Chipped a molar last night on a flipping brownie. It is not painful, and this is hardly newsworthy, except I've never even had a cavity. Yup, lived 46 years without a needle in the gums, and I liked it that way.
Until now. I haven't even been to a dentist since ours died of cancer in the Big City. I am certainly jinxed tooth-wise. But even worse, is that son #2 has NEVER been to a dentist, and he is 10. To further complicate matters, hubby needs root canals and partial dentures and has gum disease, and even HE has blown off the dentist for a couple years.
So, based upon a recommendation from my sister, I am going to make appointments for all with a very nice female dentist in the nearby city. We shall take a day off and make it a party. End of dentist rumination.
Now I gotta ruminate on how to end this second in the Thresholds series...I think its length is about right. The problem is, it needs to lead into the third, but I don't know what the third is. Options include:
1. The "and that's another blog" blog. I could fill in the story droplets that I hinted at in the first blook. Stuff like college stories wif my bestest friend Sandita and other "rocking chair" memories that I've accumulated.
2. The story of what happens after I get canned for publishing Thresholds and Other Ruminations. Of course this hasn't happen yet, but very well could. THAT's why I've bookiemarked the first amendment lawyer. Tee Hee.
3. The story of what happens after my school district lays me off, as they have to cut 10% of the budget across the board due to a state mandate.
4. Insert Option 4 here. I have NO idea what is to come in the next few months; that I HAVE learned from the whole fire thing.
All I DO know is that we signed and initialed our fingers until they were raw last week closing on our house mortgage. The good news is that we locked in at 4.3% interest for 15 years. We will own the home by retirement time, which is only 18 or so years away for me, and less for hubby cuz he is three years older.
Back to the tooth, I can now feel the warmness of the coffee I sip INSIDE the tooth. This is going to be interesting to say the least and painful in the most. K. Bye. Roger. Out.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Porch Pontifications
It's well documented that the demise of the front porch has resulted in decaying neighborhoods. Or something like that. People don't hang out on their front porches like they used to, at any rate.
We, on the other hand, hang out on our front porch about twice an hour -- whenever the need for nicotine arises. Yes, we are the people who had our house burn down and now we smoke in full view of the public. I'm sure this has caused more than one townsfolk to judge us, as if we burned our house down on purpose from casual smoking.
As a matter of fact, during the most uncomfortable interview ever, between the Ebil Insurance Company and me, I was asked many questions about the cause of the fire, including:
1. Does our son like to play with fire?
2. Do we smoke?
3. Did we have space heaters plugged in?
4. Did we offer up 4 cats as sacrifices on purpose? (ok, this wasn't an actual question, but it should have been considering the invasive nature of the questions.)
I kept reiterating that according to the fire department, the fire was electrical in nature. So, NO Son #2 does not have a fire fetish, and yes, I smoke but know how to put them out safely. Keep in mind, this was MY own insurance company, trying to establish our liability. I felt like a damn criminal during that interview, and didn't appreciate it in the weeks following the fire.
So, back to the porch. Hubby and I sit and smoke and pontificate about life's finer points: the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the history of the World according to a history teacher (hubby), and the dreams of a manic school teacher (me).
We take turns pontificating, and there is something about the porch that makes our speech safe and thrilling. Any passerby could over hear us talking, but since it's a small town the only passerby is the aforementioned "walking man." If he were to stop and listen, I'm sure he'd run away holding his head in his hand and screaming, "Those people are fucking crazy!"
But we are not crazy, we are simply bleeding heart liberals who are getting more and more conservative with age...we are concerned with World events but feel helpless to change the course of them...we are full of hopes and dreams that remain unfulfilled due to funds and time.
So, townsfolk, next time you drive by and see us smoking on the front porch, know that we are solving world problems in addition to inhaling deeply. We are ruminating about the Thresholds in our own lives still...and wondering how to safely cross them to get to the other side.
We, on the other hand, hang out on our front porch about twice an hour -- whenever the need for nicotine arises. Yes, we are the people who had our house burn down and now we smoke in full view of the public. I'm sure this has caused more than one townsfolk to judge us, as if we burned our house down on purpose from casual smoking.
As a matter of fact, during the most uncomfortable interview ever, between the Ebil Insurance Company and me, I was asked many questions about the cause of the fire, including:
1. Does our son like to play with fire?
2. Do we smoke?
3. Did we have space heaters plugged in?
4. Did we offer up 4 cats as sacrifices on purpose? (ok, this wasn't an actual question, but it should have been considering the invasive nature of the questions.)
I kept reiterating that according to the fire department, the fire was electrical in nature. So, NO Son #2 does not have a fire fetish, and yes, I smoke but know how to put them out safely. Keep in mind, this was MY own insurance company, trying to establish our liability. I felt like a damn criminal during that interview, and didn't appreciate it in the weeks following the fire.
So, back to the porch. Hubby and I sit and smoke and pontificate about life's finer points: the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the history of the World according to a history teacher (hubby), and the dreams of a manic school teacher (me).
We take turns pontificating, and there is something about the porch that makes our speech safe and thrilling. Any passerby could over hear us talking, but since it's a small town the only passerby is the aforementioned "walking man." If he were to stop and listen, I'm sure he'd run away holding his head in his hand and screaming, "Those people are fucking crazy!"
But we are not crazy, we are simply bleeding heart liberals who are getting more and more conservative with age...we are concerned with World events but feel helpless to change the course of them...we are full of hopes and dreams that remain unfulfilled due to funds and time.
So, townsfolk, next time you drive by and see us smoking on the front porch, know that we are solving world problems in addition to inhaling deeply. We are ruminating about the Thresholds in our own lives still...and wondering how to safely cross them to get to the other side.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Further Proof...
...that I have learned, Steakboy old chap.
Made this business card with Photoshop CS3 on my HP laptop.
Now, we wait and see what happens. And in the meantime, I live life to the fullest, only pausing to bitch occasionally at life's ironies, like PMS.
OK. That's a crock of shit. I made this and I'm going to make it better. My nephew suggested making the fingernails red, so Ima try that for the final version once Thresholds and Other Ruminations comes out.
I'm blogging late; I've been abusing caffeine all day long. Everybody is in bed, and I'm rearing to go. UH OH. Oh well, I can sleep in tomorrow for sure. If you count waking up at 4:30 and then 6 sleeping in.
Further proof...that I'm getting too damn old for this.
Pages! I need pages...
This is the cry of the journalism adviser on deadline night. Well, at least it's my cry. I often channel Jackie Gleason as I scream it in the computer lab around 7 PM: "PAGES! I need pages...."
It's the signal to the student editors to quit MESSING around and get done with their first drafts of the inDesign pages so we can edit them with our ready red pens. Their messing around is actually called "multi-tasking" these days. Kids can do it much better than adults, so we often yell at them when they have their music and social networking sites open WHILE they work on the newspaper/yearbook. But I try to focus them in spite of their diversions; i work WITH them on their addictions/fetishes and manage to get some decent journalism out of them.
For example, there is Laken. We met her last as an underclassmen with promise of being an editor. She met that expectation and more, but the way she operates is typical and frustrating. She was editor-in-chief last year, and she's more like an adviser this year because she is graduating mid-year. She writes like a professional feature writer; a bit lengthy and wordy at times for journalism, but it works.
AND SHE is perpetually on her iPhone, even though I have a no phones rule. She also is frequently seen playing a damn balloon-popping game on addictinggames.com. When does she work? I'm not sure, but her stories are always done on time and she puts together the front page of the paper and she massages all pages before we put the paper to bed. WHEW.
Multiply this times 15 computers and 20 kids and you have a glimpse into my world. They are all doing crap that they shouldn't be doing. Jedi was a master at this also back in my early days. He never looked on task, but always got shit done. Same with Pi. But not Steakboy -- he worked always and only paused when the other boys distracted him. His graphics are legendary now; as well as his "Brain" and his stylebook.
Why am I thinking of deadline night on this Saturday morning? It's coming up in a week, and OMG, I just realized as I typed this that I'm double booked....it's parent conferences AND deadline night on Oct. 27. SHIT. Oh well, they can stay in the lab and mess around while i am in the classroom schmoozing with the parental units.
And I'm thinking about this because I am more behind than I care to think about with paper work, again. I can't focus on it; haven't been able to for a month now.
Pages, I need pages.....
It's the signal to the student editors to quit MESSING around and get done with their first drafts of the inDesign pages so we can edit them with our ready red pens. Their messing around is actually called "multi-tasking" these days. Kids can do it much better than adults, so we often yell at them when they have their music and social networking sites open WHILE they work on the newspaper/yearbook. But I try to focus them in spite of their diversions; i work WITH them on their addictions/fetishes and manage to get some decent journalism out of them.
For example, there is Laken. We met her last as an underclassmen with promise of being an editor. She met that expectation and more, but the way she operates is typical and frustrating. She was editor-in-chief last year, and she's more like an adviser this year because she is graduating mid-year. She writes like a professional feature writer; a bit lengthy and wordy at times for journalism, but it works.
AND SHE is perpetually on her iPhone, even though I have a no phones rule. She also is frequently seen playing a damn balloon-popping game on addictinggames.com. When does she work? I'm not sure, but her stories are always done on time and she puts together the front page of the paper and she massages all pages before we put the paper to bed. WHEW.
Multiply this times 15 computers and 20 kids and you have a glimpse into my world. They are all doing crap that they shouldn't be doing. Jedi was a master at this also back in my early days. He never looked on task, but always got shit done. Same with Pi. But not Steakboy -- he worked always and only paused when the other boys distracted him. His graphics are legendary now; as well as his "Brain" and his stylebook.
Why am I thinking of deadline night on this Saturday morning? It's coming up in a week, and OMG, I just realized as I typed this that I'm double booked....it's parent conferences AND deadline night on Oct. 27. SHIT. Oh well, they can stay in the lab and mess around while i am in the classroom schmoozing with the parental units.
And I'm thinking about this because I am more behind than I care to think about with paper work, again. I can't focus on it; haven't been able to for a month now.
Pages, I need pages.....
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Not Gonna Do It
My school district is spending gagillions of dollars on a university-sponsored professional development sequence. And I like it. Yes, I said I like it. I'm not one of those old teachers who balks at professional development no matter what it is. I am a picky old broad who only balks at 90% of staff inservices.
So, this current "content enhancement" push falls into the 10% of times when I learn something I can immediately and enthusiastically apply to my classroom. We are finally getting away from theories and moving on to teaching strategies that I can sink my teeth into. I even worked on the weekend to make lesson plans based on the new tools, AND invited my principal in to evaluate me on its implementation on the Monday after the training. Now, I'm teaching my husband how to manipulate the technology necessary to do it properly. I am now an official Content Enhancement Whore.
That's why it pisses me off when I hear reports of other teachers who are, "not gonna do it." I heard a report through a student of Teacher I (for ignorant) actually telling the kids that he wasn't gonna do it because the way he teaches, kids learn, but the way they want him to teach is too confusing.
What a crock of shit. Teacher I just doesn't understand how these techniques could STRENGTHEN his curriculum; and he doesn't understand how the hell THEY WORK. I wanted to rat him out to the principal so badly, but I didn't because that would make ME look bad somehow.
Squeaky wheels don't get the grease in education; they get the axe. So, I shall continue to whore it up and teach the shit out of the kiddies. By the way, my evaluation went smashingly and it looks like I may even have a job in spite of the 10% spending cut our State is facing, and in spite of the fact that I'm about to publish a very controversial blook.
Stoopid or not? Time will tell.
So, this current "content enhancement" push falls into the 10% of times when I learn something I can immediately and enthusiastically apply to my classroom. We are finally getting away from theories and moving on to teaching strategies that I can sink my teeth into. I even worked on the weekend to make lesson plans based on the new tools, AND invited my principal in to evaluate me on its implementation on the Monday after the training. Now, I'm teaching my husband how to manipulate the technology necessary to do it properly. I am now an official Content Enhancement Whore.
That's why it pisses me off when I hear reports of other teachers who are, "not gonna do it." I heard a report through a student of Teacher I (for ignorant) actually telling the kids that he wasn't gonna do it because the way he teaches, kids learn, but the way they want him to teach is too confusing.
What a crock of shit. Teacher I just doesn't understand how these techniques could STRENGTHEN his curriculum; and he doesn't understand how the hell THEY WORK. I wanted to rat him out to the principal so badly, but I didn't because that would make ME look bad somehow.
Squeaky wheels don't get the grease in education; they get the axe. So, I shall continue to whore it up and teach the shit out of the kiddies. By the way, my evaluation went smashingly and it looks like I may even have a job in spite of the 10% spending cut our State is facing, and in spite of the fact that I'm about to publish a very controversial blook.
Stoopid or not? Time will tell.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
It's a BIG 10-4
That's right, it's the anniversary of my birth, my hubby's birth and our wedding. We have one big celebration a year, and we never forget it.
Hubby is 3 years older than me, but we were born on the same day -- further proof that we are soul mates. Can't remember if I've ruminated on this before in Thresholds I or this, the sequel, but mah hubby and I have a huge connection in and out of the bedroom, and it's made for an interesting 11 years to say the least. My friends don't wanna hear how good I got it; it's THAT good.
Today will be full of family and food (alliteration unintended.) Probably won't see Son #1, but might tempt him with a japanese dinner after he gets off work. Son #2 isn't up, and whaddya know, it's 10:04 AM. I'm overdue to start cooking a few dishes to bring to our birthday potluck I orchestrated to avoid going to my hubby's family. Long story there. Might be a whole other blog.
Birthdays are overrated as you age, fer sure. I'm just one year closer to 50, which blows my mind. Fifty-year olds are OLD. I mean old.
Anyway, I'm off like a dirty shirt, to celebrate a Big 10-4.
Hubby is 3 years older than me, but we were born on the same day -- further proof that we are soul mates. Can't remember if I've ruminated on this before in Thresholds I or this, the sequel, but mah hubby and I have a huge connection in and out of the bedroom, and it's made for an interesting 11 years to say the least. My friends don't wanna hear how good I got it; it's THAT good.
Today will be full of family and food (alliteration unintended.) Probably won't see Son #1, but might tempt him with a japanese dinner after he gets off work. Son #2 isn't up, and whaddya know, it's 10:04 AM. I'm overdue to start cooking a few dishes to bring to our birthday potluck I orchestrated to avoid going to my hubby's family. Long story there. Might be a whole other blog.
Birthdays are overrated as you age, fer sure. I'm just one year closer to 50, which blows my mind. Fifty-year olds are OLD. I mean old.
Anyway, I'm off like a dirty shirt, to celebrate a Big 10-4.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Braydon
Meet Braydon: yearbook geek of the decade.
Well, of the past three full years and to the end of first semester, at least. Braydon took photojournalism as a freshman, then joined the yearbook as a sophomore. He currently is a fifth-year senior. We know each other well.
To start, every year I give out silly awards and Braydon wins the "Best at Hovering" award. Everytime I freaking turn around, THERE he is. This wouldn't be so bad, but to be blunt: he has personal hygiene issues. He is a stinky boy some days.
Add to this his overall "nerdy" attire and his poor economic home situation, and you have one helluva kid. He is a computer whiz, although he has to keep his together with duct tape at home, it seems. He's always cobbing together a working machine from crap. He also glommed onto our online yearbook software like a pro; and he teaches the staff like Pi used to -- not very well. Braydon is actually a little better than Pi, but social skills aren't either of their forte's. Plus, they both stunk up the computer lab on certain days.
I need to talk to Braydon about his stench. He is in my room like 3 hours a day, and Friday he really stunk up the joint to the point where other kids were commenting on the smell of the lab. He's a sweetheart; so this won't be easy.
Especially since he's now done all my work on the ladder for yearbook. Over the summer, he assigned pages and reduced the book 4 pages, which helped. Then, on Saturday he assigned all the people and deadline dates AND wrote up a document splitting all the deadlines in an easy-to-print format for grading and such. He's going to split it up by people, also, so we know who is supposed to be just sitting around.
So, I praised him online yesterday in an e-mail and a private instant message on gmail. I've given him the title of co-Adviser also, with Adviser privileges online. Now I'll give him a lecture about washing his ass, and everything will be peachy keen.
Another example of the glamorous life of a public school teacher, plus another example of how diverse the kids I love appear to be, but how they really are all the same. All they need is a laugh and some gentle guidance, and they will bark like puppies for you.
So hover away, Braydon. You've learned my job very well by hovering for 4 years. You're gonna make me look good once again, and I love you for it.
Well, of the past three full years and to the end of first semester, at least. Braydon took photojournalism as a freshman, then joined the yearbook as a sophomore. He currently is a fifth-year senior. We know each other well.
To start, every year I give out silly awards and Braydon wins the "Best at Hovering" award. Everytime I freaking turn around, THERE he is. This wouldn't be so bad, but to be blunt: he has personal hygiene issues. He is a stinky boy some days.
Add to this his overall "nerdy" attire and his poor economic home situation, and you have one helluva kid. He is a computer whiz, although he has to keep his together with duct tape at home, it seems. He's always cobbing together a working machine from crap. He also glommed onto our online yearbook software like a pro; and he teaches the staff like Pi used to -- not very well. Braydon is actually a little better than Pi, but social skills aren't either of their forte's. Plus, they both stunk up the computer lab on certain days.
I need to talk to Braydon about his stench. He is in my room like 3 hours a day, and Friday he really stunk up the joint to the point where other kids were commenting on the smell of the lab. He's a sweetheart; so this won't be easy.
Especially since he's now done all my work on the ladder for yearbook. Over the summer, he assigned pages and reduced the book 4 pages, which helped. Then, on Saturday he assigned all the people and deadline dates AND wrote up a document splitting all the deadlines in an easy-to-print format for grading and such. He's going to split it up by people, also, so we know who is supposed to be just sitting around.
So, I praised him online yesterday in an e-mail and a private instant message on gmail. I've given him the title of co-Adviser also, with Adviser privileges online. Now I'll give him a lecture about washing his ass, and everything will be peachy keen.
Another example of the glamorous life of a public school teacher, plus another example of how diverse the kids I love appear to be, but how they really are all the same. All they need is a laugh and some gentle guidance, and they will bark like puppies for you.
So hover away, Braydon. You've learned my job very well by hovering for 4 years. You're gonna make me look good once again, and I love you for it.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday Morning Musings
Why is it so much easier to wake up on Fridays?
Is it because the weekend looms large? Is it because of some magical aura that surrounds the day? Whatever the reason, I'm DAMN glad it is Friday today.
This week has been productive -- or I've been productive. I've organized my classes well and they are operating like a smoothly oiled machine. (Exception: the study hall from hell last hour. I had to actually yell on Wednesday when they were acting like animals instead of young adults.)
The yearbook is supposed to be delivered this week, but I haven't seen it yet. It better get here by next Friday, which is Homecoming, so I can get rid of the last years' seniors books while they are back visiting. I pray we didn't make any huge errors, like "pubic school" instead of "public school" or a cutline identifying the wrong student in a photo.
Of course, I won't hear anything positive about the book, I only get the negative. Last year I got a nasty call from a freshman cheerleader's parent about why they aren't in the book. Well, we have a policy that we only cover Varsity sports, which didn't go over well with the parent because "those freshman cheerleaders work their rear ends off." Sigh.
I work my rear end off and I only get bitched at. Kids go out of their way to point out the errors in the book, but where is the love?
Anyhoo, Fridays rock and I shall survive. Time to get my ass in the shower, or I'll be late to school, which at this point, can get me fired. I'm just one false move away from the unemployment line since my "censored" incident last year -- it's in my permanent record and everything.
Maybe it was easy to wake up today because I passed out around 7:30 PM last night. AHhhhhhh, the glorious life of a "pubic" school teacher.
Is it because the weekend looms large? Is it because of some magical aura that surrounds the day? Whatever the reason, I'm DAMN glad it is Friday today.
This week has been productive -- or I've been productive. I've organized my classes well and they are operating like a smoothly oiled machine. (Exception: the study hall from hell last hour. I had to actually yell on Wednesday when they were acting like animals instead of young adults.)
The yearbook is supposed to be delivered this week, but I haven't seen it yet. It better get here by next Friday, which is Homecoming, so I can get rid of the last years' seniors books while they are back visiting. I pray we didn't make any huge errors, like "pubic school" instead of "public school" or a cutline identifying the wrong student in a photo.
Of course, I won't hear anything positive about the book, I only get the negative. Last year I got a nasty call from a freshman cheerleader's parent about why they aren't in the book. Well, we have a policy that we only cover Varsity sports, which didn't go over well with the parent because "those freshman cheerleaders work their rear ends off." Sigh.
I work my rear end off and I only get bitched at. Kids go out of their way to point out the errors in the book, but where is the love?
Anyhoo, Fridays rock and I shall survive. Time to get my ass in the shower, or I'll be late to school, which at this point, can get me fired. I'm just one false move away from the unemployment line since my "censored" incident last year -- it's in my permanent record and everything.
Maybe it was easy to wake up today because I passed out around 7:30 PM last night. AHhhhhhh, the glorious life of a "pubic" school teacher.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
School Year Update
In true retrospective style, I will fill the reader in on the first three weeks of school.
I ROCK.
My students also rock. I feel like I know my shit now. AND IT FEELS GOOD.
Hope this isn't more foreshadowing, because I just, not 30 minutes ago, burned the final copy of my book for the publisher. I have the first amendment lawyer in my corner, or in my bookmarks, so I can get proper representation as a citizen of this country.
I keep wondering how this second in the Thresholds series is going to end, also. It's like my department chair said -- I am playing with fire. But dammit, this is me. This is my life. And since the fire I'm not letting life pass me by. I am participating in it fully.
And this means getting out the creative aspect of my twisted persona. Maybe my story will inspire other teachers to try to excel in the midst of chaos. Maybe my story will touch one other person who hasn't been able to label their depression. Maybe the damn thing will make one person laugh.
Anyway, in spite of the fact that I don't have HUGE stars this year like Steakboy, Jedi and Pi, I do have kids with motivation and talent. I've trained these new editors, and they know their stuff well -- as a team they can function and produce and I'm not worried this year much.
I still will lose money in yearbook, and Mike will have to bail me out. I still will be selling chocolate instead of surviving only on ads in newspaper. But I have a bounce in my step and an appreciation of my colleagues and students. Couldn't ask for more.
I ROCK.
My students also rock. I feel like I know my shit now. AND IT FEELS GOOD.
Hope this isn't more foreshadowing, because I just, not 30 minutes ago, burned the final copy of my book for the publisher. I have the first amendment lawyer in my corner, or in my bookmarks, so I can get proper representation as a citizen of this country.
I keep wondering how this second in the Thresholds series is going to end, also. It's like my department chair said -- I am playing with fire. But dammit, this is me. This is my life. And since the fire I'm not letting life pass me by. I am participating in it fully.
And this means getting out the creative aspect of my twisted persona. Maybe my story will inspire other teachers to try to excel in the midst of chaos. Maybe my story will touch one other person who hasn't been able to label their depression. Maybe the damn thing will make one person laugh.
Anyway, in spite of the fact that I don't have HUGE stars this year like Steakboy, Jedi and Pi, I do have kids with motivation and talent. I've trained these new editors, and they know their stuff well -- as a team they can function and produce and I'm not worried this year much.
I still will lose money in yearbook, and Mike will have to bail me out. I still will be selling chocolate instead of surviving only on ads in newspaper. But I have a bounce in my step and an appreciation of my colleagues and students. Couldn't ask for more.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Poop Diet Results
Well, after taking these Acai berry pills for 3/4 of a month, I'm happy to report that I broke even.
It was serious hell. The shits you get with the colon cleanse AND the acai berry combination are unbelievable. Runny and gross -- especially when combined with female problems on top of it. NOT a pretty sight, and I'll censor the rest of this description right here.
But, I lost 15 lbs. It was a miracle. We had our family portrait taken when I was at my lowest, which was fortuitous. THEN, just as miraculously, I gained it all but 4 lbs. back. I got stuck in this vicious cycle: starve myself all day because the pills truly take away your appetite. Normally, I don't eat until noon, so I'd take the pills 30 minutes before lunch, and then barely eat anything.
Come supper-time (yes, I'm from the sticks) I'm not hungry still, and take the second set of pills for the day. But around bed-time you are ravenously hungry and that's when I would munch. It does take away your cravings for carbs, but I would find myself choking them down somehow.
Anyway. Fast forward three weeks, and the scale suddenly jumps up. It's like once the colon was cleansed, the weight just started to pack on even though I felt starvation all day long.
So I said fuck the pills, and just went back to normal. I've maintained this -4 pound differential for a week or so, so at least I'm not gaining the full 15 back again. I blame it on being peri-menopausal; I've been having symptoms of that.
Fun shit. LOL. I accidentally made a punny.
It was serious hell. The shits you get with the colon cleanse AND the acai berry combination are unbelievable. Runny and gross -- especially when combined with female problems on top of it. NOT a pretty sight, and I'll censor the rest of this description right here.
But, I lost 15 lbs. It was a miracle. We had our family portrait taken when I was at my lowest, which was fortuitous. THEN, just as miraculously, I gained it all but 4 lbs. back. I got stuck in this vicious cycle: starve myself all day because the pills truly take away your appetite. Normally, I don't eat until noon, so I'd take the pills 30 minutes before lunch, and then barely eat anything.
Come supper-time (yes, I'm from the sticks) I'm not hungry still, and take the second set of pills for the day. But around bed-time you are ravenously hungry and that's when I would munch. It does take away your cravings for carbs, but I would find myself choking them down somehow.
Anyway. Fast forward three weeks, and the scale suddenly jumps up. It's like once the colon was cleansed, the weight just started to pack on even though I felt starvation all day long.
So I said fuck the pills, and just went back to normal. I've maintained this -4 pound differential for a week or so, so at least I'm not gaining the full 15 back again. I blame it on being peri-menopausal; I've been having symptoms of that.
Fun shit. LOL. I accidentally made a punny.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Reminiscing
Been reading the first Thresholds as I prepare it for publication, and it's fun to take a trip down memory lane. But I'm concerned that I have strayed a bit from my initial goals.
At first, this blog was about my failed attempts to teach journalism to some very bright students. I wanted to capture my angst as I tried to learn those programs-that-shall-not-be named...I wanted to show how public education in my world is as much about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll as it is about classroom management. I wanted to paint a picture of this innocent school in the Heartland of the USA that made your eyes pop out of your head and your ears scream.
But in this second blook, I have strayed from the original mission. I have had to process this thing called life: perhaps I have grown up or at least am attempting to do so. That silly fire has turned everything upside down.
Oh well, I go back to work in one week from tomorrow, so this blog shall most likely get back on track. But I kinda like the diversion of the last 6 months, to tell the truth. I think it shows that Delani has depth of character...or that she has really good brain drugs.
Drum roll please.....school year #5 is about to start. Will my new technology arrive before school starts? Will my class sizes have reduced to match my available technology? Will my classes control me or will I finally learn to be the head mother fucker in charge?
Well, one thing hasn't changed. I still can curse like a truck driver, as my mother used to tell me. Sounds like shit and doesn't do a damn bit of good. But it's real, at least. People talk like this in my world, how about yours?
At first, this blog was about my failed attempts to teach journalism to some very bright students. I wanted to capture my angst as I tried to learn those programs-that-shall-not-be named...I wanted to show how public education in my world is as much about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll as it is about classroom management. I wanted to paint a picture of this innocent school in the Heartland of the USA that made your eyes pop out of your head and your ears scream.
But in this second blook, I have strayed from the original mission. I have had to process this thing called life: perhaps I have grown up or at least am attempting to do so. That silly fire has turned everything upside down.
Oh well, I go back to work in one week from tomorrow, so this blog shall most likely get back on track. But I kinda like the diversion of the last 6 months, to tell the truth. I think it shows that Delani has depth of character...or that she has really good brain drugs.
Drum roll please.....school year #5 is about to start. Will my new technology arrive before school starts? Will my class sizes have reduced to match my available technology? Will my classes control me or will I finally learn to be the head mother fucker in charge?
Well, one thing hasn't changed. I still can curse like a truck driver, as my mother used to tell me. Sounds like shit and doesn't do a damn bit of good. But it's real, at least. People talk like this in my world, how about yours?
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Dreams
I've been having a sort of recurring theme in my dreams over the past few months. Either I'm at work, like some twisted workplace that reminds me of former jobs, or I'm at a huge talent show where I'm either performing or watching. But what is strange is that I am always lugging around a bunch of junk: my purse, which perpetually gets lost, or boxes of clothes and other personal belongings -- and I always lose everything. I can't find my car half the time in the big city that is always involved, and my purse is never with me.
It just hit me that this might be angst from the fire. Both my husband and I have been very emotional lately, and we cry easily now. We didn't cry over the fire immediately, but maybe that dissociation is finally wearing off and we are now FEELING.
It makes sense that I keep losing everything in my dreams -- I DID lose everything a few months ago. I feel frustrated in the dream, and I wake up in a cold sweat (well, that could be peri-menopausal) and all wound up. Last night, I went to bed at 9 PM because the boys were out camping. I woke up at 12:00 and 2:00 and 5:30 -- finally sleeping a bit more until 7 AM.
So, what is my psyche trying to tell me about my future? Or is it just ruminating on the past? I need a sign, dammit -- just like when I had to get my red light adjusted on the car because it wasn't giving me proper warning when I was about to run out of gas.
Oh well, it's not like I'm getting murdered or murdering other people in them, so I got THAT going for me. I'm not falling off of the building and landing SPLAT on the ground, so I also got that going for me. But why the obsession on stuff? Why do I always lose my purse? Maybe it's because my Elvis purse was my only possession after the fire, and I did buy a larger one shortly after so I could carry more stuff in it. Hmmmmmmmm.
If anyone can help me figure out my twisted brain waves, please give me a shout-out.
Until then, happy dreams!
It just hit me that this might be angst from the fire. Both my husband and I have been very emotional lately, and we cry easily now. We didn't cry over the fire immediately, but maybe that dissociation is finally wearing off and we are now FEELING.
It makes sense that I keep losing everything in my dreams -- I DID lose everything a few months ago. I feel frustrated in the dream, and I wake up in a cold sweat (well, that could be peri-menopausal) and all wound up. Last night, I went to bed at 9 PM because the boys were out camping. I woke up at 12:00 and 2:00 and 5:30 -- finally sleeping a bit more until 7 AM.
So, what is my psyche trying to tell me about my future? Or is it just ruminating on the past? I need a sign, dammit -- just like when I had to get my red light adjusted on the car because it wasn't giving me proper warning when I was about to run out of gas.
Oh well, it's not like I'm getting murdered or murdering other people in them, so I got THAT going for me. I'm not falling off of the building and landing SPLAT on the ground, so I also got that going for me. But why the obsession on stuff? Why do I always lose my purse? Maybe it's because my Elvis purse was my only possession after the fire, and I did buy a larger one shortly after so I could carry more stuff in it. Hmmmmmmmm.
If anyone can help me figure out my twisted brain waves, please give me a shout-out.
Until then, happy dreams!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Legends and Harleys
I live in a very small town in the Midwest: under 1,000 people. We have to go to the post office to get our mail, and there is one small grocery store in town. We love it, after living in the capital city for years....our son has the run of the town and we have peace of mind.
But our town gets invaded weekly for "bike night" where the Harleys rumble into town and park downtown. We have live bands every Wednesday night for it, and we can sit on our front porch and jam out. This phenomenon has taken over the Midwest actually -- there are a dozen or so such bike nights in the area that last throughout the summer. Nothing like the roar of an American-made motorcycle to get your innards scrambled.
Last night was a bit different, however. We had a huge bike ride from a nearby town that ended here at the local bar, with several bands playing. The headliner was fucking Edgar Winter...that's right, the albino blues legend himself. Right here in small-town USA. We just walked the two blocks to the bar, walked right in and up front to the stage. We took both our sons and a couple friends, and we jammed the night away. From "Frankenstein" to "Free Ride", this man rocked our socks right off. He was the first to strap on a keyboard, and even played a couple songs with his brother Johnny at freaking Woodstock.
So, after I pooped out my Acai berry, I slept like a baby last night, with visions of a white-haired virtuoso dancing in my head. Of course, the thunderous sound of the Harleys is always in the background -- and my hips still feel the swing of the blues.
AHhhhhhhhhhhh, summer is so good for the soul. It purges old memories and washes the senses with sunshine and rainbows. What fire? What school? What responsibilities?
Think I'll bottle this feeling up and store it away for winter like a squirrell. My cheeks are full of nuts right now and I like it.
But our town gets invaded weekly for "bike night" where the Harleys rumble into town and park downtown. We have live bands every Wednesday night for it, and we can sit on our front porch and jam out. This phenomenon has taken over the Midwest actually -- there are a dozen or so such bike nights in the area that last throughout the summer. Nothing like the roar of an American-made motorcycle to get your innards scrambled.
Last night was a bit different, however. We had a huge bike ride from a nearby town that ended here at the local bar, with several bands playing. The headliner was fucking Edgar Winter...that's right, the albino blues legend himself. Right here in small-town USA. We just walked the two blocks to the bar, walked right in and up front to the stage. We took both our sons and a couple friends, and we jammed the night away. From "Frankenstein" to "Free Ride", this man rocked our socks right off. He was the first to strap on a keyboard, and even played a couple songs with his brother Johnny at freaking Woodstock.
So, after I pooped out my Acai berry, I slept like a baby last night, with visions of a white-haired virtuoso dancing in my head. Of course, the thunderous sound of the Harleys is always in the background -- and my hips still feel the swing of the blues.
AHhhhhhhhhhhh, summer is so good for the soul. It purges old memories and washes the senses with sunshine and rainbows. What fire? What school? What responsibilities?
Think I'll bottle this feeling up and store it away for winter like a squirrell. My cheeks are full of nuts right now and I like it.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Lawyers, Guns and Money
Sing it like Warren Zevon....
Lawyers: I need a high powered lawyer experienced in the First Amendment if I'm gonna take on THE MAN.
Guns: Last night, Perry, my brother-in-law, decided to shoot a bird in the back of the head for no good reason. Earlier that day, my mother sent me an email with a bunch of scare tactics about gun control. Good thing the average citizen can have a gun to shoot innocent wildlife.
Money: We are officially out of money from the insurance company. I have successfully spent every last dime from the comfort of my own home. Click the button and the UPS man miraculously shows up within a few days.
So that's the update, except for the part I am really getting excited about: the part where I get my own author's paradise office above the garage...I already have it decorated in my mind with celestial themed knick-knacks and bean bag chairs and sheets hanging from the ceiling. THIS will be where I create my future. I love public education, but I think my days are numbered simply because I am too "out there."
At least I don't murder innocent things for sport. I got THAT going for me.
Lawyers: I need a high powered lawyer experienced in the First Amendment if I'm gonna take on THE MAN.
Guns: Last night, Perry, my brother-in-law, decided to shoot a bird in the back of the head for no good reason. Earlier that day, my mother sent me an email with a bunch of scare tactics about gun control. Good thing the average citizen can have a gun to shoot innocent wildlife.
Money: We are officially out of money from the insurance company. I have successfully spent every last dime from the comfort of my own home. Click the button and the UPS man miraculously shows up within a few days.
So that's the update, except for the part I am really getting excited about: the part where I get my own author's paradise office above the garage...I already have it decorated in my mind with celestial themed knick-knacks and bean bag chairs and sheets hanging from the ceiling. THIS will be where I create my future. I love public education, but I think my days are numbered simply because I am too "out there."
At least I don't murder innocent things for sport. I got THAT going for me.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Poop Diet
First things first. I need an author's mug shot for my book, so we are going to get our family portrait taken in two weeks and I'll have him shoot a creative photo of me also. So, I need to lose weight fast, so I have one chin instead of two for the pictures.
Enter the Acai berry craze. Everyone from Oprah to me is hopping on the poop diet bandwagon to lose those unwanted pounds. Combine the Acai berry pills with a colon cleanse pill, and you got double the pleasure.
So we started it two days ago, and I report a slight increase in energy and a radical increase in poop and farts. NOBODY talks about this, although a colon cleanse implies poop. They say we are carrying around an extra 10 to 15 pounds in waste around our colons from past meals. So I say bring on the expensive pills...
Probably should have run this by my shrink; there is probably some negative reaction between the Acai berry and anti-depressants. Oh well, I enjoy a good up period in the bi-polar scale and haven't really had one since I started teaching in 05-06. Isn't that what summers are for?
Enter the Acai berry craze. Everyone from Oprah to me is hopping on the poop diet bandwagon to lose those unwanted pounds. Combine the Acai berry pills with a colon cleanse pill, and you got double the pleasure.
So we started it two days ago, and I report a slight increase in energy and a radical increase in poop and farts. NOBODY talks about this, although a colon cleanse implies poop. They say we are carrying around an extra 10 to 15 pounds in waste around our colons from past meals. So I say bring on the expensive pills...
Probably should have run this by my shrink; there is probably some negative reaction between the Acai berry and anti-depressants. Oh well, I enjoy a good up period in the bi-polar scale and haven't really had one since I started teaching in 05-06. Isn't that what summers are for?
Monday, July 13, 2009
Inspiration and Motivation
I have decided that I have a few goals. I thought my goal was to become Dr. Ruth all along, in the back of my mind. But I have now let it come forth, and my hubby supports it. I am going to get fired fer sure for publishing the first Thresholds, so after I lose in court, because I will get a lawyer, I will enroll in the grad school of my dreams. I will become Dr. Bleu, Sexologist, and spread the love.
These goals are easy when it is summer and you are a teacher. Seriously. It's fun to lose track of the days, as my Principal orders us to do, and it's fun to have time to reflect. We don't have time to simply reflect on past decisions and to dream of the future.
I have been inspired. Now will I have the motivation to follow through?
These goals are easy when it is summer and you are a teacher. Seriously. It's fun to lose track of the days, as my Principal orders us to do, and it's fun to have time to reflect. We don't have time to simply reflect on past decisions and to dream of the future.
I have been inspired. Now will I have the motivation to follow through?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Book is to Bed...
...as we say in the journalism field when the final pages of the yearbook get submitted. Kiwi submitted the final batch at 2:20 today, and then we cranked up "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang really loudly and danced around the empty classroom.
I've never had this feeling before: the feeling of closure. In the past 3 years, I've never gotten done on time. EVER. As the faithful reader will remember, I got done in October my first year, in September my second, and in November my third. So, Hallelujah, Amen...I have a full 5 1/2 weeks to look forward to being slovenly.
Slovenly. Dictionary definition is:
OH YEAH. I think I'll shower every third or fourth day, and spend all day social networking until I drop. Plus, I'm working on the finishing touches of Thresholds: and Other Ruminations for the publisher. I have to figure out how to include images, since all my original 300 dpi photos got burned up in the fire. I have them at 72 dpi, but if I crank them up to 300, they turn into little tiny 1 inch photos.
I need to PAUSE, and stop and realize how much I've learned. Enjoy this moment for awhile, and not look to the future and start obsessing about next year already. Take my anti-depressant cocktail and float through the rest of the summer.
Why? Because I am a sloven, and I am a public school teacher. Other teachers have summer jobs and summer goals, but since we are in our lovely house and we are done done done with the 2009 yearbook, I think I'll just chill.
Thank you, Kiwi, for 4 wonderful years. . . you've been there baby, every step of the way. You have a bright future ahead, and I'm pleased to have known you on your journey.
I've never had this feeling before: the feeling of closure. In the past 3 years, I've never gotten done on time. EVER. As the faithful reader will remember, I got done in October my first year, in September my second, and in November my third. So, Hallelujah, Amen...I have a full 5 1/2 weeks to look forward to being slovenly.
Slovenly. Dictionary definition is:
- Main Entry:
- slov·en·ly
- Pronunciation:
- \ˈslə-vən-lē also ˈslä-\
- Function:
- adjective
- Date:
- circa 1568
1 a: untidy especially in personal appearance b: lazily slipshod <slovenly in thought>2: characteristic of a sloven <slovenly habits>
— slo·ven·li·ness noun
— slovenly adverb
OH YEAH. I think I'll shower every third or fourth day, and spend all day social networking until I drop. Plus, I'm working on the finishing touches of Thresholds: and Other Ruminations for the publisher. I have to figure out how to include images, since all my original 300 dpi photos got burned up in the fire. I have them at 72 dpi, but if I crank them up to 300, they turn into little tiny 1 inch photos.
I need to PAUSE, and stop and realize how much I've learned. Enjoy this moment for awhile, and not look to the future and start obsessing about next year already. Take my anti-depressant cocktail and float through the rest of the summer.
Why? Because I am a sloven, and I am a public school teacher. Other teachers have summer jobs and summer goals, but since we are in our lovely house and we are done done done with the 2009 yearbook, I think I'll just chill.
Thank you, Kiwi, for 4 wonderful years. . . you've been there baby, every step of the way. You have a bright future ahead, and I'm pleased to have known you on your journey.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Grrrrrrlfriends
Met with some high school girlfriends last night, and had a luffly time at an old watering hole in the big city. This isn't a big deal for most people, but you see, I am allergic to women. I've always had one or two close girlfriends, and then a slew of male friends. I'm not comfortable with women topics much, like Oprah's Book Club, or which make-up covers up blemishes best, or what shoes to wear with white pants.
I'm much more comfortable saddling up to the TV and watching a good old-fashioned American football game. I know my first down from my P.A.T...and I know when the other team is cheating.
But back to last evening. We sat out on the patio on a cool evening and chatted from 5:30 to 9:00 p.m. We discussed our lives; each giving a report on what's been up since 1986, when we all graduated from college and lost touch. I had a fun tale to tell: got married at 25, had a kid at 28, got divorced at 31, got depressed, got drugs, had a variety of jobs, and ended with being happily married to a wonderful man for ten years.
They wanted to know all about the fire, so I waxed philosophical of the life lessons I think I've learned in the past 5 months. To sum:
1. Shit doesn't matter much, but shit matters greatly.
2. Life is more important than stuff.
3. It's humbling to be on the receiving end of charity.
4. BACK UP your pictures and music and anything that you value, and put it in a safety deposit box.
5. Dissociation is a very comfortable place to be.
So, my grrrlfriends all had life lessons and interesting stories and we had many giggles. Val has the best belly laugh, Terri has the best smile, and Jayne is still the Homecoming Queen in my book. I'd rather have a fire than to go through chemo and radiation due to breast cancer, like Terri, fer sure. I'd rather have a fire than join the Peace Corps (twice) and fight the bugs and sexism in Papua New Guinea like Val.
Time to turn on the TV and catch a Cubbies baseball game.
I'm much more comfortable saddling up to the TV and watching a good old-fashioned American football game. I know my first down from my P.A.T...and I know when the other team is cheating.
But back to last evening. We sat out on the patio on a cool evening and chatted from 5:30 to 9:00 p.m. We discussed our lives; each giving a report on what's been up since 1986, when we all graduated from college and lost touch. I had a fun tale to tell: got married at 25, had a kid at 28, got divorced at 31, got depressed, got drugs, had a variety of jobs, and ended with being happily married to a wonderful man for ten years.
They wanted to know all about the fire, so I waxed philosophical of the life lessons I think I've learned in the past 5 months. To sum:
1. Shit doesn't matter much, but shit matters greatly.
2. Life is more important than stuff.
3. It's humbling to be on the receiving end of charity.
4. BACK UP your pictures and music and anything that you value, and put it in a safety deposit box.
5. Dissociation is a very comfortable place to be.
So, my grrrlfriends all had life lessons and interesting stories and we had many giggles. Val has the best belly laugh, Terri has the best smile, and Jayne is still the Homecoming Queen in my book. I'd rather have a fire than to go through chemo and radiation due to breast cancer, like Terri, fer sure. I'd rather have a fire than join the Peace Corps (twice) and fight the bugs and sexism in Papua New Guinea like Val.
Time to turn on the TV and catch a Cubbies baseball game.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Back in DA HOOD...
It's good to be back to the old neighborhood, albeit weird to be in a different house on our same lot. At first the house felt like a hotel: all new stuff and none of it familiar. But now, it is truly feeling like home, and my agoraphobia is coming back. I don't wanna leave my house, you gotta take me kicking and screaming away from it now that I finally have it.
I've observed some wonderful small town characters from my front porch since I've been here, also. There are colorful folks in this town: from Judy, the town drunk who drives around on her John Deere Gator, to The Walking Man, who had a breakdown on Wall Street, or so the rumour goes. He walks around town all day every day. He used to never wave much, but now he follows local custom and waves at us. Maybe it's cuz we are now famous because of our fire.
I can't forget Crazy Alberta, the woman who terrorizes the kids from her car -- and who drives like a bat out of hell around town -- she drives past our house at least 5 times a day, if not more. I see her during every other cigarette.
And finally, there's the Man with No Sleeves: the stocky biker dood who rents the crappy house across the street and moves his 3 trucks around his yard to follow the shade...well, one truck doesn't move as it has a nice bed of weeds growing underneath the rusted frame.
Damn it's good to be back. Maybe soon, we can add one eccentric, PUBLISHED author to the local character list. We almost have the money saved to get my innermost thoughts published, and see if the world gives a shit.
I've observed some wonderful small town characters from my front porch since I've been here, also. There are colorful folks in this town: from Judy, the town drunk who drives around on her John Deere Gator, to The Walking Man, who had a breakdown on Wall Street, or so the rumour goes. He walks around town all day every day. He used to never wave much, but now he follows local custom and waves at us. Maybe it's cuz we are now famous because of our fire.
I can't forget Crazy Alberta, the woman who terrorizes the kids from her car -- and who drives like a bat out of hell around town -- she drives past our house at least 5 times a day, if not more. I see her during every other cigarette.
And finally, there's the Man with No Sleeves: the stocky biker dood who rents the crappy house across the street and moves his 3 trucks around his yard to follow the shade...well, one truck doesn't move as it has a nice bed of weeds growing underneath the rusted frame.
Damn it's good to be back. Maybe soon, we can add one eccentric, PUBLISHED author to the local character list. We almost have the money saved to get my innermost thoughts published, and see if the world gives a shit.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
When Life Hands you Lemons…
…make lemonade, is how the cliché goes. Well, I say spit on the lemons. I’m exhausted from the clichés: time heals all wounds, God never gives you more than you can handle, and the best yet is maybe this happened for a reason. What reason would there be to have all my worldly shit and four cats burn up?
I’ve heard all of these things over the past 4 ½ months. Balderdash, is what I say. (That’s a fancy term for bullshit, in case one wonders.) Time will never help me get over all of the pictures, yearbooks, and other momentos that define my past that I lost in that raging fire. God gave me WAY more than I can handle, but my psychiatrist gave me the drugs to deal with it. And the only reason I can see for the fire is that we got a bitchin’ new house … so God wants me to be materialistic? I think not.
See, this is where I’ve been stuck for awhile I guess. I am trying like hell to enjoy this brand new sterile house. I truly love it; it has everything I’ve ever wanted in a house; a big kitchen island, an exotic master bathroom, and a big huge basement to store all of our slowly accumulating shit in. We have plenty of love to make the house a home, and we have collected a menagerie of pets (two cats and one bunny) to share our space with.
But what we lack is history. We have no proof of our existence before January 29, 2009. I have a few things that were at school, like my high school wrestling cheerleading pillow, letter, and show choir album to help me remember my youth. But EVERYTHING else is gone, and I’ve yet to cry about it. I see my shrink at the end of this month, on the fifth-month anniversary of the fire. He will say that externally I am well: sleeping right, eating right, and concentrating on life’s tasks. But will he notice that a part of me died in that fire?
Has anybody noticed that my heart seems hardened to this tragedy? Will anybody care that we are all still hurting, in spite of the beautiful new house and its furnishings?
Pass me the rum, think I’ll make me some rum punch with that lemonade.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tattoos and Stretch Marks
Some may call it a mid-life crisis, but I call it divine inspiration. I want to get a tattoo at the ripe old age of 45. I've never been opposed to tattoos, but I'm afraid of the pain and I've never found the image that I want to permanently etch on my body.
But recent events have made me change my mind. First, I had a brilliant idea. I'm going to ask my real father to draw me up a tattoo -- just as soon as i choose a concept. He's an artist, and I think THAT would be the coolest thing ever. Second, I found a tattoo artist who does very good work. Third, I'm at a place in my life where having a tattoo hidden on my body wouldn't prevent me from being employed. As a matter of fact, in these times, a tattoo would make me even hipper and cooler to the kids.
Only problem is I'm afraid of the droopy, saggy skin that happens with age. I don't want some gross-looking thing on my body in 20 years -- if I'm so lucky to live that long. So, if I place said tatt on my ankle, maybe it will not stretch. Maybe I could brand myself with an image that is meaningful and beautiful and unique.
Now, I think I'll call Rachmo and discuss the pain factor. She's my former student, my twin separated by 20 years, who has a majority of her body covered in tattoos and piercings. I mean, is it little bee stings or is it oh-my-god-that-hurts? This could be the deal breaker, as I'm a colossal wimp; albeit a wimp with a dream.
But recent events have made me change my mind. First, I had a brilliant idea. I'm going to ask my real father to draw me up a tattoo -- just as soon as i choose a concept. He's an artist, and I think THAT would be the coolest thing ever. Second, I found a tattoo artist who does very good work. Third, I'm at a place in my life where having a tattoo hidden on my body wouldn't prevent me from being employed. As a matter of fact, in these times, a tattoo would make me even hipper and cooler to the kids.
Only problem is I'm afraid of the droopy, saggy skin that happens with age. I don't want some gross-looking thing on my body in 20 years -- if I'm so lucky to live that long. So, if I place said tatt on my ankle, maybe it will not stretch. Maybe I could brand myself with an image that is meaningful and beautiful and unique.
Now, I think I'll call Rachmo and discuss the pain factor. She's my former student, my twin separated by 20 years, who has a majority of her body covered in tattoos and piercings. I mean, is it little bee stings or is it oh-my-god-that-hurts? This could be the deal breaker, as I'm a colossal wimp; albeit a wimp with a dream.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Whatever it takes...
Allan Monroe is a stoner who doesn't smoke pot (at least not before class that I could tell). He looks and acts the part: hemp jewelry and spacey attitude. When I did final grades last night for photojournalism (the EASIEST class on the planet), his was a 43.76% F.
Our school district studied an educational book entitled "Whatever It Takes" a few years ago. It was a good read, and some conversations ensued that helped us form a culture of learning. Unfortunately, the phrase has been bastardized to mean that teachers are expected to work much harder than students to ensure students pass.
To make a long, predictable story more bearable: Allan came in after his final to try to get a passing grade. We worked for two hours, and once his grade became a D, he decided to try to get it up to a C so his car wouldn't be taken away by his parents. This kid is NOT dumb, I thought, as I entered his 70.14% C into the computer.
Whatever it fucking takes.
Our school district studied an educational book entitled "Whatever It Takes" a few years ago. It was a good read, and some conversations ensued that helped us form a culture of learning. Unfortunately, the phrase has been bastardized to mean that teachers are expected to work much harder than students to ensure students pass.
To make a long, predictable story more bearable: Allan came in after his final to try to get a passing grade. We worked for two hours, and once his grade became a D, he decided to try to get it up to a C so his car wouldn't be taken away by his parents. This kid is NOT dumb, I thought, as I entered his 70.14% C into the computer.
Whatever it fucking takes.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Plumbers on Crack
Memorial Day weekend would have been a grand time to officially move into our new house. I say "would have been" because the damn plumber did NOT finish the job as agreed. He told us he'd be done Friday, but instead, only came to measure for the job on Friday and will finish up on Tuesday.
How fucking inconsiderate and lazy. I am so mad...so close and yet so farrrrrrrrrrr.
Well, the distributive property of mathematics applies here (or is it associative?). Plumbers HAVE a crack. I have a foot that would fit in the plumber's crack. Plumbers, therefore, who blow off jobs for 5 weeks DESERVE my foot up their ass.
Ok. Better now.
How fucking inconsiderate and lazy. I am so mad...so close and yet so farrrrrrrrrrr.
Well, the distributive property of mathematics applies here (or is it associative?). Plumbers HAVE a crack. I have a foot that would fit in the plumber's crack. Plumbers, therefore, who blow off jobs for 5 weeks DESERVE my foot up their ass.
Ok. Better now.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
I am needed
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
While i was waiting for furniture delivery #3, I had Mr. TV News Producer, a former student, go to the high school to "supervise" the kids at newspaper deadline night. We work from after school to 10 PM on these nights, but I really wanted to be there to supervise the furniture deal. (It's a good thing I was there too, one of the whiny delivery doods complained about the mud and almost got my foot up his ass.)
Anyhoo, I maintained cell phone communication with Mr. TV, and I thought all was going well, so I took my time getting back to school. They ordered pizza, and when I returned, things seemed normal enough. Except when the kids got back to work, I realized VERY little work had actually been accomplished in the 2 previous hours.
As the tale of what happened during my absence unfolded, it involved missing Senior editors, soccer games, and students doing tumbling down the hallways. It's hard for a newspaper to get done when you have 3 students actually working. Mr. TV looked like he had been through an old-fashioned washing machine -- and said he had developed a headache from being back in the high school. Welcome to my fucking world!
So, I summonsed up some energy from deep down, and started ordering people to work. The paper got nearly completed by 10 p.m., and I put out approximately 37 fires in the five hours I was there. Kids have so much drama: Lucy, the graphics editor, was annoyed with editor-in-chief's (Laurel) older boyfriend hanging out and making snide comments; Lela, the news editor who happens to have cerebral palsy, was bummed about her parents' impending divorce; and Jason, the sports editor, had to bug out for awhile cuz he was overstimulated and had anxiety.
But, I realized I am needed. It's not enough to have a well-trained staff of high school journalists. I am the catalyst that makes things happen, and I am the hammer that has to drop eventually. According to state law, (Senate File 224) the adviser of a student publication shall "advise" and ensure students adhere to high journalistic standards. The student editors shall assign and edit the news. What the law fails to mention is that the adviser also deals with teenage angst and hormones.
So, to conclude, thanks to Mr. TV News Producer for attempting to supervise and for helping me move furniture into the house, and thanks to my students for keeping me vibrant and alive and youngerish. It's nice to be needed.
While i was waiting for furniture delivery #3, I had Mr. TV News Producer, a former student, go to the high school to "supervise" the kids at newspaper deadline night. We work from after school to 10 PM on these nights, but I really wanted to be there to supervise the furniture deal. (It's a good thing I was there too, one of the whiny delivery doods complained about the mud and almost got my foot up his ass.)
Anyhoo, I maintained cell phone communication with Mr. TV, and I thought all was going well, so I took my time getting back to school. They ordered pizza, and when I returned, things seemed normal enough. Except when the kids got back to work, I realized VERY little work had actually been accomplished in the 2 previous hours.
As the tale of what happened during my absence unfolded, it involved missing Senior editors, soccer games, and students doing tumbling down the hallways. It's hard for a newspaper to get done when you have 3 students actually working. Mr. TV looked like he had been through an old-fashioned washing machine -- and said he had developed a headache from being back in the high school. Welcome to my fucking world!
So, I summonsed up some energy from deep down, and started ordering people to work. The paper got nearly completed by 10 p.m., and I put out approximately 37 fires in the five hours I was there. Kids have so much drama: Lucy, the graphics editor, was annoyed with editor-in-chief's (Laurel) older boyfriend hanging out and making snide comments; Lela, the news editor who happens to have cerebral palsy, was bummed about her parents' impending divorce; and Jason, the sports editor, had to bug out for awhile cuz he was overstimulated and had anxiety.
But, I realized I am needed. It's not enough to have a well-trained staff of high school journalists. I am the catalyst that makes things happen, and I am the hammer that has to drop eventually. According to state law, (Senate File 224) the adviser of a student publication shall "advise" and ensure students adhere to high journalistic standards. The student editors shall assign and edit the news. What the law fails to mention is that the adviser also deals with teenage angst and hormones.
So, to conclude, thanks to Mr. TV News Producer for attempting to supervise and for helping me move furniture into the house, and thanks to my students for keeping me vibrant and alive and youngerish. It's nice to be needed.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The End before the Beginning
Our house is 95% done, and we own it. We got the keys on Thursday night and gave DA MAN da check. Today we had our $11,500 worth of furniture delivered in 3 shifts. It worked out smoothly and the house looks beeeeeeutiful. The kitchen is pictured here.
Only problem is that there was a miscommunication between my hubby and the plumber. I wonder if this plumber shows his butt crack. He IS a butt crack in my book, because he failed to show up the last two days and as a result we have no water. Therefore we can't move in.
And there is nothing but mud around our house, so you gotta put on your mud boots just to access it. I swear, those are the only two complaints I have; I am not going to start whining about a brand new unexpected house. Aye, there's the rub.
I didn't expect to be living in a brand new house 4 months ago. I was content in our old home. And by old, I mean 1920's Victorian. But I LOOOOOVE the new house. I've explained this paradox before, but it is still here. Except there's a new twist.
Now that the new stuff is here, and I am accumulating stuff again, I am kinda happy the old house burned down. It's OK that I had to sacrifice everything to start all over. Hmmmmm. Is this a turning point? It's like the end of one chapter, the beginning of the next. Or, it's like the title insinuates, the end before the beginning...the beginning of the rest of our lives.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Twitter and Plurk
Remember product placement? Well, here's a blogspot commercial for twitter and plurk: introducing facebook/myspace statuses on STEROIDS!
I like to think I'm better than the average bear at coming up with interesting plurks/tweets/statuses. Most people put "going to bed now" or "is going to take a dump now" (not really, cuz THAT would be interesting) but I have much more creative entries. You see, if I update my plurk, it automatically updates my twitter and facebook, so I like to look at it as multi-tasking.
Here is a listing of my most recent tweets:
I like to think I'm better than the average bear at coming up with interesting plurks/tweets/statuses. Most people put "going to bed now" or "is going to take a dump now" (not really, cuz THAT would be interesting) but I have much more creative entries. You see, if I update my plurk, it automatically updates my twitter and facebook, so I like to look at it as multi-tasking.
Here is a listing of my most recent tweets:
- wonders if AJ is better today... http://plurk.com/p/sq18f
- shares http://tinyurl.com/6nhbdt (Photos That Changed The World) http://plurk.com/p/spzhd
- happily greets the weekend...in spite of her slower than hell home-builder. http://plurk.com/p/sn1vc
- dances the Friday dance. If only she were in her own home, life would be purrrrrfect. http://plurk.com/p/sjv17
- shares Susan Boyle's I dreamed a dream song, can't get it out of my head: http://tinyurl.com/c49rgl http://plurk.com/p/sfi16
- hates very little: green peppers and judgmental people is about it. http://plurk.com/p/scbz7
- is on a date wif hubby...to a new family restaurant, famously called "Family Restaurant." http://plurk.com/p/s8ecw
- feels too amorous to be going to work today... (devil) http://plurk.com/p/s52ny
- wonders who...who wrote the book of love? http://plurk.com/p/rxdzs
- wonders why being a woman is so damn grueling sometimes. http://plurk.com/p/rt8ae
- asks the goddesses of construction to be watching over our home this week. GET DONE YOU BIG OAFS. http://plurk.com/p/rq8o7
- lacks motivation: needs a swift kick in the rear today. http://plurk.com/p/rj3jh
- wants things, stuff, and possessions. After healing from the fire, I am now feeling materialistic. http://plurk.com/p/rdos6
- contemplates scatological functions (like snot) and giggles... (LOL) http://plurk.com/p/r6wnt
- wants her new house, wants a smooth shift, and wants world peace. Is that too much to ask? http://plurk.com/p/r078s
- forgot that the fire happened 3 months ago today. What an anniversary. http://plurk.com/p/qw9ja
- is humpa humpa hump day! http://plurk.com/p/qt9k2
- feels happy for all the gay couples in Iowa about to take the plunge...hope the Phelps wackos stay away. http://plurk.com/p/qm5gq
- survived. http://plurk.com/p/qi601
- wishes she weren't allergic to Monday mornings. (sick) http://plurk.com/p/qf90p
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Food From the Fire: Allister's blog
We were well taken care of food-wise right after the fire. The day after, we went to school to meet the Red Cross volunteer (who gave us the most pathetic ziploc baggie of stuff and a nice quilt) and we were bombarded with food donations.
The English department had gone to the grocery store and loaded us up with frozen foods and snack items; Burnie, the hilarious department chair who had just had a heart attack (nobody wants to be in our department now) gave us a big chicken casserole, and the special education department notified us that they would be feeding us three meals over two weeks.
We had taco salad (which was great, but they made too much and it didn't keep well), chicken casserole (which disappeared in Mom-in-law's deep freeze) and pigs-n-blankets from the special ed kids, and desserts: all served in dishes we got to keep. Jenny, my former student who is now a colleague, baked us chicken/rice casserole and lasagna with South Des Moines' own Graziano Brothers' sausage. It was to die for.
I guess food is a great gift when somebody loses everything in a fire. Food and clothes. Food, clothes and cash. All of which we got in abundance.
And we gained a little weight at first, which we are now losing as we get more stressed about not having our house to ourselves yet. This blog has been brought to you by Allister, the bi-sexual, angry, half-breed who is my poet friend.
The English department had gone to the grocery store and loaded us up with frozen foods and snack items; Burnie, the hilarious department chair who had just had a heart attack (nobody wants to be in our department now) gave us a big chicken casserole, and the special education department notified us that they would be feeding us three meals over two weeks.
We had taco salad (which was great, but they made too much and it didn't keep well), chicken casserole (which disappeared in Mom-in-law's deep freeze) and pigs-n-blankets from the special ed kids, and desserts: all served in dishes we got to keep. Jenny, my former student who is now a colleague, baked us chicken/rice casserole and lasagna with South Des Moines' own Graziano Brothers' sausage. It was to die for.
I guess food is a great gift when somebody loses everything in a fire. Food and clothes. Food, clothes and cash. All of which we got in abundance.
And we gained a little weight at first, which we are now losing as we get more stressed about not having our house to ourselves yet. This blog has been brought to you by Allister, the bi-sexual, angry, half-breed who is my poet friend.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Life is Beautiful
At the risk of sounding manic, I'm going to state that today, I feel that life is beautiful.
Why? Simple. Omar's son woke up on his own out of a 4-month coma two days ago. This is the Omar I wrote about at Christmas time, who's son developed meningitis and got so sick they had to put him into a sleep-induced coma. For four long months, I've been diverting Omar's attention from his son through facebook -- me and an army of others who care about him deeply.
We've been playing MHA, chatting in IRC and IM, having CC's in Skype with the gang, and generally having an acronym of a good time! I adopted him as my little brother somewhere along the way, and we have even had a spat like siblings do -- it's very sweet, except the part where we drifted apart for a week or so.
But then his son freaking WOKE UP and said, "Where's daddy?" The hospital sent him home that day, and he's recouperating at grannies for a little while, where he can get spoiled rotten with attention. I even chatted with him on Skype yesterday -- there he was sitting on Omar's lap, sounding as precious as can be and looking like a normal, healthy 4 year old. He calls me "Auntie Lisa" and calls himself "Bob". LOL. Omar has taught him how to say Bob with an American accent.
AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh. Elvis gospel is playing softly today, as the boys (Son #2 and Cousin) are still asleep in the next room. I am lazy, have nothing much to do, and have a whole day to do it in. Life is beautiful. 'Nuff said.
Why? Simple. Omar's son woke up on his own out of a 4-month coma two days ago. This is the Omar I wrote about at Christmas time, who's son developed meningitis and got so sick they had to put him into a sleep-induced coma. For four long months, I've been diverting Omar's attention from his son through facebook -- me and an army of others who care about him deeply.
We've been playing MHA, chatting in IRC and IM, having CC's in Skype with the gang, and generally having an acronym of a good time! I adopted him as my little brother somewhere along the way, and we have even had a spat like siblings do -- it's very sweet, except the part where we drifted apart for a week or so.
But then his son freaking WOKE UP and said, "Where's daddy?" The hospital sent him home that day, and he's recouperating at grannies for a little while, where he can get spoiled rotten with attention. I even chatted with him on Skype yesterday -- there he was sitting on Omar's lap, sounding as precious as can be and looking like a normal, healthy 4 year old. He calls me "Auntie Lisa" and calls himself "Bob". LOL. Omar has taught him how to say Bob with an American accent.
AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh. Elvis gospel is playing softly today, as the boys (Son #2 and Cousin) are still asleep in the next room. I am lazy, have nothing much to do, and have a whole day to do it in. Life is beautiful. 'Nuff said.
Friday, May 1, 2009
No House Yet
Sorry for rambling on about the house; but it's important to my overall psyche....I have bad vibes because the builder is taking his damn sweet time putting the house together. According to the loose-lipped salesman, they laid off their "normal" crew because business was so slow, and they don't want to rehire them because they'll have to pay unemployment. As a result, they have a skeleton crew working on our house -- and they have turned a "3-day job" into a two-week job.
*heavy sigh*
It's tough being homeless, albeit temporarily. We have a roof over our heads, but it is not home: it is filled with other people's junk. I want junk of my own. I HAVE junk of my own, sitting at the furniture store, waiting for the go-ahead to deliver. When will that be? Only the goddesses know.
In the meantime, life rolls by. Teaching is going well, even the 4th block class from hell is cooperating and they really got into their black & white 35 mm film assignment. We develop the film in the darkroom today, which is always fun. Seriously, nothing like being with 8 adolescents in a pitch-black room for 15 minutes or so to make you appreciate your sanity. :)
Sanity? Did I just say that? Ms. Wacko on anti-depressants just professed to be sane? Ha ha ha ha ha ha. I must be in a good mood, aside from the morning pukes and reticence to get to work.
No house, but in a holding pattern. To refer back to my previous scatological reference, I think we're over the pain and are simply waiting for the poop to flow.
*heavy sigh*
It's tough being homeless, albeit temporarily. We have a roof over our heads, but it is not home: it is filled with other people's junk. I want junk of my own. I HAVE junk of my own, sitting at the furniture store, waiting for the go-ahead to deliver. When will that be? Only the goddesses know.
In the meantime, life rolls by. Teaching is going well, even the 4th block class from hell is cooperating and they really got into their black & white 35 mm film assignment. We develop the film in the darkroom today, which is always fun. Seriously, nothing like being with 8 adolescents in a pitch-black room for 15 minutes or so to make you appreciate your sanity. :)
Sanity? Did I just say that? Ms. Wacko on anti-depressants just professed to be sane? Ha ha ha ha ha ha. I must be in a good mood, aside from the morning pukes and reticence to get to work.
No house, but in a holding pattern. To refer back to my previous scatological reference, I think we're over the pain and are simply waiting for the poop to flow.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Son #1: MIA
I barely know my eldest son these days, and it's a damn shame. It's another caffeine-induced late night for me, and I'm really bummed. I have to stalk Son #1 on the internet or text him if I need to talk to him. If I want to talk to him, I'm screwed.
He is a talented young man, as previously established. So talented he participated in a talent show without telling me the date in advance. His father, my ex, says he has to look at the school calendar on the website to know what's going on. What bullshit. I should get an invitation to things like that, via phone call a week or so in advance. I knew he was practicing for it, I just didn't know when the whole thing went down.
Enough self pity. Well, almost enough.
He has girl troubles, and I never know about it until after the fact. I suppose that's normal, but I like to think we are close, and I like to think he should need his mother more for things like that. He told me when his first wet dream was, for chrissake, so why can't he talk to me about his lack of girlfriends or his emerging gay feelings, if any of those are issues? See, I don't even know what the issues are.
He's only a sophomore, but he is nearing 17 and hasn't had a steady girlfriend since middle school. I think he just has bad luck, but the rumour is that he appears to be too self confident, which is bullshit, if he's MY son. We are full of bravado, but lacking in confidence fer sure.
So, anyways, he's missing in action most of the time, and I just have to bend over and take it. Oh well. On to the next drama. I expect it now.
He is a talented young man, as previously established. So talented he participated in a talent show without telling me the date in advance. His father, my ex, says he has to look at the school calendar on the website to know what's going on. What bullshit. I should get an invitation to things like that, via phone call a week or so in advance. I knew he was practicing for it, I just didn't know when the whole thing went down.
Enough self pity. Well, almost enough.
He has girl troubles, and I never know about it until after the fact. I suppose that's normal, but I like to think we are close, and I like to think he should need his mother more for things like that. He told me when his first wet dream was, for chrissake, so why can't he talk to me about his lack of girlfriends or his emerging gay feelings, if any of those are issues? See, I don't even know what the issues are.
He's only a sophomore, but he is nearing 17 and hasn't had a steady girlfriend since middle school. I think he just has bad luck, but the rumour is that he appears to be too self confident, which is bullshit, if he's MY son. We are full of bravado, but lacking in confidence fer sure.
So, anyways, he's missing in action most of the time, and I just have to bend over and take it. Oh well. On to the next drama. I expect it now.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday Mornings
My week would be great if I could just skip Monday mornings. I always wake up pukey and tired, no matter how much I sleep. Case in point: yesterday, I took a 4 hour nap in the afternoon, woke up for a bit, then slept for a full 8 hours. And yes, this morning, I did the old dry heave routine, plus a little snot. I have slowed down this behavior, for sure, but it still happens on Monday mornings.
I'm just allergic to work. I'm fine once I get there, but the getting there is tough when you have to stop and heave every ten minutes. My brain races with all the stuff I have to do this week, and I wonder what I'm going to wear. The clothes thing is a side-effect of the fire, I'm sure, as I have to piece together an outfit from the throngs of donated clothing every day. I've just been too lazy to buy new stuff, especially when I got lots of nice stuff from other people.
I wonder how many people worldwide are like me -- do other people leap out of bed with a smile on their faces, ready to greet the day? I'd like to meet you, and learn your secrets. Cuz in the meantime, I maintain that Monday mornings are dreadful.
Time to shower: which is a whole other story.
I'm just allergic to work. I'm fine once I get there, but the getting there is tough when you have to stop and heave every ten minutes. My brain races with all the stuff I have to do this week, and I wonder what I'm going to wear. The clothes thing is a side-effect of the fire, I'm sure, as I have to piece together an outfit from the throngs of donated clothing every day. I've just been too lazy to buy new stuff, especially when I got lots of nice stuff from other people.
I wonder how many people worldwide are like me -- do other people leap out of bed with a smile on their faces, ready to greet the day? I'd like to meet you, and learn your secrets. Cuz in the meantime, I maintain that Monday mornings are dreadful.
Time to shower: which is a whole other story.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Still Waiting
Da man is taking too long to put the house together. They said it would be "3 or 4 days" from the time it was plopped on the foundation. I could go on and on about each contractor, and how everything has a "glitch" but that might bore the casual reader. Just take my word -- it's been a cluster fuck.
I keep having to push back the delivery of the furniture, and now I have to take a day without pay in order to be there. Things are looking hopeless right now, and I'm discouraged. I know I'll be in my new house soon, but it's so close I can taste it. It's been almost 3 months exactly since the fire, and I know that is really not too bad -- to lose your house and get another in 3 months.
But I have this brain problem. This overactive hunk of flesh that makes me obsess about things. I've been wondering lately if I've been misdiagnosed. I think i have traces of obsessive/compulsive disorder in addition to the mildly bipolar swings. I want things to happen quickly, and I have such a hard time waiting -- it's like the feeling right before you take a good dump and it kinda hurts. Once the poop comes out, it's all worth it, but in that split second where there's pain -- that's where I'm stuck.
I keep having to push back the delivery of the furniture, and now I have to take a day without pay in order to be there. Things are looking hopeless right now, and I'm discouraged. I know I'll be in my new house soon, but it's so close I can taste it. It's been almost 3 months exactly since the fire, and I know that is really not too bad -- to lose your house and get another in 3 months.
But I have this brain problem. This overactive hunk of flesh that makes me obsess about things. I've been wondering lately if I've been misdiagnosed. I think i have traces of obsessive/compulsive disorder in addition to the mildly bipolar swings. I want things to happen quickly, and I have such a hard time waiting -- it's like the feeling right before you take a good dump and it kinda hurts. Once the poop comes out, it's all worth it, but in that split second where there's pain -- that's where I'm stuck.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
New House Phoon #1
This is the first official Phoon at the new house, taken just before the two halves were brought together. It's symbolic in many ways:1. I have got my groove back, my Phoon groove that is. First one since the fire.
2. The house is almost set on the foundation. The man hasn't given us the keys yet, and won't give us more than, "a few days" as our timeframe. Try scheduling furniture delivery drivers and days off with THAT.
3. Insert your own symbolism here.
I'm tired. But all is well in Phoonland. Phuckin' A.
I Remember Now
I'm up late, but it's all good. Once a month we have deadline nights for newspaper, where we work from after school to around 10 PM. It's alternatively a blast and a nightmare. Sometimes teenage hormones over ride the ability to concentrate on journalism. Sometimes we turn the music up loud and dance. Sometimes we cry together over censorship and boyfriends.
Tonight was, as a friend of ours says, a "smooth shift." I took several breaks throughout the night because things were going so swell. Nobody was AWOL, nobody had drama, and nobody really needed me. Since we're now living a few blocks from the school in our rental property, this was no big deal. It's one thing that I actually like about living in the big city, as opposed to our little berg 20 minutes up the road.
So, when things go well, I remember why I chose education. I remember why I decided to take a pay cut to hang out with pubescent teens all day. I know the feeling of a well-oiled classroom machine -- one where students are trained well and socialize well and learn whilst having fun.
Ah, yes, I remember now.
Tonight was, as a friend of ours says, a "smooth shift." I took several breaks throughout the night because things were going so swell. Nobody was AWOL, nobody had drama, and nobody really needed me. Since we're now living a few blocks from the school in our rental property, this was no big deal. It's one thing that I actually like about living in the big city, as opposed to our little berg 20 minutes up the road.
So, when things go well, I remember why I chose education. I remember why I decided to take a pay cut to hang out with pubescent teens all day. I know the feeling of a well-oiled classroom machine -- one where students are trained well and socialize well and learn whilst having fun.
Ah, yes, I remember now.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Sandee Dunk
My bestest friend in the world is Sandee Dunk. We have known each other since my freshman year of college in 1981, where we bonded one drunken night at a fraternity house. She is responsible for creating the monster that I still am: introduced me to lots of vices and fetishes.
All of which, I am eternally grateful for.
Like smoking cigarettes, drinking beer, eating delivery pizza late at night, and making love unconditionally. These were the values of my youth. And Sandee Dunk helped form them on the beaches of Florida and the dorms of State City.
Now, as adults, we have reconnected. We had seen each other every other year or so until about 10 years ago. We had a kinda bad visit back then: she's now allergic to cigarette smoke and was very judgmental about our smoking, so she spent a lot of time simply trying to breathe. She has a body type that produces a lot of phlegm, so she is sensitive to it. But we were smokers, and smokers have to smoke.
This time, Sandee and her son stayed at a hotel in town, so no smoke! We actually had quit for years too, in the time we didn't visit, but we started again last summer when we were under all the stress of the law and the man. (See "Thresholds: and other ruminations.")
We had a luffly visit this past Easter weekend. She came up to play our "personal shopper" because we didn't want to go shopping. She made us go out, and in two hours we spent $10,000 on brand-spanking new furniture at two local marts. We will have a matching house with matching furniture -- what a fucking concept. Never in my life have all my things coordinated with such Martha Stewart-like aplomb.
Wheeeeeeee. So, Sandee helped us usher in a new era. An era of hope and Spring...an era where we look forward rather than backward, where we don't cry about things we lost -- instead we jump for joy about things we are gaining.
All of which, I am eternally grateful for.
Like smoking cigarettes, drinking beer, eating delivery pizza late at night, and making love unconditionally. These were the values of my youth. And Sandee Dunk helped form them on the beaches of Florida and the dorms of State City.
Now, as adults, we have reconnected. We had seen each other every other year or so until about 10 years ago. We had a kinda bad visit back then: she's now allergic to cigarette smoke and was very judgmental about our smoking, so she spent a lot of time simply trying to breathe. She has a body type that produces a lot of phlegm, so she is sensitive to it. But we were smokers, and smokers have to smoke.
This time, Sandee and her son stayed at a hotel in town, so no smoke! We actually had quit for years too, in the time we didn't visit, but we started again last summer when we were under all the stress of the law and the man. (See "Thresholds: and other ruminations.")
We had a luffly visit this past Easter weekend. She came up to play our "personal shopper" because we didn't want to go shopping. She made us go out, and in two hours we spent $10,000 on brand-spanking new furniture at two local marts. We will have a matching house with matching furniture -- what a fucking concept. Never in my life have all my things coordinated with such Martha Stewart-like aplomb.
Wheeeeeeee. So, Sandee helped us usher in a new era. An era of hope and Spring...an era where we look forward rather than backward, where we don't cry about things we lost -- instead we jump for joy about things we are gaining.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Seeds
Hubby is talking putting in grass seed in our new house. It's nice to be thinking about that on this fine, Sunday morning. As usual, we started off the morning with Elvis gospel, and have now moved on to dreaming a bit.
(time warp)
That was last Sunday. Found this started in the drafts -- wonder where I was going with it?
But this Sunday, we are still listening to Elvis gospel, and are still dreaming. The house should be delivered middle of the week, and finished by weeks' end. This is soon, but not damn soon enough! I'm anxious and excited and all these mixed emotions.
See, we bought $10,000 worth of brand-spanking new furniture for the house on Friday. Now I can picture the beautiful stuff in the awesome house, and I can't freakin' wait for it to all come together. We have virtually no "STUFF" for this house, aside from the furniture to be delivered. We've been waiting to make most purchases until the house arrives, mainly because hubby is afraid to spend the insurance money, or any money, ever, period.
But it's gonna be like this grandly furnished stately ranch home -- when before we had this fixer-upper with hardly any usable living space. Now we'll have nearly 3,500 square feet to ramble around in between the house and the basement. And I repeat, we have no STUFF. So it's gonna be neat and clean and so damn cool.
We never expected to be doing this, though, is where the mixed feelings come in. We miss our stuff, and we miss our old hellish house. But soon the new stuff will feel like ours, and we will survive.
The seeds are planted, is where I guess I was going with this.
(time warp)
That was last Sunday. Found this started in the drafts -- wonder where I was going with it?
But this Sunday, we are still listening to Elvis gospel, and are still dreaming. The house should be delivered middle of the week, and finished by weeks' end. This is soon, but not damn soon enough! I'm anxious and excited and all these mixed emotions.
See, we bought $10,000 worth of brand-spanking new furniture for the house on Friday. Now I can picture the beautiful stuff in the awesome house, and I can't freakin' wait for it to all come together. We have virtually no "STUFF" for this house, aside from the furniture to be delivered. We've been waiting to make most purchases until the house arrives, mainly because hubby is afraid to spend the insurance money, or any money, ever, period.
But it's gonna be like this grandly furnished stately ranch home -- when before we had this fixer-upper with hardly any usable living space. Now we'll have nearly 3,500 square feet to ramble around in between the house and the basement. And I repeat, we have no STUFF. So it's gonna be neat and clean and so damn cool.
We never expected to be doing this, though, is where the mixed feelings come in. We miss our stuff, and we miss our old hellish house. But soon the new stuff will feel like ours, and we will survive.
The seeds are planted, is where I guess I was going with this.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
IRL
That's geek speak for "in real life."
I live a wonderful, full life IRL. My house may have burned to the ground, but I'm still happy inside.
'Nuff said for a mildly bi-polar SAD manic-depressive person in the middle of winter.
I live a wonderful, full life IRL. My house may have burned to the ground, but I'm still happy inside.
'Nuff said for a mildly bi-polar SAD manic-depressive person in the middle of winter.
Leader Nao...
So, what does this all mean? It means that I'm in the second most bad-ass group on MHA, and they picked me to be a leader this morning! It means my peers approve of me! Wheeeeeee. It's always nice to be recognized for leadership qualities. Now if I could only get off my ass and make money being a leader...now THERE's a thought!
Maybe tomorrow?
Maybe tomorrow?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Chateau Elan
That's the name of our new home. And our castle it will be -- over 1700 square feet of brand new modular house. Sometime within the next two weeks, our castle will be driven down the highway and parked on the new basement dug up on the old lot. All traces of the old house are gone, and with them, most of our sadness over all the things we lost. We are now moving forward with plans for the future, and it feels damn good.
But it will be weird, because for 7 years we have been fixing up the old, 1920's victorian-style abode, and we had many many more plans for the future. Now we suddenly own a brand new home, that is virtually maintenance free. What will we do with our new-found time?
HAHAHAHAHA. Perhaps sleep more, cook more, make love more, and of course, play with the boys more.
So, when all is said and done, we may be better off. We don't have much to move, and we will have a nice amount of equity in the new home. I have successfully de-cluttered my life.
Gotta look at the positives when Mr. Fire eats all your worldly possessions.
But it will be weird, because for 7 years we have been fixing up the old, 1920's victorian-style abode, and we had many many more plans for the future. Now we suddenly own a brand new home, that is virtually maintenance free. What will we do with our new-found time?
HAHAHAHAHA. Perhaps sleep more, cook more, make love more, and of course, play with the boys more.
So, when all is said and done, we may be better off. We don't have much to move, and we will have a nice amount of equity in the new home. I have successfully de-cluttered my life.
Gotta look at the positives when Mr. Fire eats all your worldly possessions.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Term 4 = Wild Things
Throughout the fire saga, my Term 3 students were awesome. They were supportive and empathic and attentive....almost compliant little creatures who thirsted for my knowledge.
Then the term ended and my Term 4 classes entered.
On the first day of class, I had to pause many times to get their attention. I do not speak while students are speaking, and I usually don't have troubles with that. But these kids are chatty. I also have quite a few special education students in class, and that's no big deal, but when you have 20 kids and 6 are needy it tips the scale against the teacher a bit.
Plus, I do an activity where I assess the students' personality styles on the second day of class and 3/4 of the classes are extroverts this term. I love my extroverts -- hell I'M an extrovert, but wow, these kids have ENERGY! It takes all my years of experience to keep myself calm, and try to focus the kids on the lesson at hand. I just flail my arms and speak animatedly and PAUSE when I don't have their attention. Then, if that doesn't work, I take the offenders into the hallway for a little folksy chat -- always giving them a choice of settling down or removing themselves from class. I don't kick kids out, they kick themselves out, as my hubby always says.
So, I will end the school year by working my ass off, it appears. What happened to my little sponges who hung on my every word? Oh well, this too shall pass...and I love them all anyway, so I'm sure it'll be fine.
Oh one other side-note: I went to the local middle school today to visit their student council, who held a can deposit drive for us. The little shits raised over $1,200 for our family -- and as I told them the story of the fire and accepted the donation, I almost cried for the first time.
Almost....I'm sure the floodgates will open eventually, but for now, I'm just concentrating on moving forward. And moving forward we are.
Then the term ended and my Term 4 classes entered.
On the first day of class, I had to pause many times to get their attention. I do not speak while students are speaking, and I usually don't have troubles with that. But these kids are chatty. I also have quite a few special education students in class, and that's no big deal, but when you have 20 kids and 6 are needy it tips the scale against the teacher a bit.
Plus, I do an activity where I assess the students' personality styles on the second day of class and 3/4 of the classes are extroverts this term. I love my extroverts -- hell I'M an extrovert, but wow, these kids have ENERGY! It takes all my years of experience to keep myself calm, and try to focus the kids on the lesson at hand. I just flail my arms and speak animatedly and PAUSE when I don't have their attention. Then, if that doesn't work, I take the offenders into the hallway for a little folksy chat -- always giving them a choice of settling down or removing themselves from class. I don't kick kids out, they kick themselves out, as my hubby always says.
So, I will end the school year by working my ass off, it appears. What happened to my little sponges who hung on my every word? Oh well, this too shall pass...and I love them all anyway, so I'm sure it'll be fine.
Oh one other side-note: I went to the local middle school today to visit their student council, who held a can deposit drive for us. The little shits raised over $1,200 for our family -- and as I told them the story of the fire and accepted the donation, I almost cried for the first time.
Almost....I'm sure the floodgates will open eventually, but for now, I'm just concentrating on moving forward. And moving forward we are.
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