Haute Reads: The Lions of Little Rock

So cancelling my cable? 

Best choice ever. 

Last summer I wasted many a precious day wandering in and out of conciousness as the Food Network droned on in front of me. I'm not really sure where all the hours of every day went, but I can tell you where they didn't go: towards reading, writing, or any sort of social interaction. 

Cancelling cable was going to be my excuse to finally make a dent in the endless "to read" lists I create on GoodReads that never seem to get any smaller. Plus, now that I'm back in the big city (after a loooong two years in rural North Carolina) I also have the power of a library that is able to aquire books relatively soon after they've been published. (By "relatively soon" I mean at all.)

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One of the first books on my list: The Lions of Little Rock by Kristen Levine. Recommended by a fellow middle school Language Arts teacher (so you know that shiz is good), it's the story of two junior high students the year after the Little Rock Nine integrated into Central High School in Arkansas. Before I read this, I really only knew the basics of what went on in Little Rock in 1957: Nine African-American students. Integration. Mass chaos. I had no idea that the very next year, high schools in Little Rock closed for the entire year rather than allow integration, forcing most families to send their high schoolers elsewhere to attend school. (Seriously, people?)

But I digress. Since I wouldn't do it justice, here's the blurb from Park Road Books:

As twelve-year-old Marlee starts middle school in 1958 Little Rock, it feels like her whole world is falling apart. Until she meets Liz, the new girl at school. Liz is everything Marlee wishes she could be: she's brave, brash and always knows the right thing to say. But when Liz leaves school without even a good-bye, the rumor is that Liz was caught passing for white. Marlee decides that doesn't matter. She just wants her friend back. And to stay friends, Marlee and Liz are even willing to take on segregation and the dangers their friendship could bring to both their families.

Here's my description: freaking tear jerker. 

Let me put it this way: I read. A lot. There are very few books that inspire me, much less move me. This book? Caused me to wipe away silent tears with one hand while I balanced my hardcover in the other. It was that good. Reading about middle schoolers not only reminds me of how I experienced the world at that age, but also how much more my students can handle than I give them credit for. Marlee and Liz are rare finds among young female characters these days: smart, rebellious, and vulnerable. They're as concerned about social justice as they are what other people think of them. (That's probably saying a lot for anyone, much less middle schoolers.) 

So I'm one book down, about five hundred to go. And I haven't missed cable once.  

Find your copy at an independent bookstore like Park Road Books

29/31 by Garfunkel and Oates

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

RHOC: They're Baaaaaack!

And as bitchy as ever. (Thank God.)

I can't really explain why, but Real Housewives of Orange County has always been my favorite of the franchise. (Plus there was that day that Heather Dubrow retweeted this link and made my life complete forever.) 

No matter that most of them are always in some sort of financial trouble and probably have about as much money in the bank as I do (minus my BFF Dubrow, obvi), I can't get enough. Maybe I'm jealous that they're constantly drinking white wine while overlooking the Pacific. Maybe I love to see whose face can change the most from season to season. Like all of the best things in life, it's a mystery. 

Speaking of face changes, my least favorite OC Housewife Vicki (oh wait, my second to least favorite...I forgot about Alexis) has gone and gotten herself a chin implant, or what I like to call a "chimplant". 

Whatever you call it, it's bad. Real bad. Just look at Gretchie-poo's face when she sees it:

{Source: Bravo}

Um...yeah. It probably didn't help that that Vicki's first scene of the season was of her make-up free and moving furniture. Ouch.

{Source: Bravo}

Since I'm pretty sure production gave her a heads up as to when they would start filming, I have no idea why her faced hadn't "settled" (aka calmed the hell down) by the time she was appearing on the show. 

Thought to give her credit, she did look A LOT better that night on WWHL:

But still. (Shudders).

Everyone's favorite intellectuals wannabes made a (thankfully) short appearance, but still long enough for Jim to remind us all that he controls everything that Alexis does and wears! How sweet.

Just laugh and back away slowly. 

Honestly, it was sort of the same-old, same old, until...wait...

....did somebody say FABULOUS?

{Source: Bravo}

Mrs. Dubrow is still the most faboosh of the group, natch. Why couldn't they cut the scene of Vicki moving couches and let us see more of her party planning?

Until next week, when we'll see Vicki and Tamra's confrontation at (where else?) Heather's party. Dun dun dun....

Easter in Edenton

Confession: It's been a few years since I celebrated Easter (cue the lighting striking me down). 

There, I said it. Like most holidays, it's just not the same to celebrate it without your family. (Plus, the pastel eggs and bunnies creep me out in a major way.)

This year, my friend/neighbor Megan and her sorority sister Katie would be in town for the weekend, which gave me a good excuse to take off my sweatpants make Easter plans. 

Plans which involved church, vegan pancakes, and lots and lots of champagne. #duh

From top left: Megan and Katie, mimosa cheers, the sexy chefs, monogrammed wine coozies

After talking Megs out of attending the sunrise service (child, please), we crammed into the 11 o'clock, where we were so late we sat on folding chairs with nary a prayer book or hymnal. (Oops.)

Afterwards, we set about making brunch. And by "making brunch", I mean we drank buckets of mimosas while I made really terrible vegan pancakes that took about 30 minutes to cook...each. (Not joking.) When finished, they tasted a bit like rubber from the bottom of a shoe. (But we covered them with syrup and ate them anyways.) 

Megan and I, being the small town folk that we are, continued to squeal "This is so FUN!" like losers at three minute intervals while our guest looked on patiently. (We're easily entertained.) By mid-afternoon, we were sprawled on the couch, full and happy. 

"So...what should we do now?" asked Katie.

Megan and I glanced at each other. Erm....ha ha, well....

This is sort of it. 

More champagne?

A Drive-by Listen...50 Shades of Grey

Ok, I'll admit it: I'm a follower. 

Never the first one to jump on the bandwagon for anything, I wait until 99% of America has read/watched/worn something before I go along with it. (Examples: Facebook. Mad Men. Skinny jeans.) 

To hasten my downward spiral into Loserville: Fifty Shades of Grey. 

As someone who rolled her eyes throughout the first two Twilight books and then gave up on reading the series altogether, my lame-o follower tendencies don't usually pertain in the book department. While I need people to help me navigate clothing trends, reading is pretty much the only thing I've been naturally good at since the age of 5. I'm Olympic level, really. 

But seriously. I just had to know what all the fuss was about. 

Since I have a 30 minute, rural-highway commute to work, I made the super unwise choice to download it on audio book.

Huge mistake, y'all. Huge.

First of all, whoever they had read this book realllly likes to annunciate the last consonant of every single word. Plus, I get that the character is really Bella from Twilight, and I despise Bella from Twilight. This whole "I'm completely awkward and nerdy and all the boys are miraculously in love with me" thing is getting old. I've been awkward and nerdy for the past 26 years, and no sexy vampires or bajillionare CEOs are knocking down my door.

Just saying.

And, while some of this story might be sexy, it's a whole other ball game when you are listening to someone read it. (The word "gross" comes to mind.)

But that obviously didn't stop me, since on a recent trip from Charlotte to Edenton I m-a-y have been listening to it when I got pulled over for a speeding ticket. A "going 60 in a 45 zone" speeding ticket.

If I could have spoken through my tears, here's what I would have said:

My bad, officer. See, I was, uh, a teensy bit distracted. See there's this thing called a "Red Room of Pain" that Anna was going into. It's not really painful, per se, if you're into that sort of thing. Not that I'm asking if you're into that sort of thing. Anyways, they just went in there and he's making her say "Yes, sir" and "No, sir" to him like he's, well, a police officer or something. And not only is she a really annoying character, but I find this whole submissive thing very strange. I mean, what about women's lib and all that? Is this what we've been reduced to? Saying "Yes, sir" and getting smacked with riding crops? What would Susan B. Anthony say? And how the heck are they going to make this into a movie without it being rated X? I really don't get it. Anyways, needless to say I COMPLETELY missed that 45 mph sign back there, but I promise not to do it again. (Smiles.) Did I mention I'm a Special Education teacher? 

E.L. James? You owe me $218.00.

And my dignity.

Follow Your Arrow

There's a few obvious differences between a twenty-first birthday party and a twenty-seventh birthday party, namely:

#1: At your twenty-seventh birthday, guests are gone by midnight, at which point you've also wiped down the counters and taken out the recycling. (Note: you are completely ok with this.)

#2: There's neither a keg or shot glass in sight, but your own parents might ask where the beer pong table is located. (Answer: not here.)

Me, the 'rents, and a very clever balloon #wheresthebeerpong

#3: Not only do the cops not show up, but you don't give them a reason to. 

Obviously I have a few things to improve upon in the party-planning department in the next 363 days.  

On the other hand, after two years of living out in the sticks, I had a lot more leverage when asking (more like begging) my friends to drive up from Charlotte and Charleston to come and celebrate with me.

By "leverage", I mean I may have said something similar to this:

I mean, I'm turning 27 and I live an hour and a half away from a Target and you guys are all married or have boyfriends and I'm probably going to die alone because all the guys out here wear camo as their everyday clothing and I have to look at people with feathered bangs on a daily basis and...

You get the picture. It was embarrassing. 

But it worked. 

Devil eyes courtesy of iPhone flash #yourewelcome

Even Royar from My Life As a Young Southern Prep made an appearance...(it helps that she's my cousin)...

In fact, with all of the out of town guests and local friends that showed up to the Castle de Haughty on Saturday night, I'd say we had nearly 1/4 of Edenton's population concentrated in one place. (Not joking.)

My beautiful friend Louann threw me an amazing post-birthday brunch Sunday morning, which pretty much made me feel like a celeb and cemented her as Edenton's premier party planner. 

The fact that 99% of my presents were either monogrammed or Lilly (sometimes both) only continues to prove my point that 27 equals #winning.  

If you can't get married, throw a 27th birthday party. But really.

And speaking of #winning, I'll send you off with my new obsession/theme song, courtesy of Kasey Musgraves: 

Follow your arrow, wherever it points.

HbN

Please Stop Staring at My...Stack

So...I took a mental health day from work today. Which probably benefited the students as much as it did me, since I find myself saying things like this...

...on a far too frequent basis. Among other things.

First on my list? Pancakes for breakfast, pajamas until 2:00, and hours and hours of Downton Abbey. (Puh-LEASE remind me why I wasn't born with a trust fund so that I could make this a daily habit? Sigh.) 

Eventually, I realized that if my roommates came home and found me, they may have though I was teetering on the border of depression and despair. I needed to get dressed. I needed to get out of bed. I needed human interaction. (I also needed a drink, but I figured that wouldn't look good when the roommates got home either.) So I ran a brush through my hair, slapped on a headband and some semblance of an outfit, and decided to walk downtown. 

I wandered into our little local library and had just pulled "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" off the fiction shelves when a tall, 30-something year old man in a windbreaker walked past me, did a double take, and meandered over to me.

Really?

"What book you got there?" he asked nonchalantly. 

Well, by the words on this here cover I'm going to say it's called "T-h-e B-e-s-t E-x-o-t-i-c M-a-r-i-g-o-l-d H-o-t-e-l". You can go away now. "It's called the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. Why can't Ryan Gosling look-a-likes ever have this reaction to me?

"See, I might write this title down. You say this is a good book?"

Well, seeing as how I'm pulling it off the shelf in the library, I haven't actually read it. I bet it's better than standing here and talking to you though. "I'm not sure. I guess I'll find out."

He (amazingly) continued: "See, what I'm going to do is write this down. 'Cuz I'm not from around here, I'm just staying with my mother while she's sick, see. So what I'm going to do is write this down, and then when I come back I'm going to check it out."

Me: Nodding. Just. Keep. Nodding. Please, please, PLEASE stop talking. 

"See, my mom wants me to move here, but I'm like, there's nothing to DO around here. You gotta go to Elizabeth City to get something to EAT, you gotta go to Virginia just to have a little FUN, I'm like 'I can't move here, mom'". 

Not engaging in conversation. Not engaging in conversation."....Yeah. Well, good luck finding a book!" 

Dude: "Hold up, let me go and get a pen and paper." 

Oh. Hell. No. As soon as he disappeared I shoved the book back on the shelf and bolted. Unfortunately, there's a thing you need to know about small libraries: there's not many places to bolt to, especially from weirdos who live with their mom. 

I'd gotten through a few aisles and managed to collect the following...

It's difficult being so intelligent and well read. Really.

...when I heard the familiar swish of his windbreaker as he strolled towards me. Sigh. 

He LITERALLY had a pen and paper in his hand. "What was the name of that book again?" I told him (for the third time). He gazed at my Positive Discipline book. "Why are you reading that?' he asked as he tenderly stroked the spine. (The book's, not mine.) 

I am SO not having this conversation slash I do not want you to have any inkling of where I am employed. This is the part where desperation took over: "I...um...I have a teenager. Yep. I'm a mom! She's twelve. My daughter. I mean thirteen. I'm a mom!" I blubbered.

Low point. 

Dude (nodding his head empathetically): "Wow. You have a teenager? I can't believe it. Wow. Well good for you, being all positive discipline and all. I mean, the world is a tough place these days. I mean, take me for instance. I'm not here trying to hit on you, though you are definitely attractive." He chose that moment to lean in verrry close and whisper: "I like black women."

Well that settles it. I don't like freakazoids that probably have skin suits in their basements, and you don't like Caucasians. What a shame! Good thing there's plenty of fish in the library sea! 

This is what I get for leaving the house. #neveragain