This wasn't quite long enough to make it as an Adventure, but I thought I'd at least write it down and pass it off as an Adventurette. More things that could/would only happen to me.Today is my last day of training as a Teaching Fellow *rejoicing.* Much to my delight, I discovered another Christian in my class who attends the Brooklyn Tabernacle. This was a great relief, because most of the individuals in my class and professors in my school are quite.... um.... worldly. For example, my fellow classmates have no problem cursing in class. My teachers don't seem to really have a problem with it, and they show their lack of concern by cursing themselves. The future of America's children.
Last week, one of my classmates sent out an e-mail to us all saying, "Let's celebrate! After class Thursday we're all going to the Loki Lounge in Park Slope for Happy Hour." Amy got the email and thought "...hmm... Loki Lounge... Pastor Cymbala's Bible study... *weighs options*..." When some of my classmates asked me if I was coming, I just said "no, I can't come" and moved on. No problems whatsoever.
However, THIS week that same girl sent out another email saying "For those of you who missed it last week, never fear! We're going BACK to the Loki Lounge this Thursday to celebrate the last day of training! No homework to do-- come on out!" I, of course, had Pastor Cymbala's Bible study again, which was my "excuse." I got to class yesterday and my FA (Fellow Advisor) whom I absolutely ADORE was like "hey guys, I got your e-mail about Loki. So I thought... why not just have our last FA session AT Loki?? We're just doing discussion-type stuff anyway, so why not do it over a few drinks? First round's on me!"
*voice in Amy's head* noooooooooooooooooooooooo.......
Two things happened here. First, I was like "... yup, I'm gonna have to say something. Not going to a bar. Gonna have to make it an issue. REALLY don't want to make it an issue... but issue it is. MAN!" Second, I was like "hey that was kinda cool. As soon as Michelle said that we were going to Loki I immediately felt 'I'm not going.' That wouldn't have happened a couple of years ago. YAY HOLY SPIRIT! I love it when little things like that happen to me that remind me I'm really a Christian." ;-)
So after class, I asked Michelle if I could talk to her privately for a second. Note: Michelle is probably one of my favorite non-Christians in the entire world. Don't know why-- just love her to death. She was all set to come to the BTC concert last Sunday, but a family emergency came up. Satan, you're a jerk. Anyway, I went to talk to her, inwardly sighing "here comes the issue," and then I thought "hey, this is a great way to witness to her!! She knows that I'm at BT... maybe she'll put two and two together and realize that this is because of God that I'm not going! Woo hoo! Action witnessing!"
So I said "Michelle... I'm not comfortable going to a bar. I know it's part of our class and that I'm required to be there, but I just won't go to a bar." And she put her hands over her mouth and said "Oh my god, Amy, I'm SO SORRY. I TOTALLY meant to send out an email asking if anyone had a problem with this idea to email me privately, and I forgot... oh my god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
I'm like "... dude. Either she's feeling convicted right now or else she just really has a lot of respect for my beliefs! Regardless, this is great!" I said "no, no, it's okay-- I'm not mad! I just wanted to know what I should do." Michelle said, "Don't come. It's totally fine, you won't be penalized, just don't come. Not a problem AT ALL. Amy, I'm so totally sorry." I'm like, "wow, God! You just really put it on her heart to understand-- thank You!!" Michelle said, "look, you don't have to explain anything to me at all. My sister goes to AA meetings, so I know that some people just can't enter into that kind of environment."
Amy: "...............hrumoaijoad?"
Michelle: "Seriously, I understand. Sometimes my fiancé yells at me if I take her anywhere NEAR a bar... I just wanted you to know that it's really totally cool."
*little voice inside* FIX IT!!!! FIX IT!!!! SHE THINKS YOU'RE AN ALCOHOLIC!!!! FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIX!!!!!!!!
TOTALLY SPEECHLESS. She left, profusely apologizing again, and I was left standing there in the middle of the hallway with my mouth open. Nicole (the other Christian in my class) came up to me and said "um, what are you doing?" I responded, "Michelle thinks I'm an alcoholic." Nicole almost peed herself laughing.
That's all, folks.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Sunday, June 01, 2003
Under The Influence (June 2003)
well, i'm sure you've all been breathless with anticipation over the results of amy's latest potentially humorous situation-- the removal of her wisdom teeth. and, i'll admit, i did not disappoint. humor is abundant. but before i delve into an elaborate narrative of the depths of my knack for chaos, i have to preface with some seriousness. cause God most certainly showed me His abundant mercy this past weekend and i'd be cheating Him not to testify to it.
as probably all of you know, i was NOT looking forward to this surgery. what most of you probably DON'T know is the EXTENT to which i was not looking forward to the surgery. i have this amazing ability to dwell on things and worry about them for extended periods of time. this surgery has been put off four times since last summer, when i was INITIALLY supposed to have it done. i'll tell you this much... when i first looked at the xray of my wisdom teeth, i screamed. yes, out loud. i could not even IMAGINE how the dentist was going to remove those and how i was going to survive it. i got in the car and cried and thus beganeth the panicking.
i spent the year praying about these wisdom teeth. i prayed for everything under the sun... first i prayed that God would just supernaturally remove them so that when i went back the dentist would be totally shocked and God would get the glory. did that until i checked my motives :-\ now, i can tolerate pain. nobody LIKES pain, but i have a pretty high pain tolerance. but what i do not like is medication. why? well, primarily because i don't like ingesting substances that alter the natural processes of my body. aspirin, tynenol, motrin-- whatever. no problem. but when my oral surgeon started talking about "tylenol with codeine" i said ".....excuse me, WHAT?!?!?!?!?!" right. seriousness. testifying. sorry.
see why i could never be a preacher? we'd be at church till midnight waiting for me to finish my 60th tangent.
the point is that i was scared. scared of the anaesthesia (knowing what i feel about medication... imagine what i felt about being injected with a substance that will render me unconscious), scared of the pain, scared of the medication i would have to take FOR the pain, which the doctor comfortingly reassured me that only had a 50% chance of making me throw up. big scared ugly mess = amy. so why do i say that God showed His abundant mercy, besides the fact that His mercies are indeed new every morning? well, to start, He should have struck me dead for being afraid in the FIRST place. how many times does the Bible say "fear not"? how many times in the past had God come through when i was afraid of something just to prove to me "see, Amy? you don't need to be afraid!" but amy doesn't learn lessons very well :-\ i try. but i guess i've just got a long way to go.
when i left to go on the train home, my friends nadia and najja were with me cause we had come from church and naj had helped bring my bags with me to the station. can't TELL you how much i wanted to, like, "accidentally" miss the train and have to postpone the surgery. they left and every fiber of my being wanted to be going with them. it didn't HELP that they kept BANGING ON THE WINDOWS OF THE TRAIN (yes, in public), shrieking "amy!!!!!!! don't leave!!!!!!!!!" but i was still afraid, went home, still afraid, went to bed, trying not to be afraid. i was praying, but i was still afraid. but when i woke up the next morning, i was chill as a cucumber. had two brief moments of panic while at the doctor's office, but both passed quickly. and i remained chill. so God, once again, gave me everything that i didn't deserve and kept me from what i did deserve. and i'm very grateful.
i'll try to keep the humor part brief, cause i'm tired and this email is long enough already. this CERTAINLY isn't good enough to be classified as one of "Amy's Great Adventures," but it's a least a miniature version. i was armed and dangerous with my mp3 player and Christian music mix as i walked into the dentists chair.
can i just take this moment to say that i truly believe that dentists are, as a whole, masochistic? meaning that i am persuaded that they do EVERYTHING POSSIBLE to make you uncomfortable when you're sitting in that armchair waiting for the torture to begin. i can't seem to ever sit still, so i'm swiveling around in the dentist's chair trying to amuse myself before the procedure. *swivel* first i noticed the forbidden xray of my teeth proudly displayed on the back wall. *swivel* then i noticed a series of needles staring ominously at me "hidden" under a TRANSPARENT piece of material. *swivel* then i noticed a big machine with lots of clamps and monitors that was emitting a rhythmic beeping noise over and over that, if properly used, could probably make the hardest of criminals confess to anything. *swivel* then i saw a large drill on the back table. *swivel* then i saw more needles *swivel* machines *swivel* tools *swivel* beeping *swivel* xrays *swivel* I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MOOOOOOOOOORE!!!
*nurse enters*
Nurse (brightly): Hi Amy!
Amy: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!Nurse (brightly): Can I take your coat?
Things got better from there because I realized that half of those instruments were not for me. Ha ha! Fun for all. The procedure finally got underway and the doctor told me he was going to give me some laughing gas before giving me the anaesthesia. This was a very exciting concept, being that I enjoy laughing. He stuck a mask over my face and I continue to breathe as he hooked all these machines up to me that would monitor my heart rate and other such things while I was asleep. Slightly nerve-wracking, but I was okay. Right before he was about to put the IV in, I inquired of the doctor "should I be laughing yet?" The doctor tried to explain that it wasn't actually supposed to make you laugh... just to relax you... but he was already putting in the IV and that's when it just got cool.
Now, I am very strongly against all kinds of illegal drugs. I would never, ever in my life touch or try such things. But I say with all seriousness that I now COMPLETELY understand why people do. If anyone knows what kind of substances are actually IN anaesthesia, I beg you never to tell me. Because if I knew, I would probably spend the rest of my life on my knees in repentence. All I knew was that the minute the IV came in, I felt a vague spinning sensation and I said (yes, out loud), "Whooo!" The doctor chuckled and said "Yup, that's the anaesthesia." I remember feeling like I was going through this bizarro maze of colors (I am so serious) and I remembered hearing the voices of the doctors every once in a while... I FELT like I was "still awake" but I was just having my own personal lazer light show. The next thing I know, the colors start to go away and I was VERY disappointed. I believe I said something to the effect of "Hey, come back!" as was told to me later by my mother, who impishly decided to write down everything that I said while under the effects of the anaesthesia. Then I heard the doctors say "How are you doing, Amy?" and I gave them a thumbs up. Then I began to speak. Mistake #1. Here is a sampling of some of the things that I said:
1. THAT.... was.... SO...... COOL.
2. Are you there? (to no one)
3. Stuff is heavy!
4. Wow.... that was cool.
5. Don't move.... shhhh.... shhhh.... *silence for two minutes*
6. Take a picture! (editor's note: i refuse to believe that I said this. not until i actually see the developed film)
7. *rolls up sleeve and discovers that there was a bandaid over the spot where the IV went in* *loudly* HEY, COOOOL!!!!
There were probably more, but I don't have the official list that my mom wrote-- I'm just going from what she told me last night. So I got home and in the car I began to tell my mom about recording with the BT choir. I finished talking. Five minutes later I began to tell her the EXACT SAME STORY. My mother patiently listened and then said "Do you realize that you just told me the exact same story twice in ten minutes?" The effects of the anesthesia wore off real quick-- apparently it's supposed to make you tired. But the minute I got home I was wide awake and anxious to begin taking the painkillers. The narcotics, excuse me. I asked the dentist about 17 times "are you SURE I have to take these??? can't I just take a million motrin?" And the dentist replied "not unless you want to be in excruciating, agonizing pain." So narcotics it was. I prayed over my medication *sheepish grin*, took it, and the first two doses were great. No problems, no side effects, slight tiredness but that's it. Until I took dose #3.
For a brief moment, I thought I might die. I was standing at the sink and all of a sudden my entire body got VERY very heavy and dizziness set in. I said ".... uhoh." and crawled over to the couch and huddled in a little ball while commanding the room to stop spinning. Fortunately I fell asleep and upon waking up, the room had returned to its normal state. And then I decided that that was the END of the narcotics. So I switched to Motrin and had to deal with some pain, but better that than whatEVER was going through my system earlier. Now I'm chillin... stopped taking Motrin yesterday morning so I've been off painkillers for a day. I am strong *dun dun* I am invincible *dun dun* I am.... tired. Hence the end of my story. Tune in next time to hear what happens when Amy shows up to Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir recording tonight looking like I'm storing nuts in my cheeks.
as probably all of you know, i was NOT looking forward to this surgery. what most of you probably DON'T know is the EXTENT to which i was not looking forward to the surgery. i have this amazing ability to dwell on things and worry about them for extended periods of time. this surgery has been put off four times since last summer, when i was INITIALLY supposed to have it done. i'll tell you this much... when i first looked at the xray of my wisdom teeth, i screamed. yes, out loud. i could not even IMAGINE how the dentist was going to remove those and how i was going to survive it. i got in the car and cried and thus beganeth the panicking.
i spent the year praying about these wisdom teeth. i prayed for everything under the sun... first i prayed that God would just supernaturally remove them so that when i went back the dentist would be totally shocked and God would get the glory. did that until i checked my motives :-\ now, i can tolerate pain. nobody LIKES pain, but i have a pretty high pain tolerance. but what i do not like is medication. why? well, primarily because i don't like ingesting substances that alter the natural processes of my body. aspirin, tynenol, motrin-- whatever. no problem. but when my oral surgeon started talking about "tylenol with codeine" i said ".....excuse me, WHAT?!?!?!?!?!" right. seriousness. testifying. sorry.
see why i could never be a preacher? we'd be at church till midnight waiting for me to finish my 60th tangent.
the point is that i was scared. scared of the anaesthesia (knowing what i feel about medication... imagine what i felt about being injected with a substance that will render me unconscious), scared of the pain, scared of the medication i would have to take FOR the pain, which the doctor comfortingly reassured me that only had a 50% chance of making me throw up. big scared ugly mess = amy. so why do i say that God showed His abundant mercy, besides the fact that His mercies are indeed new every morning? well, to start, He should have struck me dead for being afraid in the FIRST place. how many times does the Bible say "fear not"? how many times in the past had God come through when i was afraid of something just to prove to me "see, Amy? you don't need to be afraid!" but amy doesn't learn lessons very well :-\ i try. but i guess i've just got a long way to go.
when i left to go on the train home, my friends nadia and najja were with me cause we had come from church and naj had helped bring my bags with me to the station. can't TELL you how much i wanted to, like, "accidentally" miss the train and have to postpone the surgery. they left and every fiber of my being wanted to be going with them. it didn't HELP that they kept BANGING ON THE WINDOWS OF THE TRAIN (yes, in public), shrieking "amy!!!!!!! don't leave!!!!!!!!!" but i was still afraid, went home, still afraid, went to bed, trying not to be afraid. i was praying, but i was still afraid. but when i woke up the next morning, i was chill as a cucumber. had two brief moments of panic while at the doctor's office, but both passed quickly. and i remained chill. so God, once again, gave me everything that i didn't deserve and kept me from what i did deserve. and i'm very grateful.
i'll try to keep the humor part brief, cause i'm tired and this email is long enough already. this CERTAINLY isn't good enough to be classified as one of "Amy's Great Adventures," but it's a least a miniature version. i was armed and dangerous with my mp3 player and Christian music mix as i walked into the dentists chair.
can i just take this moment to say that i truly believe that dentists are, as a whole, masochistic? meaning that i am persuaded that they do EVERYTHING POSSIBLE to make you uncomfortable when you're sitting in that armchair waiting for the torture to begin. i can't seem to ever sit still, so i'm swiveling around in the dentist's chair trying to amuse myself before the procedure. *swivel* first i noticed the forbidden xray of my teeth proudly displayed on the back wall. *swivel* then i noticed a series of needles staring ominously at me "hidden" under a TRANSPARENT piece of material. *swivel* then i noticed a big machine with lots of clamps and monitors that was emitting a rhythmic beeping noise over and over that, if properly used, could probably make the hardest of criminals confess to anything. *swivel* then i saw a large drill on the back table. *swivel* then i saw more needles *swivel* machines *swivel* tools *swivel* beeping *swivel* xrays *swivel* I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MOOOOOOOOOORE!!!
*nurse enters*
Nurse (brightly): Hi Amy!
Amy: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!Nurse (brightly): Can I take your coat?
Things got better from there because I realized that half of those instruments were not for me. Ha ha! Fun for all. The procedure finally got underway and the doctor told me he was going to give me some laughing gas before giving me the anaesthesia. This was a very exciting concept, being that I enjoy laughing. He stuck a mask over my face and I continue to breathe as he hooked all these machines up to me that would monitor my heart rate and other such things while I was asleep. Slightly nerve-wracking, but I was okay. Right before he was about to put the IV in, I inquired of the doctor "should I be laughing yet?" The doctor tried to explain that it wasn't actually supposed to make you laugh... just to relax you... but he was already putting in the IV and that's when it just got cool.
Now, I am very strongly against all kinds of illegal drugs. I would never, ever in my life touch or try such things. But I say with all seriousness that I now COMPLETELY understand why people do. If anyone knows what kind of substances are actually IN anaesthesia, I beg you never to tell me. Because if I knew, I would probably spend the rest of my life on my knees in repentence. All I knew was that the minute the IV came in, I felt a vague spinning sensation and I said (yes, out loud), "Whooo!" The doctor chuckled and said "Yup, that's the anaesthesia." I remember feeling like I was going through this bizarro maze of colors (I am so serious) and I remembered hearing the voices of the doctors every once in a while... I FELT like I was "still awake" but I was just having my own personal lazer light show. The next thing I know, the colors start to go away and I was VERY disappointed. I believe I said something to the effect of "Hey, come back!" as was told to me later by my mother, who impishly decided to write down everything that I said while under the effects of the anaesthesia. Then I heard the doctors say "How are you doing, Amy?" and I gave them a thumbs up. Then I began to speak. Mistake #1. Here is a sampling of some of the things that I said:
1. THAT.... was.... SO...... COOL.
2. Are you there? (to no one)
3. Stuff is heavy!
4. Wow.... that was cool.
5. Don't move.... shhhh.... shhhh.... *silence for two minutes*
6. Take a picture! (editor's note: i refuse to believe that I said this. not until i actually see the developed film)
7. *rolls up sleeve and discovers that there was a bandaid over the spot where the IV went in* *loudly* HEY, COOOOL!!!!
There were probably more, but I don't have the official list that my mom wrote-- I'm just going from what she told me last night. So I got home and in the car I began to tell my mom about recording with the BT choir. I finished talking. Five minutes later I began to tell her the EXACT SAME STORY. My mother patiently listened and then said "Do you realize that you just told me the exact same story twice in ten minutes?" The effects of the anesthesia wore off real quick-- apparently it's supposed to make you tired. But the minute I got home I was wide awake and anxious to begin taking the painkillers. The narcotics, excuse me. I asked the dentist about 17 times "are you SURE I have to take these??? can't I just take a million motrin?" And the dentist replied "not unless you want to be in excruciating, agonizing pain." So narcotics it was. I prayed over my medication *sheepish grin*, took it, and the first two doses were great. No problems, no side effects, slight tiredness but that's it. Until I took dose #3.
For a brief moment, I thought I might die. I was standing at the sink and all of a sudden my entire body got VERY very heavy and dizziness set in. I said ".... uhoh." and crawled over to the couch and huddled in a little ball while commanding the room to stop spinning. Fortunately I fell asleep and upon waking up, the room had returned to its normal state. And then I decided that that was the END of the narcotics. So I switched to Motrin and had to deal with some pain, but better that than whatEVER was going through my system earlier. Now I'm chillin... stopped taking Motrin yesterday morning so I've been off painkillers for a day. I am strong *dun dun* I am invincible *dun dun* I am.... tired. Hence the end of my story. Tune in next time to hear what happens when Amy shows up to Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir recording tonight looking like I'm storing nuts in my cheeks.
Thursday, May 01, 2003
(Un)Noticed (May 2003)
ever have a day when you really just wanted to be unnoticed? to just invisibly maneuver through your necessary activities and return as quickly as possible to the comforts of your home? today was one of those days. no particular reason... just was feeling contemplative, pondering things... and it was rainy... you know how it is.
i've learned something about having those days. i've learned that if i wake up and suddenly sense an urge to glide covertly through my day, i should not leave my room. because if i DO leave my room, i am bound to become the center of attention in EVERY SINGLE WAY POSSIBLE. this has happened before. oh yes. last time i awoke with this vague desire for anonymity, i found myself later that day being SO MUCH the center of random strangers' attention that, medically speaking, i should have had a stroke and died. because ALL the blood in my body was making a beeline for my face. there are eyewitnesses that could testify to this, but i made them promise under penalty of excruciating torture to never speak of this occasion again.
but i digress. today was a NEW day, a NEW opportunity for embarrassment! MANY opportunities, in fact! i should have known, really, when my first activity of the day was to do a teaching observation at PS 181 in crown heights. for those of you who are not familiar with brooklyn, allow me to briefly show you the ropes. brooklyn is a wonderful borough that i am proud to call home, ripe with beauty and diversity, and i encourage all of you to visit. however, you really need to know your neighborhoods if you intend to leave again with all your body parts. allow me to make an analogy...
if you are familiar with skiing, you'll recall that different ski slopes have different symbols to designate which areas are for beginner skiers and which are for those with more experience. "green circles" indicate beginner slopes, "blue squares" indicate intermediates, and "black diamonds" indicate expert slopes. recently, ski areas have upgraded some slopes to "double black diamonds," designated for "most advanced skiers only." i've heard that there are triple black diamond slopes in the works. being a skier myself, and also being an individual who eminates some kind of aura that Trouble and Mishaps find irresistible... i found myself once atop a double black diamond slope with noooo way to get back to the lodge except down. i tentatively placed one of my skis on the hill and, almost instantaneously, found myself face down in the snow approximately 100 feet from the top. both skis had dislodged- one had found refuge in a small ditch on the side of the slope while the other was happily and freely sailing all the way down to the bottom of the mountain. i also somehow managed to lose both of my poles, with one ending up atop a small tree. i later declared that if hell were a ski lodge, all slopes would be double blacks. in fact, i proposed that those constructing the triple black slopes might as well just change the name to "Dismemberment Slopes" and modify the symbol appropriately, perhaps having an organ donation table conveniently located at the top of the mountain. "just in case."
getting back to brooklyn, there are various "degrees of difficulty" in terms of surviving in its neighborhoods. and, to briefly allude to golf, some people also have handicaps (which, for those who are unaware, is a number that you use when playing golf that is proportionate to your skill level and is figured into your score, so that if you're horrible you don't always lose embarrassingly. the worse you are, the higher your handicap.) people who have grown up in the brooklyn their whole life wouldn't even NEED a handicap. they would be perfectly fine strolling into any old place and not have to fear for their life. someone like me, however, probably has a handicap that stretches into the billions. people tell me that it's a wonder i survived poughkeepsie, let alone brooklyn. so, of course, rather than placing me in a nice "green circle" brooklyn neighborhood like park slope or brooklyn heights... i was placed in "Dismemberment." actually that's not true. there are neighborhoods worse than crown heights. but it's at LEAST a double black.
so i walked up to the school, surrounded by fences and padlocks and barred windows, and i'm feeling veeeery much like i did at the top of that ski slope. i brightly and innocently bound into this school and direct myself to the classroom, and i suddenly sense that everyone is staring at me. remember that goal to be unnoticed? sloooooowly fading out of reach. and because i'm just that naive sometimes, i found myself wondering "why are they all looking at me? is my zipper undone? do i have something in my teeth? toilet paper stuck to my shoe?" and then i realized that most of these kindergarteners and 1st graders, most of whom are from the west indies, are probably thinking "somebody forgot to color her in!"
so all through the observation (which happened to be in 3rd grade), i was getting stared at. i tried my best to just fade into the woodwork and take notes, but children are obnoxious sometimes and these kids would just stroll up to me and stare. or yell "teacher, who's that girl??" i escaped unscathed... perhaps a ski pole of pride was dangling somewhere amidst the barred windows, but all limbs and vital organs still intact. after a quick stop at home, i had to go into manhattan to get a PPD test at my doctor's office (that's the one where they stick you with a needle and make a little bubble on your arm- way cool). this was literally a two-minute procedure and i was outta there. hardly time to make a scene, you say.
*chuckle*
first the nurse gets out her materials and begins prepping the needle. i have a sick fascination with needles, so i'm sitting there watching... and the nurse seems to be having some trouble. she keeps muttering under her breath and reinserting the needle into the little jar of liquid that the needle needs to suck up. my heart gives a little flutter but i'm cool... just a pesky needle. she finally gets the needle prepped and then, nurse-like, flicks the end of the needle to get rid of excess liquid or any gas bubbles. my confidence returns in her. until she somehow manages to flick ALL OF THE LIQUID out of the needle. *expletive!*, she says and i'm suddenly paralyzed with an urge to run screaming out of the room. this circus continues with the nurse alternating between sucking up the liquid and flicking all the liquid out of the needle until i was ready to grab the needle, jam it in my arm and hightail it. she finally managed to obtain the right amount of liquid and the procedure was about to begin... when another nurse enters the room and says "i need to borrow some gloves." the nurse kindly obliges and gets set to inject the needle... when another nurse comes in and says "i need to borrow some gloves." and then a third nurse and a fourth, all asking for gloves. i was already convinced that i was in the twilight zone, so i just started laughing. my nurse said "why do you need gloves?" and another calmly replied, "there was a urine incident."
now, in my finite mind, i do not even dare to speculate. but as the company of nurses exited the room, they announced rather loudly "make sure you get that girl cleaned up!" i'm assuming that they were referring to the "urine incident." what i failed to notice was that the bathroom was located DIRECTLY across from the room i was in, and there were no other rooms between us, the bathroom, and the waiting area. so when i left after getting my shot, all the patients in the waiting room were looking curiously at me. it wasn't until i was in the elevator that i realized in horror that they thought i was the girl involved in the urine incident. strike two.
strike three was even more amusing because of its prophetic nature... i had a brief interlude back home before heading to BT choir rehearsal- we were pre-recording for our new album called "This Is Your House"- and i was talking to stacy online for a minute. she gleefully and impishly remarked that i was now a "recording artist," and i chuckled, quipping that i was actually a "let-me-not-be-the-one-to-mess-up-and-make-us-have-to-do-another-take-artist." ha ha. jokes. mirth.
until we were on our fifth song of the night, trying to prerecord "i'm going with Jesus" for the third time, and amy's mind wanders. not far, just a brief meandering, but it managed to slip away for one crucial second. and, instead of finishing the chorus and waiting for the music to play through the soloist's verse, amy steamrolls right into into the next chorus. she only got as far as "I'M...." before she realized that she had unwittingly began her first solo at the brooklyn tabernacle. she was absolutely MORTIFIED and she saw kareem (the asst. director who was directing us that evening) glance up into the alto section, looking for the perpetrator. the take was already shot, so people started to talk to each other. and some well-meaning but idiotic soul called out "it's okay, amy!" great. wonderful. i'm now BLACKLISTED. as well as mortified. moved up in the ranks from one classroom of children to a filled waiting room of adults to approximately 300 choir members who i see on a very regular basis.
i had already thrown in the towel in terms of getting through the day unnoticed-- by this point i was aiming to just get through alive. so i ran out of the church after rehearsal and joy! the #2 subway is waiting for me as i enter the station. i ran through the turnstile and leaped onto the train in one fluid motion as the doors shut. pretty slick, i thought to myself. the train's rumbling along and suddenly the conductor emerges from her cell, looks straight at me and bellows "ARE YOU GETTING OFF AT THE NEXT STOP???" stricken, i said "um... no, bergen street." all heads swivel. she continues "CAUSE YOUR COAT'S STUCK IN THE DOOR. AND THOSE DOORS DON'T OPEN UNTIL ATLANTIC AVENUE." passengers begin to chuckle. i reach down and, lo and behold, my graceful leap in front of the closing doors was not quite as slick or as effective as i had imagined it to be. desperatly grasping for some modicum of pride, i attempted to laugh it off and said "oops! well, no problem, i'll just get myself unstuck at atlantic." but, of course, when we arrived at atlantic avenue, there were kajillions of people waiting to get on the train. and, of COURSE, the train doors didn't open right away. so i was able to peer out through the windows and watch the people snickering outside at the piece of black coat stuck between the subway doors. it was all over.
i'm back in my room now and my roommate's not here, so if i embarrass myself now, it'll only be me who sees it. tune in next time for further adventures....
i've learned something about having those days. i've learned that if i wake up and suddenly sense an urge to glide covertly through my day, i should not leave my room. because if i DO leave my room, i am bound to become the center of attention in EVERY SINGLE WAY POSSIBLE. this has happened before. oh yes. last time i awoke with this vague desire for anonymity, i found myself later that day being SO MUCH the center of random strangers' attention that, medically speaking, i should have had a stroke and died. because ALL the blood in my body was making a beeline for my face. there are eyewitnesses that could testify to this, but i made them promise under penalty of excruciating torture to never speak of this occasion again.
but i digress. today was a NEW day, a NEW opportunity for embarrassment! MANY opportunities, in fact! i should have known, really, when my first activity of the day was to do a teaching observation at PS 181 in crown heights. for those of you who are not familiar with brooklyn, allow me to briefly show you the ropes. brooklyn is a wonderful borough that i am proud to call home, ripe with beauty and diversity, and i encourage all of you to visit. however, you really need to know your neighborhoods if you intend to leave again with all your body parts. allow me to make an analogy...
if you are familiar with skiing, you'll recall that different ski slopes have different symbols to designate which areas are for beginner skiers and which are for those with more experience. "green circles" indicate beginner slopes, "blue squares" indicate intermediates, and "black diamonds" indicate expert slopes. recently, ski areas have upgraded some slopes to "double black diamonds," designated for "most advanced skiers only." i've heard that there are triple black diamond slopes in the works. being a skier myself, and also being an individual who eminates some kind of aura that Trouble and Mishaps find irresistible... i found myself once atop a double black diamond slope with noooo way to get back to the lodge except down. i tentatively placed one of my skis on the hill and, almost instantaneously, found myself face down in the snow approximately 100 feet from the top. both skis had dislodged- one had found refuge in a small ditch on the side of the slope while the other was happily and freely sailing all the way down to the bottom of the mountain. i also somehow managed to lose both of my poles, with one ending up atop a small tree. i later declared that if hell were a ski lodge, all slopes would be double blacks. in fact, i proposed that those constructing the triple black slopes might as well just change the name to "Dismemberment Slopes" and modify the symbol appropriately, perhaps having an organ donation table conveniently located at the top of the mountain. "just in case."
getting back to brooklyn, there are various "degrees of difficulty" in terms of surviving in its neighborhoods. and, to briefly allude to golf, some people also have handicaps (which, for those who are unaware, is a number that you use when playing golf that is proportionate to your skill level and is figured into your score, so that if you're horrible you don't always lose embarrassingly. the worse you are, the higher your handicap.) people who have grown up in the brooklyn their whole life wouldn't even NEED a handicap. they would be perfectly fine strolling into any old place and not have to fear for their life. someone like me, however, probably has a handicap that stretches into the billions. people tell me that it's a wonder i survived poughkeepsie, let alone brooklyn. so, of course, rather than placing me in a nice "green circle" brooklyn neighborhood like park slope or brooklyn heights... i was placed in "Dismemberment." actually that's not true. there are neighborhoods worse than crown heights. but it's at LEAST a double black.
so i walked up to the school, surrounded by fences and padlocks and barred windows, and i'm feeling veeeery much like i did at the top of that ski slope. i brightly and innocently bound into this school and direct myself to the classroom, and i suddenly sense that everyone is staring at me. remember that goal to be unnoticed? sloooooowly fading out of reach. and because i'm just that naive sometimes, i found myself wondering "why are they all looking at me? is my zipper undone? do i have something in my teeth? toilet paper stuck to my shoe?" and then i realized that most of these kindergarteners and 1st graders, most of whom are from the west indies, are probably thinking "somebody forgot to color her in!"
so all through the observation (which happened to be in 3rd grade), i was getting stared at. i tried my best to just fade into the woodwork and take notes, but children are obnoxious sometimes and these kids would just stroll up to me and stare. or yell "teacher, who's that girl??" i escaped unscathed... perhaps a ski pole of pride was dangling somewhere amidst the barred windows, but all limbs and vital organs still intact. after a quick stop at home, i had to go into manhattan to get a PPD test at my doctor's office (that's the one where they stick you with a needle and make a little bubble on your arm- way cool). this was literally a two-minute procedure and i was outta there. hardly time to make a scene, you say.
*chuckle*
first the nurse gets out her materials and begins prepping the needle. i have a sick fascination with needles, so i'm sitting there watching... and the nurse seems to be having some trouble. she keeps muttering under her breath and reinserting the needle into the little jar of liquid that the needle needs to suck up. my heart gives a little flutter but i'm cool... just a pesky needle. she finally gets the needle prepped and then, nurse-like, flicks the end of the needle to get rid of excess liquid or any gas bubbles. my confidence returns in her. until she somehow manages to flick ALL OF THE LIQUID out of the needle. *expletive!*, she says and i'm suddenly paralyzed with an urge to run screaming out of the room. this circus continues with the nurse alternating between sucking up the liquid and flicking all the liquid out of the needle until i was ready to grab the needle, jam it in my arm and hightail it. she finally managed to obtain the right amount of liquid and the procedure was about to begin... when another nurse enters the room and says "i need to borrow some gloves." the nurse kindly obliges and gets set to inject the needle... when another nurse comes in and says "i need to borrow some gloves." and then a third nurse and a fourth, all asking for gloves. i was already convinced that i was in the twilight zone, so i just started laughing. my nurse said "why do you need gloves?" and another calmly replied, "there was a urine incident."
now, in my finite mind, i do not even dare to speculate. but as the company of nurses exited the room, they announced rather loudly "make sure you get that girl cleaned up!" i'm assuming that they were referring to the "urine incident." what i failed to notice was that the bathroom was located DIRECTLY across from the room i was in, and there were no other rooms between us, the bathroom, and the waiting area. so when i left after getting my shot, all the patients in the waiting room were looking curiously at me. it wasn't until i was in the elevator that i realized in horror that they thought i was the girl involved in the urine incident. strike two.
strike three was even more amusing because of its prophetic nature... i had a brief interlude back home before heading to BT choir rehearsal- we were pre-recording for our new album called "This Is Your House"- and i was talking to stacy online for a minute. she gleefully and impishly remarked that i was now a "recording artist," and i chuckled, quipping that i was actually a "let-me-not-be-the-one-to-mess-up-and-make-us-have-to-do-another-take-artist." ha ha. jokes. mirth.
until we were on our fifth song of the night, trying to prerecord "i'm going with Jesus" for the third time, and amy's mind wanders. not far, just a brief meandering, but it managed to slip away for one crucial second. and, instead of finishing the chorus and waiting for the music to play through the soloist's verse, amy steamrolls right into into the next chorus. she only got as far as "I'M...." before she realized that she had unwittingly began her first solo at the brooklyn tabernacle. she was absolutely MORTIFIED and she saw kareem (the asst. director who was directing us that evening) glance up into the alto section, looking for the perpetrator. the take was already shot, so people started to talk to each other. and some well-meaning but idiotic soul called out "it's okay, amy!" great. wonderful. i'm now BLACKLISTED. as well as mortified. moved up in the ranks from one classroom of children to a filled waiting room of adults to approximately 300 choir members who i see on a very regular basis.
i had already thrown in the towel in terms of getting through the day unnoticed-- by this point i was aiming to just get through alive. so i ran out of the church after rehearsal and joy! the #2 subway is waiting for me as i enter the station. i ran through the turnstile and leaped onto the train in one fluid motion as the doors shut. pretty slick, i thought to myself. the train's rumbling along and suddenly the conductor emerges from her cell, looks straight at me and bellows "ARE YOU GETTING OFF AT THE NEXT STOP???" stricken, i said "um... no, bergen street." all heads swivel. she continues "CAUSE YOUR COAT'S STUCK IN THE DOOR. AND THOSE DOORS DON'T OPEN UNTIL ATLANTIC AVENUE." passengers begin to chuckle. i reach down and, lo and behold, my graceful leap in front of the closing doors was not quite as slick or as effective as i had imagined it to be. desperatly grasping for some modicum of pride, i attempted to laugh it off and said "oops! well, no problem, i'll just get myself unstuck at atlantic." but, of course, when we arrived at atlantic avenue, there were kajillions of people waiting to get on the train. and, of COURSE, the train doors didn't open right away. so i was able to peer out through the windows and watch the people snickering outside at the piece of black coat stuck between the subway doors. it was all over.
i'm back in my room now and my roommate's not here, so if i embarrass myself now, it'll only be me who sees it. tune in next time for further adventures....
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
Subway Pregnancy (October 2002)
i know it has been quite the while since the last installment of Things That Could Only Happen To Amy... but i'm pleased to inform you that the queen of klutz has NOT lost her touch. it's just that i've been mostly engaging in novice activities of late... you know, punching oneself in the face, slamming into street signs, tripping down steps, falling off couches. i didn't feel they warranted mass e-mailage. and i've had my share of escapades and adventures as well, some of them QUITE hilarious, but they didn't really beg to be told in e-mail form. however, something happened today that inspired me to write, so that once again you may laugh at my expense. that's what i'm here for.
there are a lot of things that you will find in new york that you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else in the world. for example, a drag queen walking arm-and-arm with a well-dressed man in a business suit. only in new york. also, today i saw a woman bent over sideways in a contorted fashion, applying lipstick using the side mirror of a car (i don't think it was hers), singing at the top of her lungs. only in new york. but nothing screams "manhattan" louder than the new york city subway system.you simply can't find anything like it anywhere else. oh, i know there are other cities with mass transit. i've been to boston and to paris and have experienced both modes of underground transportation. but it's not so much the subway itself that makes it distinct. it's the stuff that goes on after "stand clear of the closing doors" that begs to be told. so without further adieu, i present to you...
New York City Mass Transit: The Inside Story, Part I
***
it was 4:15 pm, and i realized that i needed to MOVE IT. i had just spent the day hanging out with my friend erik in manhattan, and i needed to be back in brooklyn at 5:00 to tutor. i was having VERY intense feminine issues (apologies to the squeamish), i was experiencing Massive Mood Swings and i felt like a herd of angry rhinoceroses (rhinoceri?) had ripped out my abdomen and tap danced on it. needless to say, i was less than thrilled about the prospect of trekking all the way up to union square from nyu, getting on the Q train and riding it alllllllll the way to newkirk avenue in brooklyn. but duty called, so i dragged myself to 14th street and got myself on a Q express. and ALL i wanted.... was a seat. my entire body was aching, my legs were exhausted from the very brisk walk to union square, and my moods were shifting at the speed of sound. i would have sacrificed minor body parts in exchange for a seat at that moment. but, of course, it's 4:30 on a wednesday and the trains are packed.
keep in mind that i have been on anti-Female Time medicine all day, and i was feeling a tad drowsy. so drowsy, in fact, that i nearly fell asleep standing up as i made my way toward lower manhattan. not good. at each stop, i reassured myself that SOMEONE would get off the train, and i vowed that i would do whatever necessary in order to obtain that vacant seat. nothing was too extreme. leaping over people, stepping on small children, loudly announcing i had leprosy... ANYTHING. canal street comes and i eagerly look around for the individual who would be surrendering their seat. not a soul so much as blinked. and, of course, the entire population of chinatown enters the train at canal street. so now, not only am i seatless, but i'm also smushed between two very old chinese ladies who are talking about something in mandarin. and the conversation must have been very exciting, because they were talking at a pitch that is only dogs should be able to hear. shrill, loud and piercing. i suppressed many an urge that was just not of God. dekalb avenue came and the Squawking Sisters departed.
i breathed a prayer of thanks and looked around for the seat i KNEW was coming. but in the commotion i had missed my chance. my legs are now BURNING. the rhinos on my abdomen grew more intense. my brain was still recovering from the shrillness of the chinese women. but i held strong, CONVINCED that atlantic avenue was to be my salvation. atlantic... not a soul moved. 7th ave... nothing. prospect park... niente. i was on the verge of tears when suddenly... *gasp*... we arrived at church avenue and TWO WHOLE ENTIRE PEOPLE GOT OFF THE TRAIN!!! i was so excited i nearly wet my pants in relief (don't ask). i moved to sit down...and there she was.
Lady With Cute Child.
i saw what was happening from the moment she got on the train. i felt it in my spirit. here i was, twenty-something blond girl in the prime of my youth... and there she was, 30-something working mom carrying BEAUTIFUL approximately 3-year-old girl and carrying 8 trillion bags plus a mcdonald's happy meal for her darling dear.
ew.
but what could i do? despite my earlier vows to let the ends justify the means in terms of securing my seat, i would appear nearly demonic to the other passengers if i ran over and stole that seat from the little girl. so, with as much Joy and Christian Love as i could muster, i stepped aside and watched her settle down in the seat. i looked heavenward, just begging for relief, when Happy Meal Lady glanced over at me. she kind of tilted her head and regarded me quizzically, and then opened her mouth to inquire something that was on her heart.
"Are you pregnant?"
now, i have never in my life claimed to be petite. i have no problem with this-- you just don't play sports for fifteen straight years and expect to be twiggy. so skinny i am not. but PREGNANT?!?!?!?!? did i neglect THAT MANY situps?? did i eat THAT MANY slices of juniors' cheesecake?
let me take this opportunity to announce something to all of you. if you do not seen an ACTUAL BABY coming out from a woman, do not ask her if she is pregnant. just don't do it.
keep in mind that my currently emotional state is Highly Volatile. being called pregant in the throes of Feminine Fun Time is a no-no. so for about five seconds i sat by and watch every mote of self-esteem that i had fly out the window, and i DESPERATELY tried to regain my composure. not easy, however, because this was not a quiet musing to herself. this woman had one of those voices that could cut glass, so at least half the train is now swiveling around to possibly catch a glimpse at the glowing mother-to-be. oh i was glowing all right... i was approximately 19 different shades of red. so as i am desperately trying to pick up the shards of my shattered ego, i realize the problem. my scarf was laying flat across my chest and was covering up my purse, which was hanging DIRECTLY in front of my abdominal area. i exhaled an ENORMOUS amount of air and then proceeded to reply, "oh! no no, just my purse. ha ha!" i attempted to swivel around in the middle of my sentence and speak rather loudly so that the other passengers would also hear and thus i would, at least in my mind, be acquitted... but what ended up happening was that i just kept repeating myself and spinning around haphazardly. "pregnant?? *sviwel* ME??? oh no, just my purse. *swivel* see, my SCARF... funny story... my SCARF was covering up my BAG!! you see? *swivel* see, the BAG looked like a BABY. ha ha! there's no BABY! just a BAG!"
by this point the people on the subway have lost all interest. Happy Meal Lady is now, once again, looking at me quizzically and holding onto her child a little tighter. the child, incidentally, was happily stuffing a hamburger in her hair for most of the proceedings with a brief pause to drop the roll on the floor. it landed on my sneaker.
newkirk avenue arrived and i SPRINTED off of the train. approximately one minute later, i realized how side-splittingly hilarious the whole thing was, and proceeded to leave the subway station guffawing like a hyena. every once in a while i would just picture the scene in my mind and burst out laughing again. "PREGNANT!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" i think i alienated more people on the way OUT of the station than i did on the actual train.
moral of the story? i don't know. don't be a woman. stop at NOTHING to get a seat on the Q train. and never... EVER... assume pregnancy.
there are a lot of things that you will find in new york that you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else in the world. for example, a drag queen walking arm-and-arm with a well-dressed man in a business suit. only in new york. also, today i saw a woman bent over sideways in a contorted fashion, applying lipstick using the side mirror of a car (i don't think it was hers), singing at the top of her lungs. only in new york. but nothing screams "manhattan" louder than the new york city subway system.you simply can't find anything like it anywhere else. oh, i know there are other cities with mass transit. i've been to boston and to paris and have experienced both modes of underground transportation. but it's not so much the subway itself that makes it distinct. it's the stuff that goes on after "stand clear of the closing doors" that begs to be told. so without further adieu, i present to you...
New York City Mass Transit: The Inside Story, Part I
***
it was 4:15 pm, and i realized that i needed to MOVE IT. i had just spent the day hanging out with my friend erik in manhattan, and i needed to be back in brooklyn at 5:00 to tutor. i was having VERY intense feminine issues (apologies to the squeamish), i was experiencing Massive Mood Swings and i felt like a herd of angry rhinoceroses (rhinoceri?) had ripped out my abdomen and tap danced on it. needless to say, i was less than thrilled about the prospect of trekking all the way up to union square from nyu, getting on the Q train and riding it alllllllll the way to newkirk avenue in brooklyn. but duty called, so i dragged myself to 14th street and got myself on a Q express. and ALL i wanted.... was a seat. my entire body was aching, my legs were exhausted from the very brisk walk to union square, and my moods were shifting at the speed of sound. i would have sacrificed minor body parts in exchange for a seat at that moment. but, of course, it's 4:30 on a wednesday and the trains are packed.
keep in mind that i have been on anti-Female Time medicine all day, and i was feeling a tad drowsy. so drowsy, in fact, that i nearly fell asleep standing up as i made my way toward lower manhattan. not good. at each stop, i reassured myself that SOMEONE would get off the train, and i vowed that i would do whatever necessary in order to obtain that vacant seat. nothing was too extreme. leaping over people, stepping on small children, loudly announcing i had leprosy... ANYTHING. canal street comes and i eagerly look around for the individual who would be surrendering their seat. not a soul so much as blinked. and, of course, the entire population of chinatown enters the train at canal street. so now, not only am i seatless, but i'm also smushed between two very old chinese ladies who are talking about something in mandarin. and the conversation must have been very exciting, because they were talking at a pitch that is only dogs should be able to hear. shrill, loud and piercing. i suppressed many an urge that was just not of God. dekalb avenue came and the Squawking Sisters departed.
i breathed a prayer of thanks and looked around for the seat i KNEW was coming. but in the commotion i had missed my chance. my legs are now BURNING. the rhinos on my abdomen grew more intense. my brain was still recovering from the shrillness of the chinese women. but i held strong, CONVINCED that atlantic avenue was to be my salvation. atlantic... not a soul moved. 7th ave... nothing. prospect park... niente. i was on the verge of tears when suddenly... *gasp*... we arrived at church avenue and TWO WHOLE ENTIRE PEOPLE GOT OFF THE TRAIN!!! i was so excited i nearly wet my pants in relief (don't ask). i moved to sit down...and there she was.
Lady With Cute Child.
i saw what was happening from the moment she got on the train. i felt it in my spirit. here i was, twenty-something blond girl in the prime of my youth... and there she was, 30-something working mom carrying BEAUTIFUL approximately 3-year-old girl and carrying 8 trillion bags plus a mcdonald's happy meal for her darling dear.
ew.
but what could i do? despite my earlier vows to let the ends justify the means in terms of securing my seat, i would appear nearly demonic to the other passengers if i ran over and stole that seat from the little girl. so, with as much Joy and Christian Love as i could muster, i stepped aside and watched her settle down in the seat. i looked heavenward, just begging for relief, when Happy Meal Lady glanced over at me. she kind of tilted her head and regarded me quizzically, and then opened her mouth to inquire something that was on her heart.
"Are you pregnant?"
now, i have never in my life claimed to be petite. i have no problem with this-- you just don't play sports for fifteen straight years and expect to be twiggy. so skinny i am not. but PREGNANT?!?!?!?!? did i neglect THAT MANY situps?? did i eat THAT MANY slices of juniors' cheesecake?
let me take this opportunity to announce something to all of you. if you do not seen an ACTUAL BABY coming out from a woman, do not ask her if she is pregnant. just don't do it.
keep in mind that my currently emotional state is Highly Volatile. being called pregant in the throes of Feminine Fun Time is a no-no. so for about five seconds i sat by and watch every mote of self-esteem that i had fly out the window, and i DESPERATELY tried to regain my composure. not easy, however, because this was not a quiet musing to herself. this woman had one of those voices that could cut glass, so at least half the train is now swiveling around to possibly catch a glimpse at the glowing mother-to-be. oh i was glowing all right... i was approximately 19 different shades of red. so as i am desperately trying to pick up the shards of my shattered ego, i realize the problem. my scarf was laying flat across my chest and was covering up my purse, which was hanging DIRECTLY in front of my abdominal area. i exhaled an ENORMOUS amount of air and then proceeded to reply, "oh! no no, just my purse. ha ha!" i attempted to swivel around in the middle of my sentence and speak rather loudly so that the other passengers would also hear and thus i would, at least in my mind, be acquitted... but what ended up happening was that i just kept repeating myself and spinning around haphazardly. "pregnant?? *sviwel* ME??? oh no, just my purse. *swivel* see, my SCARF... funny story... my SCARF was covering up my BAG!! you see? *swivel* see, the BAG looked like a BABY. ha ha! there's no BABY! just a BAG!"
by this point the people on the subway have lost all interest. Happy Meal Lady is now, once again, looking at me quizzically and holding onto her child a little tighter. the child, incidentally, was happily stuffing a hamburger in her hair for most of the proceedings with a brief pause to drop the roll on the floor. it landed on my sneaker.
newkirk avenue arrived and i SPRINTED off of the train. approximately one minute later, i realized how side-splittingly hilarious the whole thing was, and proceeded to leave the subway station guffawing like a hyena. every once in a while i would just picture the scene in my mind and burst out laughing again. "PREGNANT!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" i think i alienated more people on the way OUT of the station than i did on the actual train.
moral of the story? i don't know. don't be a woman. stop at NOTHING to get a seat on the Q train. and never... EVER... assume pregnancy.
Friday, March 01, 2002
The Slam Heard Round The World (March 2002)
hello all.
many of you may remember my last installment of Amy's Great Adventures, where the headline might have been "Alto Gets Decked in the Face With Cross Before Gospel Choir Concert." if you missed it, please let me know so that i can bring you up to date on my latest acts of physical klutzdom. that being said, allow me to entertain you once again with my amazing ability to thrust myself into situations that cause me physical pain in bizarre ways.
Episode 14: The Slam Heard Round The World
(editor's note: episode numbers are COMPLETELY arbitrary and mean nothing.)
you know how, sometimes, you get out of a car and go to shut the door and find 10,000 watts of electricity searing through your body? okay, maybe not 10,000 watts, but i think we all know how annoying the "car door shock" is to unsuspecting drivers and passengers. i hate it. for those who are still confused, it's the same phenomenon that occurs when your "friends" used to scuff their socks on the carpet and then come up and touch you. unacceptable in every way.
so last night i arrived at stop & shop up in good ol' hyde park, ny (motto: We Have More Historical Sites Than Traffic Lights!) to pick up some essentials. i proceeded to get out of the car and make a move to shut the door behind me. before i could actually touch the door, however, warning bells went off in my head, saying "DON'T TOUCH THAT DOOR! YOU'LL GET SHOCKED AND JUMP MANY FEET UP IN THE AIR, AND PEOPLE IN THE PARKING LOT WILL STARE AND LAUGH AT YOU!" thank goodness for those bells. i certainly didn't want anyone to laugh at my physical misfortune.
i heeded my warning bells and decided on Plan B. which was, of course, to shut the door by grabbing onto the INSIDE door handle and yanking with all my might. i'll give you a moment to process that.
some of you might be sitting here, thinking, "anyone with an I.Q. higher than cheese would realize this is a horrific idea. i mean, you're just ASKING to get your finger/hand/arm slammed in the door!" and to that i reply, "HA! i did nothing of the sort! i slammed my FACE in the door."
yes, that's right. while i managed to get my upper appendages out of the way, i conveniently forgot to remove my face. and therefore managed to slam the car door, full force, into the side of my head. the good news is that the entire left side of my face was numb for about a minute, so i had a little bit of time to make sense of what had just happened before the pain set in. once the pain set in, i thought it might be a good idea to check the situation out, so i proceeded to reach back with my hand and make sure my face was intact. indeed it was, but my hand came back to me (apologies to the squeamish) covered in blood.
PANIC TIME!!! i'm actually a pretty good panicker-- i manage to keep it together for the most part during possible emergency situations. the only problem is that i often act on the first urge that hits me. for example, upon realizing that there was blood coming from somewhere on the left side of my face, i thought, "okay! i need something to put on the wound! a towel or something!" *looks frantically for something to use* "i know! i'll use my shirt!" *begins to remove shirt... realizes there is nothing on underneath shirt*
fortunately, i had just enough common sense to remember that i really didn't want to flash the parking lot, and kept the shirt on... though i was inches away from violating most of the cars in the parking lot. i finally found some napkins in the bottom of the car and stuck them on my head. i tried to situate myself in the car so that i could see my head in the rearview mirror, but the light wasn't good enough so i couldn't really see what had happened. i then decided that i needed to quickly drive home, still holding the wad of paper towels up to my head, and reassess the situation. i got in the car and began driving out of the parking lot. halfway across, i checked the paper towels and realized that there was a LOT less blood than when i started. i checked with another one-- even less. so i decided to go back to the parking lot instead of driving home in a panic. after parking back in my spot, i tried again to check with the rearview mirror and the side mirror and couldn't really tell what was going on, but the bleeding had basically stopped. i felt okay... not at all dizzy... and i really needed to buy contact lens solution. so i kept a napkin close at hand, put my hood up, and proceeded into stop & shop.
now. remember that my reasoning for not wanting to get shocked was to avoid public embarrassment. upon coming out of the store, i realized that there was a woman sitting in the car next to mine who had been watching the whole ordeal. so first she saw me slam my car door into the side of my face and then proceed to begin to rip off my shirt. then she saw me dive into the car and stick napkins to the side of my head, and then start sticking my face up to the rearview mirror. next she saw me peel out of the parking lot, only to return about 30 seconds later. then she saw me stick my face up to the mirror once again before getting out of the car and kneeling on the pavement while sticking my ear up next to the side mirror. finally, she saw me put my hood up (it was about 65 degrees with not a cloud in the sky) and walk into stop & shop. and i wonder why people wonder about me sometimes.
after getting home and assessing the situation, i found that the only damage was a small but somewhat deep cut on the back of my left ear. i have NO idea how such a small cut could produce that much blood, but everybody says head wounds bleed like nobody's business. i don't ask questions. i proceeded to tell the story to my mother, whose response was "there's a first aid kit in the glove compartment. did you remember to pick up the ice cream cake for tomorrow?"
my mother, ladies and gentlemen.
moral of the story? i don't know. probably something like "don't slam your head in a car door." and if you do, wear an undershirt.
many of you may remember my last installment of Amy's Great Adventures, where the headline might have been "Alto Gets Decked in the Face With Cross Before Gospel Choir Concert." if you missed it, please let me know so that i can bring you up to date on my latest acts of physical klutzdom. that being said, allow me to entertain you once again with my amazing ability to thrust myself into situations that cause me physical pain in bizarre ways.
Episode 14: The Slam Heard Round The World
(editor's note: episode numbers are COMPLETELY arbitrary and mean nothing.)
you know how, sometimes, you get out of a car and go to shut the door and find 10,000 watts of electricity searing through your body? okay, maybe not 10,000 watts, but i think we all know how annoying the "car door shock" is to unsuspecting drivers and passengers. i hate it. for those who are still confused, it's the same phenomenon that occurs when your "friends" used to scuff their socks on the carpet and then come up and touch you. unacceptable in every way.
so last night i arrived at stop & shop up in good ol' hyde park, ny (motto: We Have More Historical Sites Than Traffic Lights!) to pick up some essentials. i proceeded to get out of the car and make a move to shut the door behind me. before i could actually touch the door, however, warning bells went off in my head, saying "DON'T TOUCH THAT DOOR! YOU'LL GET SHOCKED AND JUMP MANY FEET UP IN THE AIR, AND PEOPLE IN THE PARKING LOT WILL STARE AND LAUGH AT YOU!" thank goodness for those bells. i certainly didn't want anyone to laugh at my physical misfortune.
i heeded my warning bells and decided on Plan B. which was, of course, to shut the door by grabbing onto the INSIDE door handle and yanking with all my might. i'll give you a moment to process that.
some of you might be sitting here, thinking, "anyone with an I.Q. higher than cheese would realize this is a horrific idea. i mean, you're just ASKING to get your finger/hand/arm slammed in the door!" and to that i reply, "HA! i did nothing of the sort! i slammed my FACE in the door."
yes, that's right. while i managed to get my upper appendages out of the way, i conveniently forgot to remove my face. and therefore managed to slam the car door, full force, into the side of my head. the good news is that the entire left side of my face was numb for about a minute, so i had a little bit of time to make sense of what had just happened before the pain set in. once the pain set in, i thought it might be a good idea to check the situation out, so i proceeded to reach back with my hand and make sure my face was intact. indeed it was, but my hand came back to me (apologies to the squeamish) covered in blood.
PANIC TIME!!! i'm actually a pretty good panicker-- i manage to keep it together for the most part during possible emergency situations. the only problem is that i often act on the first urge that hits me. for example, upon realizing that there was blood coming from somewhere on the left side of my face, i thought, "okay! i need something to put on the wound! a towel or something!" *looks frantically for something to use* "i know! i'll use my shirt!" *begins to remove shirt... realizes there is nothing on underneath shirt*
fortunately, i had just enough common sense to remember that i really didn't want to flash the parking lot, and kept the shirt on... though i was inches away from violating most of the cars in the parking lot. i finally found some napkins in the bottom of the car and stuck them on my head. i tried to situate myself in the car so that i could see my head in the rearview mirror, but the light wasn't good enough so i couldn't really see what had happened. i then decided that i needed to quickly drive home, still holding the wad of paper towels up to my head, and reassess the situation. i got in the car and began driving out of the parking lot. halfway across, i checked the paper towels and realized that there was a LOT less blood than when i started. i checked with another one-- even less. so i decided to go back to the parking lot instead of driving home in a panic. after parking back in my spot, i tried again to check with the rearview mirror and the side mirror and couldn't really tell what was going on, but the bleeding had basically stopped. i felt okay... not at all dizzy... and i really needed to buy contact lens solution. so i kept a napkin close at hand, put my hood up, and proceeded into stop & shop.
now. remember that my reasoning for not wanting to get shocked was to avoid public embarrassment. upon coming out of the store, i realized that there was a woman sitting in the car next to mine who had been watching the whole ordeal. so first she saw me slam my car door into the side of my face and then proceed to begin to rip off my shirt. then she saw me dive into the car and stick napkins to the side of my head, and then start sticking my face up to the rearview mirror. next she saw me peel out of the parking lot, only to return about 30 seconds later. then she saw me stick my face up to the mirror once again before getting out of the car and kneeling on the pavement while sticking my ear up next to the side mirror. finally, she saw me put my hood up (it was about 65 degrees with not a cloud in the sky) and walk into stop & shop. and i wonder why people wonder about me sometimes.
after getting home and assessing the situation, i found that the only damage was a small but somewhat deep cut on the back of my left ear. i have NO idea how such a small cut could produce that much blood, but everybody says head wounds bleed like nobody's business. i don't ask questions. i proceeded to tell the story to my mother, whose response was "there's a first aid kit in the glove compartment. did you remember to pick up the ice cream cake for tomorrow?"
my mother, ladies and gentlemen.
moral of the story? i don't know. probably something like "don't slam your head in a car door." and if you do, wear an undershirt.
Saturday, December 01, 2001
Cross-Eyed (Dec 2001)
As many of you know, I am a member of the NYU All-University Gospel Choir, an organization that I wholeheartedly love. Last Thursday, we gave our winter concert at a local church, and the concert itself went very well. Let me take you back, however, to approximately an hour before the concert began...
When I say that everything was going wrong, I underexaggerate. EVERYTHING was going wrong. Our special guest artists had not arrived, we had lost our CD player, the security guards could not get the door to the chapel open, and, above all, the back room that we normally use to relax and to hold our belongings before the concert was taken away from us. We are a 50-member choir. None of us are quiet people. The only space that we had to wait (for approximately an hour and a half, mind you) was in a small, cramped hallway that led to the chapel where we were going to perform. Imagine the chaos.
After approximately a half hour of waiting, we finally were moved to a new hallway that was just as small and cramped. However, it DID have a few wooden beams that were stacked on top of each other so that we could sit down. I plopped down onto one of the beams and breathed a sigh of relief. Only to hear the words "LOOK OUT!!!!!" being bellowed from approximately ten sopranos.
Allow me to define the term "Gospel Choir Soprano." This is not any old soprano. This is not the nice old grandmotherly soprano from your church choir back home. This is not the cute little child sopranos that make you cry with the innocence of their voices. This is not even the operatic soprano with the Viking hat on that graces the Met. This is a banshee. These ladies have voices that could blow the quills off a porcupine. When they yell, "LOOK OUT!!!!," you LOOK. No questions asked. No time to even THINK about doing anything differently.
So I looked. And was promptly smacked square in the face with an 8-foot-tall wooden cross.
Yes. That's right. A large... wooden... CROSS.
Before I reflect on the irony of this statement, allow me to explain to you what had actually occurred. Apparantly, as I was sitting down, there was some jostling going on in the tenor section and a small tenor named Mariano was caught amidst the commotion. In the jostling, he somehow managed to stumble into the cross, which was precariously perched against the wall right next to the place where we were all sitting. The cross began to tip and the sopranos began to yelp.
The result? Near unconsciousness and utter chaos. I can now proudly tell you what seeing stars feels like. It's actually not all that cool. Also not cool is being unable to feel your face and having to put your hands up to it every few seconds to check and see if you were bleeding. Once my vision returned and the numbness subsided, I becaome quite indignant that I was struck by a CROSS while about to sing the gospel. I also became convinced that I would have black eyes the next morning, which was actually sort of a cool possibility. Much to my dismay, I was only left with a big knot above my eyebrows and a great deal of lost pride, which could probably be found scattered about in that infamous hallway.
However, the next day I was informed by a knowledgable individual that anyone who suffers even the mildest of concussions (which I probably had managed to accomplish) will have the same brain scan for a week as an individual who is in a coma. Learn something new every day, I tell you... that definitely made up for the lack of black eyes.
'Till next time!
When I say that everything was going wrong, I underexaggerate. EVERYTHING was going wrong. Our special guest artists had not arrived, we had lost our CD player, the security guards could not get the door to the chapel open, and, above all, the back room that we normally use to relax and to hold our belongings before the concert was taken away from us. We are a 50-member choir. None of us are quiet people. The only space that we had to wait (for approximately an hour and a half, mind you) was in a small, cramped hallway that led to the chapel where we were going to perform. Imagine the chaos.
After approximately a half hour of waiting, we finally were moved to a new hallway that was just as small and cramped. However, it DID have a few wooden beams that were stacked on top of each other so that we could sit down. I plopped down onto one of the beams and breathed a sigh of relief. Only to hear the words "LOOK OUT!!!!!" being bellowed from approximately ten sopranos.
Allow me to define the term "Gospel Choir Soprano." This is not any old soprano. This is not the nice old grandmotherly soprano from your church choir back home. This is not the cute little child sopranos that make you cry with the innocence of their voices. This is not even the operatic soprano with the Viking hat on that graces the Met. This is a banshee. These ladies have voices that could blow the quills off a porcupine. When they yell, "LOOK OUT!!!!," you LOOK. No questions asked. No time to even THINK about doing anything differently.
So I looked. And was promptly smacked square in the face with an 8-foot-tall wooden cross.
Yes. That's right. A large... wooden... CROSS.
Before I reflect on the irony of this statement, allow me to explain to you what had actually occurred. Apparantly, as I was sitting down, there was some jostling going on in the tenor section and a small tenor named Mariano was caught amidst the commotion. In the jostling, he somehow managed to stumble into the cross, which was precariously perched against the wall right next to the place where we were all sitting. The cross began to tip and the sopranos began to yelp.
The result? Near unconsciousness and utter chaos. I can now proudly tell you what seeing stars feels like. It's actually not all that cool. Also not cool is being unable to feel your face and having to put your hands up to it every few seconds to check and see if you were bleeding. Once my vision returned and the numbness subsided, I becaome quite indignant that I was struck by a CROSS while about to sing the gospel. I also became convinced that I would have black eyes the next morning, which was actually sort of a cool possibility. Much to my dismay, I was only left with a big knot above my eyebrows and a great deal of lost pride, which could probably be found scattered about in that infamous hallway.
However, the next day I was informed by a knowledgable individual that anyone who suffers even the mildest of concussions (which I probably had managed to accomplish) will have the same brain scan for a week as an individual who is in a coma. Learn something new every day, I tell you... that definitely made up for the lack of black eyes.
'Till next time!
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