Must love Taylor

Last week at work one of the kids wore a shirt that said "Little Swiftie" and it made my day (not the least of which is because my boss litteraly yelled at me for calling her that the day before). By sheer coincidence she was also the last kid to leave so we did the only longical thing; Taylor Swift dance party! As a result I now have a playlist consisting exclusively of Taylor Swift songs named after her and it made me wonder, can I hire someone because they're a Taylor Swift fan? The reason I ask is, somehow Writing Rainbow has reached the point where I'm ready to hire my first employee (I think). Turns out I, in fact, cannot be everywhere at once. Add to that my boss making it increasingly difficult to teach my classes at all (due to randomly taking away my early day), and, apparently, it's time for Writing Rainbow to be more that a one princess show (just kidding, I will always be the only princess). So, how the hell do I do this? What am I looking for in an employee? Unfortunately, I have no idea. I'm pretty sure the idea is to establish some core criteria; such as Taylor Swift songs. I myself don't have an "official" favorite Taylor song but the playlist on my phone that I listen to before most classes is called Long Live so let's start there. And then there's Anti-Hero because, just as often as not, I am indeed the problem (but I'm not sure I'd want an employee to agree with me so nevermind that one). Overall, anyone joining the Writing Rainbow team should (obviously) like children...or at least be able to tolerate them convincingly, be creative, probably a little unconventional, and...honestly...what? Ugh, why is being a grown up so hard? (I seem to ask this a lot). Why can't I just pick someone based on fun things; love of glitter, cats, Disney, and, of course, Taylor Swift.

Whatever, I'm Getting Cheese Fries

Oh to be young again; to experience the thrill of a night out. To feel the bass pulsating through you as you push your way through the crowd, overpriced drink spilling all over you (and everyone else) is...insanity. What about this am I supposed to enjoy again? These days my ideal night out is a coconut margarita (or two or three) at my local Mexican place and the only reason to push my way through a crowd is to get home to my cat. So it went one night in Mystic, CT... My cousin Teri is getting married and, as such, a group of us ladies dutifully trooped to that mecca for bachelorette parties...Mystic, CT. Now, a sleepy coastal town doesn't seem like the place to find a raucous party, but there we were. All the aformentioned tomfoolery expected at an event that is supposed to symbolize a woman's last chance at freedom (or whatever, I was in it for the shiny pink swag bag) was present and accounted for on our night on the town; with a drunk Rapunzel wannabe (ugh, seriously, there's only room for one real life Disney Princess lady; and I already have the job) thrown in as a bonus! So, what to do when you realize you're more vanilla bean than rocky road? Grab ice cream and run for the hills of course! Which is exactly what happened. Except the "ice cream" was cheese fries (which is interesting considering of the three people involved, one is allergic to dairy and another (me) hates cheese with a passion) which became the deciding factor in ditching a night of debauchery (or what passes for it in a sleepy coastal town) for a Crime Scene Kitchen (new TV obsession) marathon. It goes something like this: Me: "Yea clubbing! What fun!!" Person One: "Yeah. What fun?" Me: "No idea. My idea of fun is Crime Scene Kitchen. But what do I know, I'm 40. I'm Old." Person Two: "What's Crime Scene Kitchen?" Me: "Best show ever! Plus, no drunkin Rapunzel doing a Willow Smith impresson to deal with!" Person One: "That's worth the price of admission alone." Person Two: "Are there cheese fries?" Me: "Would you like it if there were cheese fries?" Yes, she would very much like it if there were cheese fries (she literaly had a shirt that said so). And so it went that we traded carousing for cheese fries. And Crime Scene Kitchen. And Quiet.

What Else Can I Do?

What could I do if I just did what I was feeling in the moment; what could I do if I just knew it didn't need to be perfect... Oh how glad I am that I have song lyrics to do my thinking for me... Actually, I've never felt the need to be perfect (this should be obvious to anyone whose known me for more than 2.5 seconds) but that doesn't mean I've been content either (this shouldn't be breaking news either). Until recently. (Okay, content is a stretch). While I've never felt the need to be perfect I have felt the need to...abide by a certain standard; My familys' (sometimes real, sometimes imagined), the standard implied by arbitrary numbers (what does the number of candles on my birthday cake have to do with my style choices??), and a whole host of other random "rules" imposed by...whomever. This line of thinking led to a lot of things, none of them good, until something compltetly unexpected happened; I stopped thinking and stared doing. Or, more to the point, I stopped thinking about things from "everybody else's" perspective (more or less) and started thinking about them from my own. I'm six years into Writing Rainbow, a feat that has required a good amount of ingenuity and sacrifice, one of which was waiting a year for full time status at my job when it was offered to me immediately. Why, you ask, would someone who, by her own admission, has been desperate for a stable work situation not jump at the chance for full time employment when offered? Well I asked myself the same question but I knew the answer before I did so. Full time would't allow me the flexibility to run Writing Rainbow the way I wanted. Still did it make sense to forgo a steady, full time position for something that lives yet to become a full fledged business? It did to me. It turned out to be the right move and, a year later (actually 11 months for anyone keeping score) when I was again offered full time it felt right to take it. Now, most of this probably seems unremarkable, as it should; there is absolutely nothing noteworthy about a middle-aged woman making basic decisions about her own life. It's like saying you went for a walk in the forest and came home with a mosquito bite; duh. But when you're stumbling through the woods and the shadowy figure you just ran from turns out to be a tree, it's still a relief. And that is exactly what I feel like I've been doing until recently, stumbling though an unusually thick forest, tripping over branches. Which isn't to say I'm not now, it't just that nowadays I tend to catch myself more often. In the last year + I've turned my part time teaching position into a full time, guided my writing program towards its next phase (including my first press coverage), and started to feel in sync with certain aspects of my family; all because somewhere along the line I decided that (not even sure I did it consciously) I didn't need to be acceptable (this is still a work in progress), I just needed to be. It makes me wonder, what else can I do?

Why Good Christians Get on My Nerves

Remember being taught as a kid to "treat others the way we wanted to be treated?" Sound advice and words to live by. Most of the time. Sometimes "certain people are only alive because I look terrible in orange" is more accurate. Candy (another teacher at work) inspires my inner serial killer (but, like I said, I look terrible in orange so...). When she first started working there, almost a year ago, she seemed perfectly pleasant...for about three weeks (maybe). Then came the race card. Candy uses it so often she must have sprung for the expanded deck. Someone disagrees with her? It's clearly because they hate Black people and not because she's wrong 90% of the time. Someone doesn't adknowledge her? They're obviously racist, the fact that talking to her for more than 4.2 seconds is likely to make your blood boil has absolutely nothing to do with it (insert eye roll emoji here). If her contempt was about actual issues (re: inequal policing, assuming we're all criminals, etc) it would be fine but, nope, that makes too much sense so let's just accuse two year olds of being racist because...reasons. But, wait, there's more: It's not only White people she takes issue with... "Wealthy Black people are trying to be White." I really wish I was making that up but it's a direct quote from everyones' favorite moron. But lest you think Candy's stupidity is limited to race let me assure you, when it comes to being an imbecile, she's extremely well rounded! Her other gems are included but not limited to; mispronouncing someone's name, continuing to do so after being corrected, and starting a fight with said person (in front of the students) insisting that her pronunciation was the correct pronunciation (let the record show that the person in question is Ukrainian and I'm willing to bet Candy couldn't find Europe, must less Ukraine on a map), coming into work strongly smelling of weed, throwing a tantrum because I chose to give the last cupcake from a student's birthday to another co-worker instead of her, and proclaining to know what's best for children over their parents. Add to this her other "delightful" habits such as eating like a pig, leaving her shit everywhere, and only doing as much work as she feels like on any given day and it's not hard to see why she's often the focus of everyone's ire. So what does all of this have to do with being a good Christian, you ask? Christmas. The time of year we celebrate the birth of our Savior who preached humility and simplicity...by being as materialistic as possible. Last year I was on a roll, the vast majority of my shopping was done by December 1st (I've already started on this year). Naturally, my gift list included co-workers as I have some really great ones, and this presented a problem. Not for me but from my good Christian mother who proclaimed that I couldn't give other co-workers a gift without giving one to Candy as well. Now, for clarification, it's not like I bought everyone else a gift except for her, that would be mean and, twit or not, I wouldn't do that to her. Out of the 15 or so people who work there I bought gifts for four. The problem was I had a slightly elaborate presentation of said gifts planned for two of the four people and really didn't want to hear it from Candy if she saw them (see cupcake incident above). Thus began the morality lesson from parent (what I call my mom): it's important to be nice to dingbats, easier to just include her, blah, blah, blah...what would Jesus do? (I seem to remember him flipping over a table and chasing people with a whip but I suppose that would be uncalled for. Eye roll emoji again). Long story story, Candy got her gift and it's times like these I wish my family were terrible people.