Sunday, February 12, 2012

i'm not that cool and that's okay.

My students think I'm really cool, which is pretty interesting, because I'm not really that cool. I do have other redeeming qualities, but being "cool" isn't really one of them and that's okay. Happy, yes. Witty, sometimes. But cool, hardly ever (except for that time I won a free haircut by being caller number five on the radio and the DJ announced my name and I got to say that my favorite radio station is 102.3 BXR and then my sister called me and told me that she heard me on the radio. I was cool then). Sometimes, my students tell Miriam and me that we can do certain things because they think we're cool, but in all actuality we shouldn't do them because it doesn't go over well in real society because other people don't think we're cool.

Things our students tell us we can say in public, but we actually cannot:
What it is, yo?
This translates to "What's up?" Cool when our students say it, not cool when Miriam goes up and says it to some people outside a restaurant and all they respond with is "No."

What up, G?
Apparently, "G" means "gangster." Not "gentlemen," "gals," or simply the letter "G." And apparently, a white girl who grew up in the middle of Missouri doesn't get to say it.
As in, "That car is mad awesome." Or, "I stayed up too late and I'm mad tired." Once I said "I'm mad excited to go see Mamma Mia tonight." It didn't come off as cool. I don't care what anyone says, ABBA changes lives. My, my, how can I resist you?

Used in the context of, "I'm gonna rage hard tonight," meaning, I'm going to go out/dance/go to a concert/anything else that consists of staying up extremely late and exerting a lot of energy.

Things our students tell us we can do in public, be we actually cannot:
They taught me how to Dougie and they told me I was really good at it. I'm not.

Go clubbin' with them
No. I'm not going to go clubbin' with you. I don't care if it's the coolest place you've ever been and they don't have a cover and your cousin is my age. No.

Rap all the words to Jay-Z songs
It appears that just because Miriam and I may know all the words to numerous Jay-Z/Nelly/Kanye/Snoop Dogg/etc... songs, it doesn't mean it is acceptable for us sing them in public. I suppose I'll just stick to Cher and Whitney Houston (I'm crying...) songs when we sing karaoke.


Things that my students told me I cannot do in public. Ever:

Throw up peace signs.


Sing Cher songs.

Use the phrases, "Holla!" and "Word!"

Show people how I can make one eye go cross-eyed and move the other one around in it's socket.

Talk about how much I want an apartment bunny.

Challenge people to Man vs. Food competitions/talk about how I could crush them in any Man vs. Food competition.

Do the Pancake Dance. I could have sworn this was cool.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

you might think i'm weird.

I think that some people think I'm weird. I mean, it's totally okay if you do, because it might be true. And if you are one of those people who think that I am, this will only confirm your suspicions. I've started reading a lot on my commute to work, because it makes the time go faster and I like to read. The only problem with this is that I tend to read past my subway/bus stop and have to either: a) leap from my seat and sacrifice my arm to the closing doors, or b) get off at whatever bus stop I look up at and then walk a few/10 blocks back up the street to work. Currently, I'm reading the book Naked by David Sedaris (it's hilarious, thanks for asking). For a while, I tried to justify that this wasn't a weird book to read on the subway because David Sedaris is famous! Everyone knows about that book he wrote that is called Naked and has a picture of boxers on the front! But that is not true. The book is called Naked and it has a picture of boxers on the front and David Sedaris' name is in about size 10 font, so I'm pretty sure I look extremely creepy. I've started reading with it flat on my lap. I think that I'm going to write a letter to David to let him know that any further copies of the book should have his name a little bigger on the cover. And by a little bigger, I mean a lot.

Speaking of the subways, I would also like to introduce you to my imaginary pet rat-family, except that they aren't imaginary. They also aren't my pets, but I like them. They are real and they live in the Kew Gardens/Union Turnpike stop on the E/F subway line. I've named them the Cratchit family, after the Muppet Christmas Carol. The first time I heard them squeaking their little hearts out was one late night at work, when Miriam and I were finally heading home around 8:45pm, and I knew it was all going to be okay when I heard the Cratchits from the crevices of the underground; because, in my mind this is the Cratchit family and they deserve a better life.

No cheeses for the meeses.
They're just a normal rat family, working three jobs to put enough food on the table to feed their 50 +/- 100 rat children. I thought about bringing a loaf of bread to throw on the tracks to feed the Cratchits, but then I had images of:
  1. People thinking I'm the weirdest person on the earth and rushing their children away from me when they see me.
  2. The E train flying off its tracks and killing thousands of innocent people. All because of my so-called-harmless bread crumb. And this would also kill the Cratchit family.
  3. Not having enough money to feed both the rats and myself, leading me to actually live in the subway with the Cratchit family.
So I have decided against bringing loaves of bread. Oh, and if you still think I'm weird, I promise you, there are weirder people out there. Like the person who smeared poop all over the windows of the R train last week.