The Adventures of a High School Chaperone

This past weekend was a whirlwind of activity and an emotional freak show for me. I know you find that very hard to believe. It's rare that I'm swept up in a whirlwind of activity. Emotional freak shows, on the other hand, are quite commonplace.

On Saturday morning I joined my son's high school choral group trip to NYC. After seeing the itinerary which included War Horse at Lincoln Center and the students performing the Earth Mass for the Blessing of the Animals at St. John's Cathedral, I shamelessly begged offered the choral group director my chaperone services to assist in shepherding the rowdy teens who make up this rag tag group of singers. That rowdy / rag tag thing was pure creative license. This group is nothing of the sort. They do, however, have their own "Glee" characters, but I suppose that is to be expected.

Along with the "Glee" characters, the weekend also proved revelatory in a number of other ways. Here then, are the top 10 things I learned on my NYC chaperone weekend.

One of the high school
students drew this for me.

1. "Chaperone" is a very loose term. Most likely a school district requirement that in reality serves almost no purpose whatsoever. I'm totally okay with that. As long as Ian still likes me, I'm happy to travel to Broadway or Italy to chaperone his adventures.
2. Ian is taking small steps toward not liking me any more. Well, maybe he likes me, but that doesn't mean he wants me anywhere near him and his friends. He didn't shout "I love you" from across the room, or hug me once during the whole weekend, and for some reason he didn't want to snuggle before going to sleep with the other kids on the floor of the gym at the church. Weird.
3. You know how I often reference my lack of maternal or nurturing instinct? This weekend was a case in point. When packing for the trip I brought MY stuff. The other moms? They brought OTC meds of every kind, tissues, antibacterial wipes, hand sanitizer, bandaids, feminine hygeniene products, etc. in case any of the kids were in need. Of course, guess who needed the bandaid?
4. You know you're with a special group of kids when not only is there no complaint about watching "Dream Girls" on the bus ride, but there was complete silence because everyone was listening with rapt attention. I'm thinking the high school football team would not have had the same response. Just a hunch.
5. Being the mom of a freshman is kinda like being a freshman yourself. The moms of seniors know all the kids and the teachers and how the whole system works. You feel awkward and insecure and wonder if anyone will like you. But then you go to the Hungarian Pastry Shop and you feel better.
6. The Hungarian Pastry Shop is to die for. It's even better when enjoying great conversation with a new friend over a cup of hot tea. I met someone with the same sense of humor as me. Welcome to Snarkville!
7. Speaking of tasty treats, I recommend Mel's Burger Bar. A long wait but a damn good burger and you know I'm an expert in hamburgers.
8. There is something about 232 ft. ceilings that truly makes you feel closer to God. I could spend hours exploring cathedrals and soaking up every bit of their history. Geeky, huh?
9. The Earth Mass at St. John's is always the first Sunday of October. Put it on your calendar for next year. Go ahead, I'll wait. Everyone must see it at least once in their lifetime. 
10. When PMSing or in any kind of hyper-sensitive emotionally vulnerable state, avoid seeing War Horse. I lost it. Had to leave early. Couldn't talk without crying for about an hour afterwards. In retrospect, I'm thinking I may have had some kind of breakdown cause that reaction was way over the top, even for me. 

That's it folks. Coming soon (but don't hold your breath), my husband claims he will post on my behalf (so I can clean the bathrooms) since he doesn't have anything to do this October. Phreakin' Phillies. 

The Secret of Store-Front Nail Salons

I don't have a lot of time to write, so allow me to quickly pen a brief politically incorrect post about Vietnamese nail salon technicians. I think they're a form of organized crime.

Being the cheap frugal woman that I am, I prefer not to splurge on manicures, pedicures, or waxing at high-end, a.k.a. expensive, beauty salons. Hell, my last haircut was a Hair Cuttery splurge. Where other women start to improve their beauty routines with age, I'm sliding backward. Anyway, for those who aren't "in the know," these Vietnamese-owned and operated nail salons are on every street corner of every town in America and they charge half of what the fancy salons charge for the same services. And they don't just offer every nail technique known to man, or in this case, woman, most of them also provide waxing and even neck, hand. and foot massages. And they're really good at all of the above.

And that's where they get ya.

Yesterday I hit one of these storefront oases knowing what I wanted and what I needed. Or so I thought. I walked through the door and one of the women looked up from the pedicure she was giving to ask me in her broken English, "What you need?" I gestured and replied in stilted, awkward English as if that would somehow make clear what I was there for. As if they don't know English perfectly well and only speak their native language so they can make fun of you with their co-workers. I asked for a manicure and lip and eyebrow wax. She suggested a neck massage. I've been tense. I said "Yes, for just five minutes". (They charge by the minute.) She started with the best neck massage I've ever had. When the timer went off, I asked for five minutes more. That's how they get ya.

And then my manicure began. Little room for error there, unless of course their instruments aren't sanitized, but that's another post. When my nearly perfect neck massage came to an end, the waxologist (I don't believe that's an official term) moved in. She asked if I also wanted my chin waxed. Um, no. I think I'd know if I had hair on my chinny, chin, chin. She started on my upper lip. And then suggested my chin again. I asked her if I needed it. She said yes. At this point, you're stuck. You're head is tilted back without a mirror in sight. You don't think you need a chin wax, but you don't want to find out later that you were wrong. Women with hairy chins are straight out of scary fairytales. You don't want to be that character. You give the okay for the damn chin wax. And then she suggests the sides of your face. As in your "side burns." She doesn't really ask, just goes ahead and layers on the hot wax. As she rips off the cloth, you're tempted to ask to see the proof of this wolf (wo)man condition you apparently have. But you're sure every other woman in the salon is is staring with pity and wonder at the woman who just received a total face wax so you keep your mouth shut. And then there's that language barrier my ass that keeps you from trying to discuss this matter or ask how much all this freakin' wax is going to cost you. I guess I should just be thankful she didn't ask me to drop my drawers.

The crafty waxologist tells you what you owe and you wonder how the hell it added up to that. But the price list is way up by the front door and you don't want to get up and go look at it like some suspicious, anti-Vietnamese cheap skate, so you pay the damn bill. And then you stick your nails under the dryer and you stew about it. And you wonder how it is you can shut down a used car salesman when he tries to sell you the bells and whistles, but you can't hold your own against a store front nail technician.

As you're driving home it occurs to you that if you'd have gone to the high-end salon you would paid half as much because you'd have only received the services you actually requested, not those they scared you in to. And then you start to break out in hives from an apparent allergic reaction to what was probably cheap and inferior wax.

And that's how they got me.

A Hair-Raising Experience

Not digging Katie gray.
Or maybe it's the length.

Let's talk about hair. Katie Couric actually did an entire episode about hair last week on her new talk show. The woman went from reporting on the Pentagon, national politics, and international news to talking about hair. Hair is big. Especially in New Jersey. Ha.

I'm a big fan of hair, probably because I'm a Leo. Manes are important to us lions. The length of my mane is not an issue for me, however. In fact, I change up my hairstyle (cut it short) relatively often, at least once a year. That's a lot, considering some women my age are wearing the same style they had in high school. Women often use their man as an excuse for keeping their hair long. "Sam would hate it if I cut my hair." To which I reply, "Tell Sam if he wants to blow dry and style your hair every day, you'll keep it long." Sister, please. When we were given the right to vote, I think we earned a say in how we wear our hair.

I am fascinated by young girls like my daughter who wouldn't dream of cutting their hair short. Abby simply finds short hair "ugly." Especially on girls her age. I think this is a commonly held opinion because one only has to attend a high school football game to see that every twirler and cheerleader has hair long enough to braid. I'm starting to wonder if they allow you on the team if you can't braid your locks. Personally, I find young girls (toddlers to teens) absolutely adorable/beautiful with short hair. The look just screams confidence and maturity, an attitude that says

"I don't care what boys like or what other girls think. I can sleep in an extra 20 minutes every morning AND I look good!"

Recently my friend Kim G. and I went rogue, following in the pioneering footsteps of our friend Theresa.  Theresa got a fun, new, easy-to-do do that we all loved. We had to know: "Where did you get it cut?" The answer rocked me to my very core. "Hair Cuttery." Come again? Yes, Hair Cuttery. For 20 years I travelled back and forth to my home town (an hour-plus each way) to see my old stylist. When I finally decided that this trek was slightly ridiculous, I started picking up Groupons for cut and color deals at fairly upscale salons near my home, figuring I'd eventually find "the one." Despite playing the field for more than a year, however, none of my salon speed dating adventures turned out to be Mr.or Ms. Right. Now, you're telling me Hair Cuttery might be the answer?

Hair snobs are revolted. 

Kim G. went first and received a very nice haircut.

I had thought I was too good for the likes of a walk-in "salon" (if you can even call HC a salon). But one day I was in a mood and decided my hair was weighing me down -- literally and figuratively. In an act of desperation I threw caution to the wind and visited Dawn at Hair Cuttery. I even received a little key chain card to make it quick and easy to sign in the next time I visit. Ack! The badge of shame. I put on my dark glasses and made my way to the chair. I splurged for the blow dry. I didn't like the way she styled it, but I knew it had potential. Voilà.

A haircut that cost half of what the fancy salons charge, and looks pretty damn good (in my humble opinion). Those of you who don't like my new haircut are having an "aha" moment and are ridiculing my HC experience. I don't care.

While I like my new do, I LOVE Kim G's second style by Dawn at Hair Cuttery. When I saw her at church on Sunday with this awesome new look, I couldn't stop raving. Kim looks fabulous with this super short cut, don't ya think? Further evidence of just how slammin' short can be. And how good a cut you can get from a cheap walk-in joint.

Let me close by saying this. Despite all the fuss women make over our hair, I've never understood the issue men have with losing theirs. Maybe it's because my dad was nearly bald and still a good looking guy. I, for one, find bald men much more attractive than guys with beer bellies (or I found them attractive back when I noticed other men). So if you have to worry about something related to your appearance, go with your gut. Literally.

The Bruce Springsteen Friend Recovery Program

The Alan Parson Project and I have something in common. We're both wondering,

Where do we go from here, now that all of the children are growing up?

It's been a time of big transitions for the MacShimer family. Abby moved to the middle school, Ian started high school, and Mom started wondering what she's supposed to do with the rest of her life. I'm seeing the future through my children's eyes and it's exciting and full of possibilities...for them. Add to the kids' transitions hitting my almost mid-40s and attending my 25th high school reunion and you probably have a sense where I'm coming from.

Maybe this is why I
haven't heard from anyone?

Like any intelligent, rational, forward-thinking person, I'm using this time of questioning, renewal, and possibility to productively yearn for yesterday. I've become particularly interested in reconnecting with those individuals who touched my life in some way and with whom I've lost touch, including:

• My best friend Laura from high school. I went to her wedding back in the early 1990s. She promised she'd come to mine. She didn't. I never heard from her again. So nostalgic stalker Kim tracked her down on the internet. Found real estate records. Mailed a card to her address letting her know I was thinking of her and asking her to be in touch. No response. 
• My graduate school mentor and friend Susan. I ate dinner with her family, wrote my entire master's thesis at her office computer, and valued her academic and personal guidance. Through LinkedIn I found her husband and he provided me with both her personal and work email addresses. I sent her a message. No response.
• My Scotch Plains, NJ roommate John. He got in touch with me via LinkedIn, suggested lunch. I replied to him weeks ago. No response.

I'm getting a complex. 

The good news is that since these failed attempts I did have a welcome dose of nostalgia. On Labor Day, my friends Dave and Todd showed up at our door before the Springsteen concert they were attending with Rob. Dave and Todd were two of the sales execs at Oldies 99.9 / Hot 99.9, the radio station where I met Rob in 1991. I spent less than a year there, but it was one of the best times of my life. The entire staff was like family. The business manager suggested I marry Rob (my first day on the job). Rob lived with two of our coworkers. And we all spent most of our time outside of work together. It was a really special group of people and I'll cherish forever the memories from those months. Seeing Todd and Dave brought all that back and warmed the cockles of my heart. Thanks, boys.

The lesson learned here is simple and valuable. If you want to reconnect with old friends, offer them tickets to a Bruce Springsteen concert. It's pricey, but it works. 

No Fish, but a More Than Fine Time

On Friday I was peaceful and content. Peaceful and content are a rare state for me that can only be achieved away from home. It's generally not the people at home that mess with my sense of well-being, it's my to do list.

My good feelings began on Thursday night when I sang a 90-minute solo concert en route to Waretown, New Jersey. Sometimes I enjoy driving alone just for the musical performance. When I arrived in Waretown at the B-Hive (a.k.a. the cottage), my parents were happy to see me. My parents are always happy to see me. Visiting my parents is like coming home to a dog without the licking, shedding, and crapping in the yard.

Friday night was a treat because my dad talked to me, and not just about taking the turns more slowly to save tire tread. No, my dad actually opened up and expressed his frustration at the infernal ringing in his ears and losing his hearing and how maddening it is to try to have a conversation with people when you have no idea what they're saying. We talked about a variety of topics and both fell asleep before we saw the Phillies lose. A nice way to spend the evening. [As a side note I'd like to warn you all away from Miracle Ear. You can take $6,000 and throw it away and get the same results my dad has had with Miracle Ear. It's a miracle he hasn't throttled the person who sold them to him.]

On Saturday morning we woke early at the B-Hive and headed to the marina to board the Wakakida, Dad's 22' Grady White. Our objective? Flounder. We slowly made our way through the wake-free zone until we reached Barnegat Bay and discovered complete serenity. The water as smooth as glass. The sun still in the process of rising. A line of non-threatening clounds hovering just above the horizon like a half-open window shade teasing at the treasures that lay beyond. Only a few other boats off in the distance. Boater's perfection.

What could possibly make the morning even better? How about a whale? Yep. A whale less than a mile off Barnegat Light. Breaching, spraying water out of its blowhole. An exciting first for me. You know what else makes a fishing trip memorable? Catching fish. I caught nada. Not a throw back. Not even a skate or a sea robin. Mom and Dad both caught nice 20-inchers, enough for me to bring home to feed my family. Yes, Mom and Dad are good to me.

The highlight of the trip? Clamming with my dad. We anchored the boat in about 3' of not nearly warm enough water in Barnegat Bay and slogged our way about a half mile till we reached the muck. The muck is where you find the clams. I'm not a fan of the muck, but I am a fan of my dad. And as I watched him drag his clamming rack along the bottom of the bay, it struck me that families have been doing just this for hundreds of years. Albeit without my dad's handcrafted stainless steel rake and the pool noodles being used to keep the bushel afloat. And as it occurred to me that this was a moment I'd never forget, my dad said "This is something you can always remember." And he recalled clamming 50+ years ago with his dad down near Beach Haven. They rented a small boat from Snuggery's Dock for $12 a day. It was $14 if you wanted one with a top on it.

My dad and I both have lived too much of our lives in a pretty dark place, but Friday was filled with light, literally and figuratively. My dad laughed and smiled and seemed more genuinely happy than I've seen him in a long, long time. I believe there's something about the wind and the water that breaks through whatever heaviness is weighing you down and blows away the cobwebs and the clouds that sometimes surround our hearts. 

Where do you find restoration and renewal? 

What brings you joy? 

In whose company do you find peace?

Things that Make You Go "Hmmm" Volume 5

Well, either you still haven't peaked or else you're life has been one big peak and you didn't want to make the rest of us feel bad. Even though I'm disappointed in your lack of response to my last post, A Peek at Peaking, I'm going to treat you to Things that Make You Go "Hmmm" which is always a crowd favorite. (I've really perfected the mom guilt, haven't I?).

For those of you who are new to this series of posts, Things that Make You Go "Hmmm" is a compilation of strange media requests I've found primarily in the daily emails I receive from HARO (Help a Reporter Out). The source of the request is in parentheses. Some of them are real head scratchers. Others are just plain funny when taken out of context. Now, without further ado...

1. Ways to Be a Happy Mom (iVillage) - I'd say you definitely decreased the possibility of true happiness when you had the kid, but now that you're saddled with them, I recommend wine or boarding school.
   
2. What are the Signs You Might be Carjacked? (National publication/news site)  - The guy pointing a gun at your head saying "move over, I'm driving" is a pretty good indicator.
   
3. That Lettuce Issue Everyone is Talking About. To Buy Bagged or Bulked? (Frugivore)  - Everyone is talking about this? Clearly I'm being left out of a lot of conversations.  I just knew my friends were keeping secrets from me.
   
4. Drunk shopping: How it can pickle your finances (major finance site) - Ya think?
   
5. Why do men cry at weddings? (pitch process) (Anonymous) - The same reason women do -- they just realized what they've gotten themselves into.
   
6. Does your town have a cat for a mayor? (National pet website) - Any town stupid enough to elect a cat for public office deserves to be disappointed. Everyone knows dogs do a much better job in that position.
   
7. And speaking of animals... Can your pet do a cool kitchen-related trick? (Anonymous)  - Maddie, God rest her dog soul, could make an entire shoo fly pie disappear before your very eyes.
   
8. Are you afraid that your teenage daughter is too promiscuous for her age? Now Casting (LA Based Talk Show)  - It's fine if she's promiscuous when she gets older.
   
9. Do You Have a Healthy Relationship With Your Vagina*? (Frugivore) -  Sure do. I take her to the gym with me, and out to the movies. Sometimes we even share a good book. It feels like we're always together.
   
10. And finally, How to improve decision making skills (website)  - I really wasn't sure whether to include this one...

*And speaking of vaginas, did you hear there's a new magazine titled "Fifty Shades of American Women Who Love the Book and Live the Life." Seriously. Check out newstands at Barnes & Noble and Walmart. 

Miss Things that Make You Go "Hmmm" volumes 1-4? Here are links to each:

Freakin' Angels: Things that Make You "Hmmm"

Freakin' Angels: Things that Make You Go "Hmmm," Part 2

Freakin' Angels: Not Feeling the Love, People

Freakin' Angels: Things that Make You Go Hmmm, Volume IV

A Peek at Peaking

When did you peak? Which were your best years? You know what I'm talking about, right? That time in your life when you really had it all going on. You looked good. You felt good. You fit in your own skin. Life seemed full of possibilities.

Were you in your glory during high school? Popular. Beautiful. None of that teenage awkwardness of that 90% of your classmates were feeling? 

Or maybe the college years were it for you. You finally felt free to be you. With hundreds or thousands of potential friends you found a place to belong. You discovered your passion.

Could it be that those young adult years were the best years of your life? The high school school prediction that you were "most likely to succeed" was coming true. Your career took off. You found yourself surrounded by like-minded friends. You joined a gym and lost the freshmen 15. You traded in those college sweats for a personal sense of style.

Or maybe you're one of those for whom marriage and kids came as easily as breathing. You were meant to be a spouse and a parent. You found security, comfort, and contentment in those roles. The PTA, your home, and the community baseball league all offered the sense of fulfillment you'd craved. You attended those high school reunions without a drop of insecurity and gloated noted that the popular kids' glory years were clearly behind them.

Perhaps you blossomed even later. You shook off those clingy kids and rediscovered your spouse. You pursued anew your career or other passion. You started running triathlons. You had an "a ha" moment when you realized you were happy with who you'd become. You attended your high school reunion without feeling the need to gloat over those whose best years were a thing of the past. Or you skipped it altogether because you just didn't see the point.

Is retirement the pinnacle for you? You may have had to wait 70 years for your peak, but now you're living large in newfound freedom from kids, jobs, and mortgage payments. You don't give a crap what the neighbors think and being you has never been easier.

So when did you blossom?

I think for me it was my early-to-mid-30s. I had survived the toddler years. I had settled in to a fulfilling career with a great organization. I was literally kicking ass in Tae Kwon Do. I was surrounded by wonderful friends and my faith was strong. My weirdness had become a natural and somewhat charming part of me. I gave up praying no longer prayed I'd be normal. Occasionally, I even felt content. Good times indeed.

Your 30s aren't a bad time to peak, but I think your 40s might be even better. Just imagine hitting your stride when many of us start to think our best days are behind us and there's nothing exciting to look forward to until retirement. Or maybe that's just me.

Anyway...


Rocker and Blogger
at the Top of His Game


Yesterday I had lunch with my friend Jim. Jim isn't someone I really knew back when we went to high school together, but we've been lucky to reconnect via Facebook. I have the sense that Jim is blossoming now (though I guess "blossoming" sounds rather girly and as evidenced by the picture to your right, Jim exhibits no feminine qualities). Jim will be happy to tell you that he graduated from high school 25 years ago with every intention of being a heavy metal rock star. He gave it the old college try. He gave college the old college try. Neither worked out exactly as he planned, but today he's got it going on.

A year or so ago Jim totally copied off of me and started blogging at www.gojimmygo.net. Where I've gone from three posts a week to one, Jim's gone from zero to 60. The guy easily turns out five posts a week, sometimes more than one a day. And he's not just whining about parenthood, writing about his best buddies, or sharing some snarky insights. No, Jim has engaged his passion for music and film by interviewing stars, or former stars. And he doesn't just share his posts on his personal blog. No, Jim's posts frequently appear on GuitarWorld.com. And Jim doesn't just talk about writing a book that he's got in mind. No, Jim writes the book and solicits the advice of a friend who knows publishing. And then Jim tries to encourage said friend to go for the brass ring and accomplish all the great things that are stuck inside her head. But said friend just doesn't have the energy or enthusiasm anymore. Said friend has peaked and is coming down the other side of the mountain.

I'm hoping that it's possible to peak more than once in a lifetime, and that if and when I do, I've got the mojo that Jim's got working.

Now what about you, your prime, your stride, your peak...? Let's hear your stories. Unless of course you're going to tell me that you've always been comfortable in your skin and there was never a time you weren't your best self. Come on now, no one really wants to hear that stuff. I try to keep these posts upbeat, after all...