Tag: life

Monday Musings

I’ve been feeling like I should be in England lately. I didn’t realize until just the other day that it’s been almost a year since I was offered a teaching position in England, and, after a really difficult decision-making process, declined the offer. 
I know, who decides against living abroad after being offered gainful employment? I know, right? 
I really struggled for some time after having made my final decision (I’m still struggling). I wondered how much of my choice was driven by my inate second-guessing, worry-wart, scared-to-jump mentality or legit financial concerns. 
I’m a huge fan of those girl-has-devastating-break-up-and-career-let-down-at-the-same-time-so-she-hops-on-a-plane-to-her-dream-get-away-locale-and-despite-having-eight-dollars-and-thirty-cents-and-no-change-of-underwear-she-somehow-lands-a-job-apartment-and-dreamy-new-man-chick-lit-books, because, duh. 
Isn’t that every girl’s dream-to move abroad on a whim and it’s just like in the Lindsey Kelk books? 
I’d like to hear of a real life situation where this scenario works out, because I had $800 in my pocket and I knew that would only get me as far as Toronto. 
When I first started seriously considering working on obtaining a teaching position in England, I didn’t think it would be so easy. Or quick. I figured it’d take a few dozen tries, I’d have time to really mull over legit moving to another country, and that I’d have plenty of time to save and get my finances in order. 
I was so mistaken. One minute I was dreamily planning how I’d decorate my make-believe tiny flat with decor from TK Maxx and the next I was using Skype for the first time, going over classroom management with a head teacher in Oxford (this was the first of two interviews I had. I didn’t end up getting the teaching position in Oxford). 
Let me just break it all down for you in an easy-to-read timeline:
4/17/16: Applied for Qualified Teacher Status (QTS)
5/3/16: Application for QTS was approved, received login to view/print certificate 

5/6/16: Emailed application to Stanwell Fields CE Primary School, among others 
5/9/16: Received email response from Stanwell Fields Business Support requesting I fill out application
5/13/16: Received email from headteacher inquiring about availability for phone interview
5/19/16: Phone interview with assistant headteacher 
5/23/16: Received voicemail from headteacher offering the job (I was too scared to pick up. What a noob)

I still have the voicemail…
 
So, in a little over a month, I had gained the necessary qualification to teach in England, interviewed at two schools, and was offered a position. 
Just typing this now, I’m feeling the excited, heady warmth in my stomach one gets when exciting things are on the horizon. 
It was all fun and games until shit got really real. 
Just in case the headteacher at Stanwell Fields ever reads this (though it’s highly unlikely), I’d like to make it clear that I was genuinely serious about teaching abroad. That is, until I realized I was crazy to think I’d ever be able to afford it. 
I had naively assumed that since England was in need of teachers, they would possibly offer a sign on bonus, much like many districts do in the U.S. when they have a teacher shortage. Or, they would assist with getting a visa. 
Nope.
Schools aren’t profit-driven, and the sad reality is that many are in desperate need of teachers, but have no extra funds to entice educators to move countries. 
Not that I needed enticing. No, I just had no money and thought I could move my life abroad with $800 and my already-reaching-the-limit credit cards. 
So, after researching the cost of a work visa (roughly $800, currently) and the cost to rent a one bedroom flat in the south of England (around $1000 a month), I realized I was in over my head. 
Despite the fact that the school offered me an extremely nice pay raise, the cost of living in south England, coupled with my current bills, that would be traveling with me, made it so I simply could not afford to live. 
Not only would I need enough money to live once settled, I’d need at least $800 for a one way ticket to London, money for a hotel or hostel once in England, a deposit for a flat, and funds for many other travel and moving expenses. 
My mom and I estimated that I’d need at least $3000 to move and get settled (and it always ends up being more costly than you calculate beforehand). 
Did I mention I had $800 in my savings? I’m amazing at adulting. 
It was really depressing. Really, really dismaying, and not at all like my favorite chick lit books. 
These were some of my biggest concerns:

  • The cost of living in the area was too high (I’d be paying triple what I was currently paying in rent)
  • Many available flats were unfurnished-I’d need to buy furniture (at minimum, a bed)
  • Despite the pay raise, due to certain taxes in the U.K., the pay would be roughly the same or less than my current pay, yet cost of living tripled 
  • I’d be too strapped for cash to travel (travelling to other parts of Europe was a big reason I desired to live abroad)
  • It would have been necessary to drain my savings and rack up further debt for moving expenses (I was already in a significant amount of debt to begin with)
  • I would have needed to sell my car after having it less than a year (if I couldn’t sell it, it would have been another expense I couldn’t afford)
  • I’d barely make enough to save for a plane ticket back home, had that been necessary or desired 
  • I’d have zero teaching supplies and shipping them over would have been too pricey

Regardless of the fact that I had very real financial concerns, I still feel like I let an amazing opportunity go. It didn’t help that I had so many people telling me that debt didn’t matter. YOLO and all that crap. 
Big decisions and I have never been friends. Usually, when faced with a big, life-altering decision, I just bury my head in red sand and fail to make a decision, if at all possible. 
I’m a master of the what-if discourse. I can go all day and go circles around anyone. 
Yet, deep down, I know I made the right decision for me and my present financial situation. 
I also know that I’ll never stop dreaming of England and doing what must be done to make it back. 
For real though, how do most people move abroad? Are you in a better paying field than me or did your company pay for your move? Did you get a huge inheritance?  Are you just in massive debt due to the move? Do you know some magic trick to making fast travel cash? If anyone who’s done it cares to spill the beans, I’m all ears! 

5 Reasons Why I'm Failing at Adulting


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1.When my students do or say something turdly, I really, just once, want to say, “I know you are, but what am I?” I know… but it would be so awesome to give them a little dose of the ridiculous excuses/responses/attitudes they give me every.single.day.

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2. Every year when I renew my car registration, I don’t put the new sticker on my license plate until I get pulled over. It’s like tradition. It is just so hard and takes too much effort to wipe the dust and grime off of my license plate and place the new sticker over the 10 that are already there, about to fall off. Pure unadulterated laziness.


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3. Every month, since I was 11 (why, God?) Aunt Flo has visited. One would think that after three decades of this ridiculousness, I would know to be prepared. Yet, every month, I ruin a pair of panties and I have to waddle into the store, with an entire roll of toilet paper wrapped around the crotch of my underwear.

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4. I love to wait until the bitter end before a credit card payment is due. That way, the extra money I was planning on using to pay down some of the debt can be used to buy new shoes or way too many Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccinos far before I have to make the payment. Winning.

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5. I buy bananas for one sole purpose: I like to watch things slowly wither and die. For what other purpose do bananas serve? I sure as hell never eat them.

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What's Going On 

Almost. Almost!

I figured I’d write a little update on things. I know that if you’re not consistently writing, you lose followers. Now, we wouldn’t want that! 
Tonight, after what seems like a lifetime, I get the keys to my new apartment! The landlord had the carpets shampooed, the walls painted, and had a cleaning person come in. It’s been a long time since I last moved into a new place. This seems very thorough and it’s much appreciated. The last apartment I moved into I had to clean for a full day before I could move in. So, this’ll be nice! Move in ready! 
My emotions have been riding a roller coaster of epic proportions. One minute I’m excited for the future, and I feel like a strong independent woman who can do anything. The next, I’m freaking out about having to put my bed together by myself, and that, surely, I’ll die alone amid my myriad cats. 
I guess this is life-the constant battle between being happy and feeling at peace and sadness and feeling anxious about everything. The only good part of sadness is that it is needed to feel the good things in life. 
Stay tuned for video and pictures! 
Also, stay tuned for a personal challenge that rivals all of my previous failed challenges! Oooooh! 

Independence Day

I think most have surmised that there’s been some recent changes in my life. I almost went off to England. Alone. And now I’m apartment searching. Alone. 
Yup. 
I’m single and ready to mingle. 
Just kidding. I’m single and ready for some peace, and some much needed soul searching. 
Right now my priority is finding a place to live. 
It has not been easy due to some uncertainty surrounding the whens, hows, and the that-costs-how-muchs. The rental market where I live right now is slim and what you see is what you get. If you don’t jump right on the first half decent place you see, it’s gone the next day. I’m not exactly too picky, but I also don’t want to live in my city’s equivalent of Compton.
So, I’ll just say it’s been…interesting, the search for an apartment. I think I’ll add disappointing, scary, and fun, just to mix it up.
Yesterday, I got to tour a studio apartment in one of the oldest complexes in the city. The vintage charm was just oozing out of the Art Deco windows. There were even little milk delivery boxes. I couldn’t even. 



The apparent charm and ideal location were the only two pros with this place. There were holes in the walls, the lobby and hallway carpets were filthy, and the wood was just being left to rot. It was sad.
The search for the perfect apartment is, of course, disappointing because $425 a month in one of the most coveted areas is, in fact, too good to be true. 
Also, it’s scary to think that someone actually thinks anyone sane would  want to rent a place that houses one of the seven gates of hell. There was a crawl space door located in the closest that went forever into the abyss of your worst nightmares. *NERP. 
I love looking at houses and apartments, even when they end up being a big “nope”. I don’t know if it’s a woman thing, but every potential home I go into is an empty canvas that I can envision putting my mark on. Unless it’s scary and crack den-ish (I’ve never been in one, but I think it would be hard to work, decoratively, around the crack). 
Here’s a video I took of the apartment from yesterday. 
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For some reason, my voice sounds kind of Valley Girl-ish. Forgive me. 
Wish me luck on my continued search! 
​*Thanks, Lori! 
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Decision Made

Well, I did it. I sent the email declining the job offer. Before anyone tells me I just lost an incredible opportunity, let me first be clear about a few things:
1. I’ve learned throughout this process that I need to stop taking to heart how others feel when what I really need to be doing is listening more intently to my own beat.
2. It’s really fucking expensive to move to another country, and until you know my finances intimately, you don’t really know. You know?
I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s really, really hard to make such a huge decision when left and right you’re told that money doesn’t matter, or that you’re wussing out because you don’t want to be going down the road to bankruptcy town. All of my young adult years I went about my business as if money didn’t matter and it led to serious problems. I cannot continue down that path.
Continue reading “Decision Made”

Heart Palpitations

All I want to do is eat. Eat.all.the.things. I want cake, cookies, salty chips, whole avocados. This is how I get when I am stressed, excited, nervous, feeling in limbo, feeling settled… Basically, all the time. However, the need to eat my feelings is therapy-edition-bad  when I have big decisions to make.
I am a horrible decision maker.
In that, I will avoid making major life decisions at all costs. Most days, I hope life will just happen and I won’t have to make any rash/huge/scary decisions myself.
The most inane, ridiculous aspect of this is that currently I am stressing about making a decision I don’t even have to make right now. I am stressing about stressing about a scenario that has not even happened.
What the?
As most of you know, I am attempting to make the big move to England (just writing that makes my eye twitch and heart palpitate). I had an interview last Wednesday with a school in Oxford. It was so cool. I would say it went well, and I learned a lot about the school, the school system in England, and that “fab” is my new favorite expression.
They expressed their disappointment that they wouldn’t be able to see me teach. I offered to send a video ASAP. They were thrilled. Then, I was down for the count with bronchitis for 4 days. This is how my life usually responds to time-sensitive things.
The woman I have been communicating with has been super nice and understanding, and insisted it was not a rush. So, after a depressing three days of missed work and a weekend, I came back to work, found a video on my school iPad I had already done, and sent it off.
I look hideous in this video, and it could be debated that I am about 6 months along due to the wonderful angle it was taken in. I mean, I am not even lying. The still of the beginning of the video makes me look like Sloth after a stroke. I am not kidding. So, I sincerely hope they disregard my RCF (resting crazy face) and just concentrate on the excellent teaching (if I do say so myself).
So, the point of my post is that I am stressing about a job I have yet to attain.
I was actually stressing about whether or not I should sell my Keurig, or not. I actually looked up shipping costs to ship a Keurig.
What the actual hell?
I don’t even have a job offer, but I am already homesick and sweating over the cost of public transportation.
What the fuck?
For real though, if this happens, it will be huge. Scary, exciting, expensive, and life-altering. Despite the exciting aspect of this, anything that is this huge of a change is terrifying.
I am also quite surprised by how expensive it is over there. I read somewhere that the cost of living is something like 33% higher in the U.K. than in the U.S. Yikes. There is a very real possibility I won’t even be able to afford this.
So, nothing other than stress to report.
 
 
 
 

Keen-An Update and a Request

Hello, fabulous blog buddies. I have a Skype interview with a school in England. The email I received said they were, “very keen” to interview me. This just makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I love the word ‘keen’ and seeing that, very British, word just reminds me of why I am working on moving there. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH.
OK, I am better now.
Now, for the update…Go Fund Me will match my donations up to $100 for Teacher Appreciation week. The catch is that I have to have at least $100 donated by five different donors before May 13th.
If you all could share my post or just get the word out about what I am trying to accomplish, I would be very grateful. I hate asking for money (and I am still questioning my decision to even continue pushing my agenda), but this is a great opportunity that I can’t not at least try to participate in. Many, many thanks.
Here is my link:
U.K. or Bust

Vroom Vroom

I’m so very sorry to my readers that I’ve been so quiet lately. This past weekend was a whirlwind of car shopping, Steampunk, stress, excitement, and car buying. Yes, I bought a car! All I want to do is drive. If I could comfortably sleep in my new car, you’d find me curled up in my sleeping bag, happy as a hippo. 
She’s beautiful. Basically, I’m driving the Taj Mahal of cars. When your old car’s AC doesn’t kick in until you’re home, and it has holes-plural, anything is an improvement. 
I have many plans for future posts: My 8th Grade Perm Debacle and Country Living-A City Girl Does Elko, to name just two. 
Please bear with me, as it’s hard to write when you’re driving off into the sunset with your new lover. 
Vroom vroom 
 

Black Beauty
 


Piece of Sh*t Car a la Adam Sandler 

Friends, my car is dying an ugly, ugly death. We had been given a year, but the diagnosis is now, much worse. The sickness running through the fluids and electrical system has recently sped up, and I am now making funeral arrangements. I’m devastated, but not surprised. When you have no emergency break,  and chunks of seat break off, daily, you know your car’s days are numbered.
Everyday, driving to and from work is pushing it. I also have to drive sans air conditioning, and like an 80-year-old with nowhere to go. It’s awful.
It’s not even like I’m that close to my car. It has no quirky name, and no emotional connection to me, whatsoever. I mean, when your car needs major repairs just to pass smog each year, it isn’t exactly considered a prized possession.
No, I’m dreading making car payments. At the ripe-old-age of 32, I’ve never been tied down by car payments. My piece of poo on wheels only cost me $5,000 and it’s been paid off since 2006. I am dreading having to make a substantial payment on a car every month. I’m a teacher, not a billionaire.
With that, because I’ll be a slave to the bank or car dealership for 48 months or longer, I want to be able to have a damn nice ride. I’m not even picky, either. ‘Damn nice’ in my world means having a “clicker” and power windows. But, while I’m not exactly “picky” due only to being poor, I’m super particular, at the same time. It’s a Jetta, or the highway.
Since I’ll likely be driving the most expensive thing I’ll ever possess soon, I know I’ll also be an anxious mess. I like to keep my nice things nice, and we know how people are assholes. I’ll be paranoid about it getting dinged, scratched, or hit. The anxiety is already creeping in. UGH. I think I have an ulcer. 
When you are super OCD, decisions like this are not fun, like most people would treat them. No, all I’m thinking about is how long I’ll have to give up morning Starbucks runs or buying beef because I’ll be paying on a car. I’m dreading the car hunt, because shopping around for something you really can’t afford really kinda sucks. Also, my car has already been keyed by some asshole, and I haven’t even seen it yet.
Wish me luck on my search. Pray I hit the lotto. Something. Anything.

My friend and I would blast this song as we “dragged main”, in my first piece of shit car, an ’86 Mazda 626 with maroon interior and purple tinted windows. We thought we were so hilarious.

Sister 

It was just a usual Sunday evening, you know the kind…homemade spaghetti, repetitive arguments, and loving banter. Every Sunday evening, without fail, I would join my parents and brother for a family meal. It was tradition, and a necessity (I always had tons of laundry to do). 
On this ordinary Sunday, 7 years ago, the phone rang. I was lounging on the couch, not wanting to move, for fear I would explode from the copious amounts of carbs consumed. My brother was sneaking a cigarette on the back porch. My parents were having their after dinner guilt cigarette in the garage. The call went to the machine. Out of nowhere, a voice. 
Dad, pick up. I know you’re there. Dad…
I sat up stick straight. Surely it was a mistake, a wrong number? But, something felt familiar about that voice. It was my voice. How many times had I called my parents and left the same exact message? 
My brother came around the corner from the living room, and just stared at me. I stared back. 
In a trance, we walked together to the garage. We just stared at our parents. They knew. They knew we knew. 
Well, here we go, they said. 
Here we go. 
From then on, my life was drastically altered. On that lazy, regular, nothing-special-Sunday, I found out that I had two sisters. Sisters. 
I don’t want to get into the why’s and how’s of the happenstance that one who had yearned for the connection of a sister all her life, in fact, had sisters all along, yet didn’t find out until the ripe old age of 25. I will say that my dad was married before my mother and he had two daughters. The divorce from his first wife was not pretty and thus, you have two seperate families, existing a continent apart from each other. 
How can a mother tell her daughter that she has sisters, sisters she will likely never meet due to the circumstances surrounding their father’s estrangement? Especially when that daughter really wanted a sister named Summer and she cried as if the world were ending when she found out her new sibling was a brother, named Jarrett (does that make me a bad person?)
I never connected with the sister who called looking for our dad, but through her, I found Tracy. 
How can I express how I felt during the hours, days, months after first speaking to the sister I always wanted, until that humid day in Philadephia when I first laid eyes on her? I don’t think I have the literary ability, or its impossible to articulate into words the emotion felt when you finally find your kindred spirit. 
We spoke every day. Our conversations were filled with questions, so many questions. 
What is your favorite food? What kind of music do you like? What is your favorite color? Who are you? Who have you been all these years I didn’t know you? 
Despite never being raised together, Tracy and I share likenesses that are uncanny. Despite the fact she’s 16 years older than me, we are like long-lost twins. I could go into every way we are the same, but it may not mean the same to you as it does to us.
I was sweating profusely and didn’t sleep a wink during the entire red eye to Philadelphia. Meeting someone for the first time is always scary, but to meet your sister for the first time? Maddeningly nerve-wracking. Doubts plagued my thoughts. 
What if we don’t get along? What if it’s awkward? What if…
The second I laid eyes on her, a sense of knowing crept though my veins.
Why of course, there you are. 
I knew her. She was my sister. Never having met her, yet she was always there, being my sister. Through every lost tooth, knee scrape, broken heart, she’s always been there.