Thursday, February 06, 2014

Faux pas confessional/ nothing a little sugar couldn't cure.
1. In hopes of getting a middle school student who is passionate about breakdancing to love taking English lessons with me, I made him two hours worth of CDs filled with explicit rap music. He promised me that he (probably) and his mother (definitely) would have no idea what the rappers were saying anyway.


2. I looked up at the clock in my kitchen and realized that I had kept my University aged student ten minutes over the hour for an English lesson and said, "Oops, you gotta go." I tried to backpeddle, but, apparently, that is a very rude thing to say to an Italian, or so T tells me. In Park Slope it wouldn't even register as slightly rude. He looked horrified. Perfect figuraccia.


3. I had my job interview at the language school today and when my interviewer went to take a phone call, her work colleague approached me to ask if I needed help. I wanted to say that she didn't have to worry because I was meeting with . . . but then I forgot the name of my interviewer. I went blank and black. I looked down and no words were to be found on the floor, on the table, or in my mouth. A man and a youth were listening to me as they waited their turn to organize group English lessons, they looked on and made no effort to conceal their total enjoyment of my blunder. Otherwise, it went well. They call you when they have a course to offer you and so the schedule changes all the time. This is a thing that will cause me non-stop anxiety. That and not really knowing the subtleties of English grammar.

This is the b'day card I am giving my friend the hairstylist who loves horses. Subtle, right?
4. I made such a big deal about not having Twizzlers when I was having my epic and now famous fit about running out of them that I not only paid an obscene sum for one pack, and then got gifted two packs by a friend, but now my friend (who doesn't read this blog) convinced her friend to bring back my favorite chocolate flavored ones from her trip to Denver, and I can't actually eat them.

5. After finding the television series fairly compellling, I decided to read Secret Diary of a Call Girl in Italian-- Diario intimo di una squillo perbene-- and it is really boring to me. I am so jaded.

6. I may have a weird affinity for films by Checco Zalone, except that I think that Che Bella Giornata was really offensive in every way.

7. Today was not a total waste because I discovered that if you don't want to become lethally caffeinated, you can order your orzo, macchiato style and it makes it completely palatable. Who knew and didn't tell me?

8. The craziest part about having F look like he was shot in the face in two places this whole week after his little run in with the glove of someone on his Broken Grandpas football team is that he also looks really tough. No, really, the craziest part was that my friend's husband who convinced him to play with him on the team was really worried that I wouldn't let him play anymore. I actually might have considered that option except for the fact that I am not F's mother and that he would out me on the blog and you guys would think that I was more than a little overprotective of F's money maker. So he can play, boys. But you better send him home in one piece!

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