Curse of the Roommate.....Broken!

Many of us went through this experience when first leaving for college.  One of the many allures of "growing up" and moving away from home was the excitement of living with a new roommate.  You would friend request them, or even MySpace them. (This was back when Facebook was just for official college kids.)  You would share interests, even discuss a color scheme?!  In my particular situation, my first roommate had multiple cartons of Marlboro Reds under her lofted bed, and our motivation to actually make it to class wasn't quite in sync.

The years after college I have had my fair share of less than pleasant roommate experiences, despite always going into them with an open, positive mind.  Everyone says this about themselves, but I do think that I am pretty easy to get along with. This rate of failures made me crazy, and I was convinced that it was something wrong with me.

When considering the perfect roommate situation, these are some of the images that come to my mind:

Let's be reminded of how unrealistic most of these situations are, of course.  Still, I am happy to report that the roommate situation has been resolved.  The perfect ones have been discovered!

I currently live with two of my best friends, who are in one of the most hilarious (but very) loving relationships I have ever been around. (And their psychotic cat named Ghostface.)  I live in the basement of their home, and while I have my own bathroom, they don't hold it against me for spending more time upstairs with them then downstairs in my own space.  

Why our living relationship works, a few examples:

• They don't hold it against me that I am the first one out of the house, usually around 6 in the morning, they never say "you're just so loud in the morning"
• They let me sing, when it's appropriate and when it's not.  They have even started singing with me.  
• They try (and generally praise me for) everything I cook for them, even when it's not entirely gluten free.  They also introduced me to the wonders of coconut milk and coconut oil. 
• We all get an equal say in what we watch on HBO Go.....usually.  (I have no idea what is going on in Game of Thrones.)
• The phrase "I'm pretty gassy" at any given time of day is never frowned upon.  It happens, we accept it and move on.  

They have their own opinions on why our relationship works:

"Two reasons: you are clean and respectful."

"We both really like wine and tequila."

"Just because."

I'll be sad when I don't have roommates as awesome as the ones that I have now.   Everyone should look forward to coming home as much as I do.  

Is Butter a Carb?

2004 doesn't really seem like that long ago.  Do the quick math and realize that as we near the end of January, 2004 was indeed 10 years ago.  The spring of 2004 probably wasn't a very memorable one for me.  I was finishing up my Junior year of high school, so I was gagging through track practice, and thinking I was way too cool because I was dating a senior boy.  (Who is married now, by the way, I am falling behind.)  Movies during that time are hard to place, with one exception....

Mean Girls starring Lindsay Lohan before she was addicted to coke (and adorably red headed) actually came out 10 years ago?!  I remember bringing aforementioned boyfriend to the movie, convincing him that Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Tim Meadows, all being talented SNL performers, had enough wit to distract him from the plot that he had little interest in.  

Multiple times to Bangor cinemas later, and watching it repeatedly on the DVD I purchased at Bull Moose the day of release, my 16 year old self couldn't find anything wrong with this movie.  Through several viewings you learned to relate in some way to each character.  Cady, because of her red hair and freckles.  Regina (Rachel McAdams, we never let you go after this), because sometimes you were a total bitch to your friends.  Even the girl that starts crying over her emotions during the trust fall scene, those who know me know that I can especially relate to her.  

When I decided to study to become a teacher, I knew there wasn't a single part of me that wanted to teach above fifth grade.  In middle school, I terrorized my mother by lying about my math grades because I was too busy hanging Josh Hartnett pictures in my locker. I remember first being called fat, ironically while standing outside of a vending machine, by a girl a grade older than me but it was okay "because your boyfriend is pretty chubby too". 

                                       

Pretty sure that I had this exact one. 

In high school, I saw too many similarities to my own actions in even the smallest, mindless acts that were exaggerated in Mean Girls. I wore skin tight dresses from DEB, and had a few "shooters" myself at those sneaky house parties.

This past summer, I taught summer school to fourth graders.  I hadn't dealt with many of these students, despite teaching third grade the previous school year, and I had never seen 9 year old girls be so cutthroat.  The phrase "you can't sit with us" made so famous by "The Plastics" of that movie was heard way too often by myself and my co-teacher.  These girls were more fashionable than me, probably even as an eighth grader.  No matter how many times I told them they couldn't wear their strappy flip flops on field trips, they had their way, "this is all I wear in the summer".  These days (I hate saying that, but it has been ten years) , it seems like kids are finding more ways than ever to be mean to each other.  Besides just being openly vocal about it, as seen in Mean Girls, now kids connect to one another basically any way they can, whether it be in a positive or a negative way.  

Tina Fey had the right idea, adapting the script from the novel Queen Bees and Wannabes, to better expose how cliques can basically ruin ones high school experience.  What makes me sad, as a teacher especially, is to see the slow formation of these cliques at such an early age.  This was my first year of teaching where my co-teacher and myself had to set aside a few days to simply talk about bullying and how to resolve it, and we will see how behavior changes as the year goes on.  

Not to toot my own horn, but I am a very positive and kind teacher to my students, and I try to set an example for the "anti-Plastic" development of my students.  I can't say where they will be when middle school and high school comes around, but I've come a long way from high school parties and prom dresses myself,  I hope I can set an example for them to model themselves after. 

Where's the Man Closet?

Portland, Maine is notorious for being a hipster city.  That being said, I do love trying all of the new "hipster" bars and restaurants that pop up. Who ever said that hipsters should be the only one to enjoy them?

The Portland Hunt & Alpine Club is one of the newer additions to this group.  I literally had stumbled upon this place with a dear friend after a happy hour at our usual DTL.  It was in the heart of the Old Port, there was no line, so, why not?  The cocktails were delicious and despite the stranger sitting next to us at the bar literally showing us his Instagrams of his "estate" in Camden, we enjoyed the drinking part of the experience.

Another close friend of mine had heard my own opinion but still wanted to check it out based on the fact that they had been reviewed as having delicious warm cocktails.  (In the past year I have become literally obsessed with making hot toddies, and their variations)  Last night we decided to check it out.

Around 8pm on a Wednesday, not many people had the same idea.  We were one of the three pairs of people there.  While he got his warm drink, I tried a cocktail I hadn't had before and all was well.  Soon enough, nature called.  I am one of those people that doesn't enjoy navigating to find the bathroom in a new place, but I also don't like asking for help.

Peering over my shoulder I could see not much other than empty seating and a door marked WC.  (The lighting in the Portland Hunt & Alpine Club is particularly dark)  I turned to my friend inquiring as to what this could have meant.  Apparently I am not worldly enough to quickly remember the term "water closet", but seriously, when's the last time you called a bathroom that?!  I even doubted his naming of it so much, that when I headed towards the door, I double checked around the corner for that friendly men and women's symbol.  Inside the bathroom, or excuse me "water closet" was a whole new story of trying too hard.  The lighting is done by a red bulb, so you should be either in Boogie Nights or inviting someone in to join you.  This also makes it impossible to see yourself in the mirror, unless you're a vampire, I assume.

People just need a place to use the restroom.  Why make it so tricky?!  When talking about it with a coworker today, I was reminded of those places that make you choose a bathroom based on your animal persona.  Are you a fox or a pigeon?  Are you a fawn or a stag?  If I lived in the United Kingdom, then maybe the initials of WC would be a bit more familiar to me.

Portland Hunt & Alpine Club, you'll know it because of the neon diamonds on Market St. across from Sonny's, a little too cool to have a sign with it's name.  Great cocktails, pleasant bartender, but you may need to be a vampire in order to truly enjoy the whole experience.

I'm comforted in knowing that I wasn't the only one that had this opinion.  Thanks, Michelle.

Ice Fishing 5K?

Okay, so I know I will offend (probably a lot) of people during this post, but it's something that's been on my mind.

I am not the world's greatest athlete.  I go through spurts of thinking working out is awesome, but I'm never going to post quotes about running.  What do I mean by this?  Here's an example

I understand that this works for people.  I dare say I understand this works for a lot of people, but when did this start?  I think as a child I loved going to gym class in my Nike shoes and I didn't need to aspire to sweating out a tear to do so. 

Running isn't one of those things that I enjoy.....yet.  I can run, and I'll do it because I know of the positive impacts it has on my health overall.  When did running, or the art of the 5K become a thing though?  Literally everyone can run, and all of a sudden it seems like anyone who has an idea to squash into combination with a 5K run are shoving it down our throats "YES YOU CAN RUN".  

I remember first hearing about the Color Run.  It's deemed the Happiest 5K or something along those lines.  In the summer of 2013 both the Color Run and the Color Me Rad races made their debuts in Maine.  There was a part of me that really wanted to sign up.  Being blasted with colored chalk sure would be distracting to me during a run through beautiful Southern Maine, but would it make me a happier person?  The obscene entry fee (which goes to what? a t-shirt and sunglasses?) wasn't quite as motivational.  I ended up avoiding both and was exposed to experiences which made me not so disappointed in my decision "I can't get this dye out of my hair"  "My shoes are destroyed"  "Just trying to find parking in order to run for 30 minutes was not worth it" "I would have rather been the people throwing the paint at the runners"

People have enjoyed running for as long as we have figured out we could.  People haven't always enjoyed working out despite knowing that we should.  I understand that these alternative 5K races are trying to remedy that.  Still, the dancing 5K?  You can easily do that in your own home.  The foam 5K?  The electric 5K?  Sign up for a 5K but in the middle you're going to have to climb over a wall larger than your own home, catch a fish using your bare hands, ice skate 100 yards, then swim through electricity before you finish.  You'll never notice you're doing a 5K and think of the experience you'll have!  

The sarcasm is pretty heavy handed here, and it's meant to be.  I'm proud of all of my runner friends achieving goals I could never attain and wearing sports bras in sizes I could never dream of wearing.  I just don't necessarily think that these themed 5Ks coming at us from all angles are necessarily the answer.  The positive feeling that you get from running should be something that's realized by each person on their own level, without crawling beneath a barbed wire barricade (and paying for that barricade to be assembled).  

As a person who battles with their love of running, I think I am just going to keep Phoebe's perspective.  Run because it feels right to you, and run the best way you can.  I'm not saying that people should just veto these races altogether, but just take a step back and think about why you're doing what you're doing.  Are you running it for the run, or the challenge of wading through mud during a race, because it should be about your own accomplishments and not what your friends on Facebook see.   If you aren't the biggest fan of running, like myself, you can make up your own 5Ks every day without paying any fees to do so!  Intentionally forget things downstairs, dance to make your roommates laugh, make organizing the trash and recycling a race on the day it should go out.  Fitness can be found in the happiest of places, without the title or 5K being attached to the end of it.  

Not Forever 21

It started about a week ago.  One of my best friends always gives me a hard time for reaching for my ID before the waiter, bartender, checkout person asks for it.  A lot of these places know me as a regular and therefore this habit is completely unnecessary.  I'm only 25 though.  Remember that feeling of "I made it" when you turned 21 and your ID wasn't just crammed in your wallet for use at the airport?  I even used to love the places where you would be with a group and they would "need to see everyone's IDs".  This time I was purchasing some wine at a store I rarely frequent and I surprisingly did not reach for my ID, only to be handed the grisly comment "I need to see your ID, you got yourself a baby face." (To be read in a grumbly, Maine accent)

A baby face?!  Is that a compliment?  It's funny how such a small comment, from someone I will probably never interact with again made me contemplate ways to pump up the "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" factor of my face.  Do I need help with my make up?

Not quite the same, I would say

A few days later at work, I was toting around a small child like any other day.  (I work in a daycare, this is a normal thing to say.)  I am used to children pulling my hair (also, read in context) and this particular child had a firm grip.  As I was prying my hair out of her death grasp, I found it.  The first white hair.

I am not immune to the statement that aging happens to everyone.  The wrinkles forming on my face remind me that maybe daily SPF isn't quite enough in the summertime.  Being blessed with strawberry blonde hair though, white or gray strands can be particularly tricky to spot.  I've never dyed my hair because my hair does it's own changing with the seasons (I sound like a tree here).  I think the spotting of this one particular hair, soon after being called a baby face, was my body reminding me that 25 isn't particularly young anymore, and it made me start to think.

I am not in my lower twenties anymore, but I'm also not that far from them.  When I look back even just two years, when I first moved to Portland and I would go out every Thursday night, I get sleepy even thinking about it.  During the work week, I look forward to going to bed by 9:30 or 10.  I don't even go to some bars anymore because I feel a little bit like an old creep in comparison to the girls surrounding me that can still flaunt Forever 21 outfits.  BUT, I'm okay with that!

I look forward to gently aging.  One white hair hasn't sent me reeling.  I also need to accept that maybe some people will still call me a "baby face" and realize that time probably won't last for much longer.  People think about age too much, maybe writing this post has made me realize that.  Try not to use the phrases "still young enough to" or "too old to" and just do what feels right!  I think this is another unplanned resolution.

Don't live your life based on a number, don't fret the white/gray hairs.  If you find yourself starting to do so, give this a listen.

Ginger Princess Lessons

As a preschool teacher, I have heard several rave reviews from my three year olds in regards to the movie "Frozen".  Upon reflection, I remembered the last animated movie I saw in theaters was "Despicable Me 2".  (Not quite a Disney movie, but the first one was pretty incredible, the second one gave a great effort.) I had seen trailers for "Frozen" and found myself giggling even at the snowman character, who seems like he is just there for the kids, shouldn't he be annoying to people over the age of 10?  

Long story short, I was grateful for the dreary weather on Saturday (is it spring, is it winter?), perfect movie conditions.  I headed to Cinemagic to sit, along with several children in booster seats, to bask in the glow of what Disney movies have become.  

At the end of a fast paced hour and a half, filled with a frosty whirlwind of emotions, I found myself absolutely thrilled over the movie experience I had just had.  It's not everyday you find a movie with a ginger princess that you can actually relate to.  She literally sings at one point about not knowing whether or not she's "elated or gassy", who can't relate to that?!

Disney movies are really smart, the messages are layered throughout.  My three year olds remember the scary parts and the snowman losing his nose, a little bit older and they'll start to pick up on the strained relationship between the sisters.  For me, I found that I couldn't stop smiling at the unflinching optimism that the ginger princess, Anna, carried with her throughout the movie. (I could also relate to how cold she gets in all that snow.)  While the messages in the songs aren't necessarily realistic for us "adults", even a 25 year old such as myself can find themselves tapping along.  (Who knew that the voice of Gossip Girl could also sing?!) When I was little,  I thought you could basically sing your way through any situation (thanks Ariel, Belle...), this movie may still support that idea to those younger than me, I'm just really happy that I have some feel good songs to add to my workout playlist.  

I left "Frozen" in the best mood.  I'm not planning on becoming a princess anytime soon.  I am almost certain that my sister doesn't have uncontrollable magic powers.  Sometimes, Disney movies are the best at reminding us that there is always something positive that can be done (even in the snowiest of times).  You may not have to break out in song to get there though, I'll have to keep reminding myself of this one.  

A sample to further convince you, Indina Menzel should do more Disney voices, is it ironic that she played Maureen in Rent?

Positively Planet Fitness

Planet Fitness, the gym you love to hate.

When you make a teacher's salary, you basically have two choices for working out in Portland, Maine. There's World Gym, which seems like the gym you go to when you realize the flaws of Planet Fitness. Or there's the Judgment Free Zone, otherwise known as Planet Fitness.

I ultimately chose the worst night to go back.  It's January 6th, so not only am I competing with the usual crowd that can't beat that sweat for only 10 dollars a month, but pile on a fresh crop of people with resolutions.  It's been a cold month though, I've been feeling that extra layer forming underneath my layers of sweaters.  My mum even got me (guilt trip gifted me) beautiful new Mizunos which I actually look forward to putting on.

The race to PF at 5pm is a shared stress of many.  I changed into workout clothes in my office at school in such a rush, lodging some wool from my sweater into my contact, but believing this gave me some lead over others.  Getting there, spitting out your code and finding a machine open that you actually enjoy using, is a true feeling of triumph.

How my first night back went:

1. I fumbled with my iphone headphones like a kitten playing with yarn while already beginning to elliptical.  Double tasking at it's finest, I'm sure my neighbors were mildly entertained.

2. What the heck is the new black card spa?! It's been three years with the white card, I'm never going black!

3. The pipes were leaking above my equipment.  Either that or my perspiration was dripping back down on to me, this could have been the case.

4. Lots of men in tank tops, not cut off shirts, tank tops.  I don't even like working out in tank tops.

5. Of course the night I come back is free pizza night, and my elliptical is first in line to the 12 plus pizza boxes in the lobby.  The pizza is OTTOs. A lot of people eat pizza before working out, I'm pretty jealous.

6.  I'm never going to be someone that can have a fun, or flirty conversation while working out.  My maraschino cherry glow is the cue to leave me alone. (My brother and his wife met at PF in Bangor, truly a fairy tale.)

7.  Now the equipment also says "YOU BELONG", how many positive catch phrases does a gym need?

Okay, enough griping.  When I got off my bike and made the transition back into my sweats and boots, I did feel much more accomplished then I did earlier today.  Working out is something I used to love to do, and as much as I don't think the air quality in Planet Fitness is necessarily healthy, I can't wait to get back into the swing of things.

I'm doing this for you, Daniel Craig.  One down, a bunch more to go!

To conclude, with the fine words of Elle Woods:

The High Five Test

There's too many people in Portland, but at the same time it seems like everyone in Portland knows everyone.  I say this because, I have tried dating in Portland and had some very positive and negative results.  This one experience, though, has changed the way I treat first (or second) dates and it all revolves around this simple act.  

It's true.  As I'm sure many others felt, I've been searching for my Jim Halpert ever since The Office started in 2005.  This is not about the thoughts I've had about changing my profession to receptionist though, this is all about the high five.  

I had met this guy through mutual friends, as it seems most of my dates have happened.  We had a normal first date at The Great Lost Bear, conversation clicked, we had similar taste in music, and we exchanged numbers and planned for the second date that week.  I left the first date feeling great!  He had a good head on his shoulders, had a beard, and he seemed to take my awkwardness in stride.  

The second date we planned on having dinner and then going to a bar of my choosing and a bar of his choosing to show each other what we valued in the various bars in Portland.  Things started great, (even though I do think the food at Duckfat is overrated), and even though I could tell that he wasn't as blown away by the drink specials at Dock Fore as I am, the back and forth between us was going well. When it was time for his bar choice he decided on Three Dollar Deweys.  We were probably both about three drinks in, getting to that giggly, happy point in the night and I thought things were only going to go up from there. 

Then one moment ruined it all.  This may not seem as earth shattering to those of you reading this, but you have to put yourselves in my position.  If you know me, you know I am a very upbeat, positive person.  I'm also extremely awkward, and pretty sensitive in these situations with new people.  Me and this guy had been agreeing on a lot of topics.  At one point I was so surprised in his reaction (he probably said it was okay that I'm obsessed with Battlestar Galactica), that my positive reaction was to reach out and give him a high five.  (Note: This was not a high five you give someone at the end of a relay race, or when you pass your LSATs, it was a small high five, elbow high over the table where we were sitting.)

His reaction: "Ooooooooh, not really a high fiver." Leaving my hand awkwardly floating over the table.  

Now I understand, maybe he's not a high fiver.  The point is, you don't have to be a high fiver to give someone that you have known for probably a total of 5 hours a gentle high five to show them support.  It's called getting to know one another.  I may not think that every Journey song is a classic, but if you buy it on the juke box I'm not going to be that person that refuses to hum along to "Don't Stop Believin'" 

Needless to say, I didn't call him back.  I think that there's an important give and take in relationships.  On the second date, aren't you still supposed to be taking steps to make one another feel comfortable?  The fact that you're not a high fiver can be told to me a little later.  Or not at all.  Seriously, who just refuses to high five?  

So now, on first or second dates I offer a high five test to whoever I am out with.  I don't expose it as a test, but I set up a situation where they will ultimately shut me down or appease a habit that I refuse to break.  No one else has failed this test since this one guy, which leaves me hopeful that I will find a Jim Halpert or even a Barney Stinson someday in Portland.  

Ode to Downtown Lounge

There's a lot of reasons that I am happy to live in Portland, Maine.  I even took the tacky dive of putting an "I Love Portland, Maine" bumper sticker on my car.  After a few years of living here, I've slowly learned where I can get the cheapest bloody mary (judgement free) on a Saturday morning, and which places on Commercial St. will still screw up fish and chips. 

The search for the perfect happy hour was the most difficult discovery to make.  I work, like many of my peers, until 5pm.  It baffles me how many happy hours in Portland run from 3-5pm.  If I was working my ideal teaching job, I could probably swing these hours.  Then again, how many of my friends are teachers as well, how much fun would I have nibbling (read as scarfing down) from the free (and absolutely delicious) Corner Room buffet? 

I kind of always knew where the DTL was.  I was going to concerts at the State a lot, and I liked going there for a quick drink(s) beforehand.  I hadn't had any experience with the food, and honestly, based on the appearance inside, I judged it as a place that wouldn't necessarily be anything great.  There's about 6 to 7 booths in the narrow restaurant that can comfortably sit 4 friends, or uncomfortably sit 6.  I'd say that there's about 10 bar stools, which I've never sat on because between the choice of comfy booth or the stool, I mean...right?  The very small kitchen is wedged behind the bar, it didn't look like it could offer much. 

Two of my dearest friends live on State St, and were the first ones to coax me up the hill (on a day I wasn't going to a concert?!) to the DTL for happy hour.  The first convincing difference of the happy hour at DTL is that it runs from 5-7.  Plenty of time to make that transition from work mind to unwind time.  The deals at DTL cannot be beat.  I won't list them here because I'm hoping this post could be the gentle push others need to try it out.  To put it simply, I've never left the Downtown Lounge in a bad mood or with an empty tummy, and this is generally the most money I spend there. 

That price covers three mixed drinks and a full meal.  If you have lived or eaten out in Portland, you know you would be hard pressed to find any other place that offers that low of a bill while still promising that you won't walk out with food poisoning.  

It's probably been about a year since I've started going to the DTL once (sometimes twice) a week.  The waiters and I are beyond the first name basis, I hear about their noisy roommates and they are even open to giving me dating advice (always needed and appreciated).  They know what I want when I sit down, and yet the monotony has not gotten old.  

Save money, go to the Downtown Lounge.  During the winter, the dark lighting is flattering no matter how many layers you have on under your puffy coat, and in the summer the people watching on Congress St. is impossible to beat.  (Watch out for the first two booths during the winter, though, it can be a little drafty.)

                                   

I talk too much

I often think that I must have been a handful for my Mum to raise as her fourth and last child.  I was the daughter that was into every movie that had a song you could sing along to.  I used to carry around Garfield the Cat anthologies and promised her that Garfield was the one who taught me how to first use swears.

I was an eccentric child.  My older brothers tell me that I used to perform a song and dance routine to this song when people would come to our home.

You can imagine our guests reacting in horror to a seven year old swinging her hips, clapping her hands, snapping along to this (not quite a family) tune. 

Ironically enough, I think my excessive noise making and verbal performances as a child have contributed to my success today.   My preschoolers have never had to tell me that they thought that my rendition of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" at circle time is off-key, while my third graders, who are still learning English are truly grateful for the time I take to talk to each of them every afternoon.  Talking is kind of my thing, and Miss Frizzle was never quiet and I think she was a pretty great teacher.

Once in college, one of my best friends (with kindness in his heart) told me to count to 11 before I said anything.  This blog is an opportunity for me to count to 11 while sharing bits and pieces of the life of a 25 year old teacher in Portland, Maine.  It's an opportunity for me share and reflect on how I think various moments have positively changed me into the (adult?) I am today.

So here goes nothing....1...2....3....4........