The First Impression

First impressions always go better when the participants have absolutely no prep time. They can fall easily into the situation and be happy at the mercy of whatever physical and mental state they happen to be in. This is a good system because the agony of trying to figure out how to make an impeccable first impression almost never works. It is much better to let fate take the stage, rather than trying to control every situation like psycho Katherine Heigl in the beginning of every single one of her movies.
What kind of impression do I want to make? Well, in my case, I want to give my class of 20 nervous and skeptical anatomy students the impression of authority, vast stores of applicable knowledge, approachability, and the idea that I'm the most awesome TA ever. Well crap. How the hell am I supposed to pull that off with one outfit and a few opening lines?
Jeans? T-shirt? Purple t-shirt? No, that would make me look like a prep. I am not a prep. Flowered tank with blazer? Well sure, but how am I supposed to keep warm?
 Do I start off with a joke? Rather, should I start off with a perfunctory introduction? What will win the hearts of my future students?
Well, when I woke up the day of my First Impression to be, I let fate take it's course and dressed myself in clothes with no meaning and opposite of what I chose for myself the night before and nearly thew up with nerves. The lab began and I started off informally with a couple of casual questions before doing my introduction. I spoke loud and clear, with inflection, eye-contact, and the works. I gave honest truths about the work involved in the class, but I followed it with helpful tips and personal success stories.
Looking back on it, I know I could have done a lot better. I could have done a lot worse, too. They didn't laugh at my jokes, looked like Fido zombies during lecture, and wanted nothing to do with my fun suggestions. It was, however, a success, though slightly off from how I dreamed it would go.
I'm hoping that my relationship with this group of peers with follow the same pattern that my relationships always do. At first I am too formal, conservative, and people don't get me. Later, however, both parties warm up and they accept my generally spastic antics and everybody has fun.
With the much anticipated first impression out of the way, I am still anxious about getting up there again, but I know that I am capable of administering a kick-ass quarter. I am not a teacher, but I can teach this stuff, and someday I will be the Janice Lapsansky I know I am meant to be: giving first impressions that leave lasting impressions of being an awesome and generally bad-ass AP teacher.

The Eve

The eve of a somewhat important event or journey always feels like that jittery moment before you step into a dark room. The rising and falling of the dominant foot is preceded by that slight hesitation and a substantial show of bravery on the part of your toes. Another hesitation follows while the brain comes to terms with the fact that millions of spiders haven't devoured your flesh, or the ghost of a pre-pubescent girl who looks like she got dunked in a pond and later beaten with an ugly stick hasn't appeared to scare the living shit out of you. Yes, this jittery moment is not kind on your pride, but the room must be crossed. Spiders and ugly-wet girl or not. For me, this jittery moment is merely the trip back to my college town, back to homework and late nights with flashcards, back to public transit, and back to walking home because I am so sick of waiting for the damn bus!
Senior year. The ootz is quivering at all the possibilities that 9 months in my college town could bring. However, my sensibilities and utter devotion to schoolwork are savagely beating the ootz with  frying pans and over-priced textbooks.
Find a balance. I hear that a lot. Find an activity you love. I hear that a lot too.
I tried it last year and failed. Failed like the long since repressed Cookie monster would fail in a Keebler factory. Anyways, I won't be defeated, but I won't ignore compromise either. I will start with a 70/30 "balance" and see what I can accomplish. My chosen, and later ignored, activities will be swimming and Tango. Maybe I will do both at once to save time. Maybe I will do neither and eat Keebler out of house and home.
Tomorrow I go. My toes are brave. The ootz is in critical condition.

The Ootz

I am one of those girls who finds romance in keeping a diary. A diary that is so full of rich words, stimulating experiences, and soul-altering wisdom that publishers would eat it up a lifetime later and make me the next Anne Frank. However, there is something about me that absolutely refuses to remain faithful to a damned pink, leather-bound journal. It is a perfectly harmless little thing, but it makes me feel like a failure when I open it two months later to find that I was back together with my boyfriend and 5lbs lighter. Anyways, this blog is my second attempt at greatness.

My life up to this point has been a roller coaster ride of twists, turns, drops, inclines, and the occasional bout of acute nausea. However, unlike a roller coaster, I have not experienced that required sense of excitement. That ootz in the stomach right before the car shoots ahead or drops until you have to swallow back your intestines as they attempt to fly out of your screaming trap. This blog is meant document my quest for the ootz.