Go Go Gadget Argyle!

I always thought that when I became a teacher, I'd be some different, grownup version of Avalon, not the normal, everyday Avalon of the present who eats fries with a fork, would rather read a book than go to a party and still wears pajamas all day if she can get away with it.

But nope. Turns out Ms. Manly is much the same person as Avy, just with more argyle and (hopefully) less tripping over cords publicly and fewer instances of laughing so hard that I cry and my mascara turns me into Avalon the Raccoon-Faced Girl.

In case you somehow hadn't heard,  I was offered a job as a corps member at Teach for America, a program that seeks to eliminate the inequities in public education by training teachers and placing them in high-need regions across the country.

Apparently, it's a competitive program. I knew it was tough, but I didn't know until last week just how tough: A Washington Post editorial from a couple days ago reads: "This year [Teach for America] got 48,000 applicants and accepted 5,300 of them. About 18 percent of the Harvard senior class applied; so did 27 percent of Spelman's, a traditionally black women's school."

As far as I know, only three of those accepted are from Colorado, though I could easily be mistaken. 

Honestly, I didn't really expect to get in. I was astonished when I received a welcome email. I signed a two-year contract with them and I'm still in shock. I don't think it'll hit me until I'm actually in New Orleans, where I've been assigned to teach high school literature, breathing the humidity and missing the mountains.

I wonder what it will be like to live in a big city in the South. The place where jazz was born. The bayou, the inspirational epicenter for artists like Anne Rice and whoever wrote True Blood.

I also wonder what it will be like to teach. I can't decide whether I'm more terrified, excited or intimidated. Some weird blend of all three, most likely. Terrexcitimated. Yeah, that. Maybe the terror will ebb some after I take my teaching license exams next month. *gulp*

I'm trying to augment my wardrobe so as to dress as if I'm 35, because I don't want my students to know I'm only four or five years older than they. I can't see that being a good thing in the best of circumstances, but as a first-year teacher in a strange city at an alien school? Hells no. So, I have some new blazers, and I really need to find me some sweater vests. Maybe some tweed patches. You know, because it'll help my credibility. 

Every time I do something, I wonder what it will be like to do that same thing in New Orleans. I wonder what gas will cost in New Orleans? I wonder what the sun feels like in New Orleans? I wonder how windy it gets in New Orleans? I wonder if I will find a coffee shop to call home in New Orleans? I wonder what the traffic is like in New Orleans? I wonder how the hell I'll find my way around New Orleans without mountains as a reference point?

I wonder what it will be like to run a classroom. I wonder if I'll be any good at it. We'll see, because that TFA contract is pretty much iron-clad and I'm in for the long haul, now.

For those of you who endured that scared little whiny rant-thing, here's some things that are awesome:

 (This is my wallpaper on my phone now.)

(It's awesome because it's a kitten.)

(This is a comic from cracked.com and I think the best way to ever answer the question, "How are you?" is by shouting the word, "AWARE," because no one ever actually cares how you are and it might brighten their day a little. Or at least startle them, and there's merit in that.)

That's...that's all I got. Here, have a really painful pun that's vaguely literary and involves a beaver:

________

Han shot first.