win my couches and my ectoplasmic protection. If there should happen to be more contestants than available body bits, participants should be chosen lottery-style.
• Make sure my tombstone reads: It’s like Murphy DEFINITELY used to say, “If you break an arm in California, plant a sword in Arizona.” (*Note* This request is subject to change depending on future phrases the emerge from “alternate telephone.”)

That’s all for now. I thank you in advance for your willingness to cooperate.

"Dearly Beloved. We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life." ~ Prince