I am

In just 6 short weeks, I will begin teaching in my very own classroom. This is both frightening and exhilarating. Today, I had the opportunity to have lunch with two of my good friends from my Master's program at ASU. We reveled in the fact that we have jobs. REAL JOBS! We will begin our careers in a VERY tough economy and getting a foot in the door now is nothing short of fantastic. They will both be teaching 8th grade English and as much as I genuinely want to be at a high school, it made me miss my sweet 7th graders:

The anxiety of being a first year teacher hasn't quite reached its peak, but its climbing. There are so many unanswered questions - so many unknowns. My school sits in a rough Phoenix neighborhood, where gang violence, poverty, and immigration problems are prevalent. Since I'll be teaching all 9th grade classes, my mind tends to roll through the curriculum, or the lessons I've done previously in an effort to mentally prepare myself.  


But nothing can really prepare you. One of my students wrote me this card after many funny moments in class - including his need to turn most of our readings into Shakespearean language. Bawth = both. And his insistence that I resemble an owl. Pretty hilarious.

I'm reminded of poetry. Ah, poetry. During student teaching, I was forced to teach an entire poetry unit -- which ironically, ended up being my favorite part of the year. It brought me back to an introductory poem assignment called the "I am" poem. Students typically create one describing themselves and another on a fictional character. We had a lot of fun with these. In an effort to "get back to it" here's one I wrote tonight on my anxiety of being a new teacher.


I am

I am ambitious and determined

I wonder if my students will like me

I hear the sounds of violence

I see struggling families

I want to put words into action

I am ambitious and determined

I pretend my confidence is unbreakable

I feel the difficult choices

I touch freedom, independence

I worry about the future

I cry for the rough road ahead

I am ambitious and determined

I understand respect is earned, not given

I say everyone is capable

I dream of being a part of the change

I try to create a positive classroom

I hope to inspire and motivate

I am ambitious and determined

I always liked this banner at Skyline High School, near my classroom. Not only does it have my initials, but it reminds me to persevere. 

Awkward

Awkward moments -- often embarrassing, uncomfortable, or down right hilarious - happen to everyone; yet for whatever reason, I feel these little blunders are occurring and reoccurring in my life at a suspicious rate. Take a look at a few that made the *awkward hall of fame* for the week -

Location: LA Fitness

You can always count on the gym to provide a strange compilation of people. And let me tell you, last Wednesday did not disappoint. After a mean cardio sesh, I was stoked to spend a little time in the sauna to relax and unwind. Upon entering the locker room, I stripped off my shirt, shoes, and socks to make my sauna experience "more pleasurable" - so to speak. Next time, I thought, I'd bring a towel. Isn't that what avid sauna go-ers do? Meh. Outfitted in a Nike sports bra and shorts, I excitedly hummed to myself, "Sauna time, sauna time. Do do do do, it's sauna time."***

The heavy wooden door tested my defeated limbs as heat enveloped me. My excitement turned to grogginess almost instantly. And it took only seconds for my focus to key in on the 80 year-old naked, wrinkled woman sitting to my left. You're in a locker room, I told myself, people can be naked. The room was small, no more than ten feet across. Am I claustrophobic? No, certainly not. But I was feeling genuinely uncomfortable. I disregarded the nude senior citizen, flashed a quick smile and took a seat on the adjacent bench. Ah, I closed my eyes for a moment. All is glorious in the sauna. Until, wait just a minute, I was suddenly alert, what is this? My eyes darted around the room trying ever-so-politely not to stare at the woman, who now had cupped her breasts in her thin prune-like hands and began massaging them slowly, in a circular motion. Was I seeing this right? Immediately, I ran through the "legit" possibilities of her moving to second base with me in the room. 1.) Self breast exam. Perhaps not normally done in the presence of others (unless with your gyno) but hey, it was healthy and... admirable for someone her age to be proactive in monitoring the potential lumps in her breasts. Or maybe 2.) She just finished an intense chest workout (bench press always does that to me) and her muscles are sore and need massage. Or the unthinkable 3.) This was an erotic moment that I was rudely interrupting.

Before I could really start contemplating #3, another equally old, and naked woman entered and sat uncomfortably close to the boob massager -- whose motions had now transitioned from symmetrical to asymmetrical. Clearly just "mixing it up" for her audience. I made a mental note never to use the sauna at 11am,  the concluding time of the daily aqua aerobics course. Not skipping a beat, the two women began simultaneously cupping and massaging their (own) breasts, in turn, promptly cuing me to exit.

***After another failed dating relationship, this was about to be the highlight of my week. Don't judge me.

Location: Banner Desert Hospital

Being single provides a breeding ground for awkward scenarios, especially when at work. Since January, my position has shifted slightly to cover the front desk, or reception area to the NICU. I no longer enter orders or call physicians, the much busier side of the job; instead, I hang out -- reading, writing, chatting with family members. Despite the long twelve hour shifts sitting, staring at a computer, it's a great gig. Family members of NICU babies become well-known around our unit, as these premature infants often stay months before getting to go home with their families. One particular family I grew accustomed to seeing and formed a friendly relationship with. So, when their friends arrived from out of state, I greeted them as if we were old friends, striking up conversation.

Within ten minutes, they had a solid outline of my family history, accomplishments, and life goals. I had this down to a science, and it went something like this - "Family. Sports. Ambition. Grad school. Teaching. Enthusiasm." YAY! People (especially this middle-aged couple) adored my life synopsis and in response, became my new best friends.

Yet there was something missing from the practiced monologue - my dating life! It was almost always the first thing people asked. This nice couple was no exception. What was "my type" of guy? What am I looking for? Etc. Oh here we go. "We have the perfect guy for you! He's like a son to us! You'd love him!!"

It's always a bit humorous to me when people use the phrase "You'd love {blank}" when they've known you for approximately 10 minutes. Without skipping a beat, the gentleman pulls out his phone scrolling through pictures of the eligible bachelor. Now, some of you might be thinking, "Oh Meg, you should give this guy a shot." Ahem. I HAVE. I've been on countless blind dates and set-ups; quite frankly, there are too many weirdos to keep going out with your brother's friend's cousin's in-law.

So here we go again. These people are genuinely sweet, until the man starts snapping pictures of me with his cell phone, which he promptly sends to my potential husband. The pair work as a team, as the woman gets out her own cell phone, jots down this guy's name, phone number, address, email, and even IM screen name. Woah. This has reached creep status. The look of horror on my face must of implied hesitancy and the couple then decides to give me their contact information so that they can take me out to dinner. Before anything else happens, my phone rings. It's my coworker ready to take lunch. I say a quick goodbye and spend the rest of the day hiding out in the unit.

Noteworthy runners-up:

• Compliments on my physical appearance from my new boss.
• Trying to reassure the recently spray-tanned girl at the salon (who was orange) that "it wasn't that bad."

This Is Paradise?

I recently took a trip to the island of St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands. While this may seem like a lavish trip for a recent college grad, it was virtually expense-free -- besides the plane ticket. I was kindly invited by Tyler, the guy I was dating. Here we are together (happy) overlooking the famous Trunk Bay (one of the world's top 10 beaches) on our first full day of exploring.

Flying from Arizona to the USVI was no easy task. We flew from Phoenix to Miami; Miami to St. Thomas; a taxi ride to the ferry; and finally a ferry from St. Thomas to St. John. Thank God for those free rum shots in the St. Thomas airport! It was after 10pm by the time we arrived to our destination and it was 85 degrees with 100% humidity -- a serious change from the dry heat of Arizona. Tyler's friends ushered us to one of the island bars directly from the ferry. Upon entering the bar I caught a quick glimpse of what looked like a wet, creepy clown. Ohmygod I thought, that can't be my reflection in the mirror. Not only did the humidity make my makeup look like I was a part of a circus, but my hair was so frizzy and wild that I didn't recognize it.


I couldn't wait to take a long, cool shower. So, after a few drinks we went back to our "villa." A beautiful, four-bedroom home, complete with all of the amenities. Our hosts advised us to use the a/c sparingly -- that opening the windows in our bedroom would suffice for a night like this. In addition, they received their water from a cistern (more or less a receptacle that collects rain water). That said, if we could please take showers that resembled this process: turn water on for 5 seconds to get wet, turn off water, shampoo/soap, turn on water quickly to rinse, and immediately turn off. YOU'VE. GOT. TO. BE. KIDDING ME?! Ok, fine. The low-maintenance, Northwest girl in me says, "No biggie... I can deal."


But that wasn't all.


Next, the island rule: "In the land of fun and sun, we don't flush for #1." Remember folks, I'm on a vacation with a guy I'm getting to know. Well, looks like he's going to find out exactly how much water I drank that day depending on my pee color... lovely! Ah, that brings me to my next interesting island fact. Tyler and I were each given a gallon of water for the week to brush our teeth with, wash our faces, and drink. My eyebrows raised as I thought, I drink a gallon of water a day in Arizona.  Again, I wasn't complaining here... just didn't realize I was going camping for a week.


Regardless of the oddities of living for a week on the island, we had incredible food, wonderful hosts, and a trip most people only dream of having. Here's a snip-it of pics from the trip.

        Paddle boarding was a blast!

We drank our fair share of island beer and rum

We pulled over immediately

At Woody's - an island favorite

Hawksnest Bay with Scott and Tiana

Gorgeous sunset

Our group after a great dinner

Trunk Bay

Trunk Bay

The best "secret" island snorkeling at Waterlemon

Sailing to the British Virgin Islands

Our boat!

The Captain let me steer!

Debra, Tyler, and I after a long day in the sun

To view ALL of the pictures, go to:


http://photobucket.com/saintjohnsummer2011

The Attempted Mugging

Since I can't possibly bore my readers (on a daily basis) with the endless woos of a 26 year old single woman, it's best that I recant some old stories.


Living in downtown Portland set the stage for the obscure; from late night parties to protests in the park blocks, I was living in an urban, liberal mecca. At just 20 years old, Jackie (the neighborhood friend growing up) and I rented a quaint, two-story apartment in a courtyard right on NW 23rd -- the "trendy" place to be.


Part of living in the "big city" meant using public transportation. Since my job at Legacy Emanuel Hospital was on the East side, I scheduled my hours around the bus system -- but this didn't last long. I made friends in rapid speed back then. Anyone that could help get me what I wanted -- or where I wanted to go -- was instantly befriended. This reminds me of a silly tune my Dad was sing to me, "She gets by with a little help from her friends."


So very fitting. Thanks, Dad.


My shift went late that night and at midnight, the busses stopped running. What a conundrum. Thanks to a smitten hospital security guard who enjoyed my company more than I can say about his, kindly offered to drive me across the river to "protect me" and "keep me safe."I obliged - what other choice did I have at this point? 


Mr. McCreepy and I buckled up in his Prius and started our treck across the river. The conversation revolved around his fishing and hunting escapades. Oh joy, my favorite. I found myself smiling, nodding, and keeping one hand on the door handle at all times.


As we neared my apartment, Mr. McCreepy suggested that instead of dropping me off in front of my gate, he would let me off in the nearby hospital parking lot, just a couple blocks away. This reasoning was due to the fact that he was "on the clock" and technically should not be doing favors like this. Aha, now you tell me. Regardless, I had made it much closer to home and was thankful for the ride.


After an awkward goodbye, my black high heels stepped out onto the pavement of a very dimly lit parking lot. The street was lightly coated with fresh rain, but the night was cool and calm. As I looked to cross the street, I saw a familiar scene: two homeless people huddled at the bus stop, where they could take cover from the rain until the street car began its route the next morning. As I walked briskly from one side of the street to the other, the "click, click, click" of my high heels seemed to become louder and louder. At the exact moment my left foot stepped onto the side walk, I heard a raspy woman whisper, "If you're gonna do it, you gotta go now."


Suddenly, I felt a stranger rush up behind me; his hands swiftly removing my large black purse from my shoulder. Our eyes met with intensity as he clutched the black leather in his hands. He looked uncertain, unsure. Seconds lapsed as he gazed at me with a mouth-half-opened panicked stare. I was suddenly unable to breathe. Without thinking, I reached out and tore the purse from his hands, lunging in the opposite direction. My feet became wheels, moving so rapidly that the clicking of my heels was an unidentifiable blur. I imagined the crazed homeless man behind me as I unlocked the gate to our streetside apartment, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "I made it!" I thought. I was inside, safe, and gasping for breath.


The attempted mugging shook me. It made me think twice about walking alone at night. More importantly, it helped convince all future security guards to drop me off at my apartment, and even walk me to my door.

Let me explain...

For those of you that may not know the meaning behind "The Meg Decade," I'd like to take a minute to explain. In the early 1990's, my parents took a bold step by moving my siblings and I from familiar Wisconsin (where they had grown up) to a rural town outside of Portland, Oregon.  Away from all extended family and relatives, my family relied on one another. Both of my parents were dedicated to providing us with opportunities in school, sports, clubs, and music. Due to this rigorous schedule, my parents rarely had time to themselves. Now, I'd be lying - and my Dad would laugh - if I said that "The Meg Decade"was a phrase used to describe my busy schedule. Not even close. During those very selfish teenage years, my Dad coined the phrase "The Meg Decade" after yet another episode of narcissistic behavior ending in getting what I wanted. It happened often, probably too often. In fact, when I told our neighbor and best friend Jackie, she didn't hesitate in agreeing!


With that said, let "The Meg Decade" continue. But instead of whining and coercing people into getting what I want like a spoiled teenager, I want to make positive change in my life and document it along the way.


As stated in the "about me" section, I just graduated from Arizona State University with a Master's degree in Secondary Education. It was a long road and quite the accomplishment for me. In less than 2 months, I will begin a new career path as an English teacher at Maryvale High School in Phoenix, Arizona. My anxiety and excitement are through the roof. I can't wait to see what new challenges await. I'm ready to learn, adapt, and make changes. But even more so, I'm willing to empathize with the my students, those who believe that the world revolves around them, and share some positive in sight.

Right before the ceremony with Stephanie

Trevor, Dad, Mom, and Sarah at graduation dinner

Proud parents!

Two of the best guys I know

One more happy family picture...

I feel humbled by this post. Looking through graduation pictures, my parents amaze me. They have been a wonderful support system and I'm grateful they continue to encourage me.