Institute reflection guide

I found my post-Institute reflection from this summer, and reading it again at the end of the year may have helped me to re-focus. I was terrified of starting Teach for America in Chicago and later teaching in Jacksonville, but this is how I felt after I had made it through five weeks of "teacher boot camp". I'd like to share it here for anyone who wants to read it.

I came into Institute practically terrified of…just about everything.  Even before being accepted into the corps I had started to hear horror stories of Institute and tireless work, no sleep, and demon children our for blood.  I heard that we would cry everyday, and while some said that that was expected and it was OK, others simply quoted “a sad teacher is a bad teacher.”  Thank you for preying on my worst fears, I would think.  It’s not like my nightmare is being the most ineffective, sad teacher in Chicago and later Jacksonville…  No, I am of course supremely confident in my inexperience and lack of teacher skills. Please continue telling me how hard I am about to fall on my face.  I was worried, maybe understandably.   But then something wonderful happened:  Institute started. 

I was so consumed with figuring out all the intricacies of living at IIT, navigating the L, making sure I didn't miss my bus (whoops, guess I did a bad job of that one), and trying not to miss all my sessions, that I was surviving Institute, even succeeding in it, simply because I was forced to look at everyday minute by minute, session by session, day by day. 

I have had some horrible days here.  Days where I bomb my lesson by teaching to the wrong objective or executing bad classroom management or missing my bus or getting my schedule switched at the last second or finally “breaking the seal” and crying at school (and then later into my macaroni and cheese at dinner).  Oh, did I mention all of those things happened on the same day? Yep.

Institute tried to break me – but because I had tensed myself for battle, I was ready for it.  And despite my penchant for crying when I get frustrated or overwhelmed, I spent all but two days here dry-eyed.   I took every day as a new challenge.  Each new lesson plan was another chance at inspiring my kids and teaching them something they had been told they “just can’t learn.” I hope that this mindset carries over into my region, because as of right now, it is saving my life. 

It has. It did. 

dozers

The last time I wrote, I was a baby teacher nearing the middle of her training in Chicago.   Now I am a baby teacher looking back on her first month of teaching in a real live public school to real live children.
At least I think most of them are alive...they're pretty good at sleeping with their heads propped up, so for all I know, they could be dead.  But then again, they do leave like quick little bunnies when the bell rings, so there goes that theory.

Alright, so my students aren't all sleeping though my classes.  There are a few who have gotten away with sleeping if they prop their head on a binder- OH WAIT. No they didn't. Newsflash: teachers can SEE YOU. You're not fooling anyone just because you're not drooling on your desk.
Although, I do have one student who kinda roosts himself into his chest like a mama owl and falls asleep sitting up perfectly straight, most of the time with a pencil in his hand, poised on the paper. It's amazing.  Once he fell asleep during a quiz, and I debated just letting him snooze his way to a zero...but then I felt bad, so I rapped on his desk, and he carried on writing as if nothing had happened.

...So I just thought I would share my thoughts so far, maybe a few anecdotes, so that those of you who read this every once in a while will know what I've been up to.

I made it through my first whole month of teaching! The days go by faster now (they always go by much much faster than they did when I was a student) and that is partially because the feeling that I am drowning is dissipating day by day. Yay!  It's also because the school day is not very long at all: due to budget cuts, my teaching day goes from

7:30 AM (high schoolers love that) to 1:45 PM.

 Yup.  My kids get out of school everyday before 2:00. So when they fall asleep in my 7th period class, I can say to them "just wait 20 more minutes! then you can take a 4 hour nap and still wake up in time for dinner!"  It also makes their "I didn't have time to do my homework"-excuse really weak.

soundbites:

it's the bangs. it's always the bangs.

• (male) Student:  "Ms D, I figured out who you look like. You look like Carly Rae."  Me: "Who? I don't think I know who that is."  Student:  "You know, (sings) before you came into my life I missed you so bad! I missed you so so bad/ So call me maybe! you know?"  Me: "Yes, but I am oh-so-glad you just sang that out loud."

• (female) Student: "Ms. D, can I make up the work I missed this week? I was in jail."  
• I don't even know what it was for, and I didn't ask.  All I said was "Sure. We did 3.7-3.9 in your workbook. Bring it to me tomorrow"

More to come soon!

today on the internet...

I just came back from practice for my graduation from the College.  Cray-zay.   And now that I have the time (which I should be using to do laundry, pack my stuff, and...I don't know...learn French) I am going to regale you with commentary on ridiculous things I found on the internet today.  

I checked the weather this morning (hoping it would rain again so I didn't have to sit on the stage in the blazing sun) and noticed that Weather.com has made some updates.  Again!  I feel like they do a redesign every other week.  Those people are on the ball.   Anyway. Today I noticed a new feature:

That's right. It says "Alert me when it rains."  A useful feature for...cave dwellers? People without windows? Maybe, but chances are that if you aren't already outside or can't see outside, you won't be going outside soon. And if you did, you would probably be able to tell when you got there. I'd hope.

 It doesn't say "alert me when there is a hurricane" or "alert me when there is a deadly waterspout hell-bent on making it inland and headed straight for my house" or "alert me when ash falls out of the sky after a Super Volcano-type situation cuz then I will probably need more than a poncho." It says "alert me when it rains." I am curious to know how many people use this application and why.  But that's for another day.  

OH! Weather.com also lets you know about weather-related "trending" topics from Twitter users in the area.   And surprise! Today's trending topics are "rain," "raining," and "sunny."  Fascinating.  Potentially useful/interesting if the topics are "blood rain" "locusts" or "aliens??"  But for now... it's a bit redundant.

Another thing that caught my attention (potentially more stimulating than weather.com updates) was this article about the new cover for Time Magazine. It's about the mother breastfeeding her almost-four-year-old son. Here's the picture:

Oh my! Controversy! That child is wearing army pants!

 

OK, setting aside anything implied by the actual Time article or the headline ("Are you mom enough?" really? Time Magazine, why you always gotta be startin' sumthin?), the article about the article was pretty inflammatory and stupid.  The url for the Gawker article is "http://gawker.com/5909256/mom-puts-boob-in-giant-preschool-sons-mouth-on-cover-of-time?tag=moms." GIANT preschool son's mouth? I don't know all of his parentage, but I doubt he is even half-Giant. Does he look like a child of Hagrid? No.

The final questions are designed to get commenters into a frenzy.  The first two are valid:

• How does this cover make you feel? 
• Will it haunt [the child's] future? 

but of course, even these questions elicit the most heinous internet responses:

"Wish I was that Kid so I can have my mouth on those sweet jugs : )"    classy.

"Not being breast feed had NOT ONE negative effect on me and I'm closer to my parents than some of my peers. My first cousin breastfeeds her children until they're almost two years old and they're allergic to almost everything under sun!"  to which someone responded: "maybe if you had been breast fed you would understand the concept of sample sizes"    hahaha touche.

 And then people just started getting sarcastic..."Breastfed toddlers are also Giant Pussy Crybaby Whiners. See Science publication Vol456. The correct feeding method is Mountain Dew in a bottle with Kool ashes flicked on the head."

And this gem:

 "First of all he is four and his brother is five, and they both breastfeed. That is way beyond the point of normalcy, whether you agree with that or not ("normal" is relative, but that is a fair point, this is not average behavior). And I only took 4 classes in psych in college (please, please don't brag about this. By starting your sentence this way I have already stopped listening to you) but I am quite sure (you are the expert opinion here) that the kid will develop a different bond with people than most. It is likely that he will be much more needy for companionship (not true - several studies show similar levels of attachment to peers as well as fewer problems weaning off of transition objects like teddy bears and security blankets) since for 4 more years he had to attach himself to his mother for nutrition (what? pretty sure he ate other food - otherwise he would not be the "Giant" you claim he is) while all other kids were learning to eat by themselves. I'm not saying it's a certainty, but it is a likelihood that could prove a major problem later on in life."

I am not going to take a side on this.  I am not going to use anecdotal evidence and say "I know people who breastfed past the age of four and they turned out pretty OK fine" because that is the kind of reasoning these commenters use and it is completely ineffective.  What I will say is this: people on the internet are stupid. I do realize the irony of writing all this on the internet, yes.  But just remember that opinions are opinions and facts are facts. And please don't pretend to be an expert and then admit to not being one in the same sentence.

 

Also, just FYI, I have never before seen the word "tits" used this many times in a comment section about a Time Magazine article. ever.

I have been pretty stressed out lately, and noticing a few indicators of anxiety neuroses.

anxiety:  "an unpleasant emotional state for which the cause is either not readily identified or perceived to be uncontrollable or unavoidable"   

yay.

I started to ask questions: When did these start? Why am I so sensitive? Why do I feel like I am stressed or anxious all. the. time? 
How come some people can calm down and not me? (apparently, only 18% of Americans. SO 82% of Americans are anxiety free most of the time! no fair!)
and
Why do I only ever use the left-hand "Shift" key?

That last one has been bugging me for a while now, actually.

Anyway, I started looking back on my life and noticing flare-ups of stress, but a general anxiety blanket over most of my thoughts starting around high school.  So naturally I thought it must have started around there. Something about the universally traumatic experience of post-pubertal development within a public high school plus braces plus orchestra minus cool equals inevitable generalized anxiety problems. 

BUT, as I pointed out earlier, not everyone has these chronic problems. Clearly.

And then, remembered for a completely different reason, a fully formed memory floated into my head:..... (bubbly dream sequence harp playing)...

I was walking behind my church, leaving after some post-Mass event or other, and I was worriedly asking my mother what I would have to know to make my First Communion.  I remember that it was warm and sunny outside, with fluffed pine straw in the landscaping to the right of me and the carpool lane on my left. I remember seeing everything from my much smaller 7-year-old height and the hum of the generator behind the old gymnasium. 
And I remember someone telling me "...you're going to be quizzed on all the priest's homilies. I hope you were paying attention..." 
and all of this, the carpool lane, the generator, the pine straw swirling around me as anxiety scooped me into it's dizzying arms.
 ...I haven't been paying attention, I worried, I'm not going to get it. I'll never get it. I'll be old and wrinkly and no one will give me the Eucharist...

Something in his voice (and the laughter that followed the statement) told me he was kidding, but I couldn't undo the worry. And I didn't - not until I finally did make my First Communion a few agonizing months later (during which I spent every Sunday willing my attention to the priest at his pulpit and begging my brain to remember it). 

And so the pattern goes.

1. Evil thoughts.
2. Needless worry
3. Needless worry
4. must calm down.  CALM DOWN.
5. Oh no!! [insert worry here] is about to happen...
6. Oh, what? [insert worry here] already happened? And everything's fine? Oh. Phew.
7. repeat. ad nauseum.

 Moral of the story: Claire has been like this for a while.

I don't know if you can tell, but I'm about to graduate from college. 
 

don't forget to breathe

Life has been stressful lately. I'm going to live in this song for a while.

And all the suffering that you've witnessed
And the hand prints on the wall
They remind you how it's endless
How endlessly you fall


And the answer that you're seeking
For the question that you found
Drives you further to confusion
As you lose your sense of ground


So don't forget to breathe
Don't forget to breathe
Your whole life is here
No eleventh hour reprieve
So don't forget to breathe

Sorry if this bummed you out.

married to the Eiffel Tower

So I've just finished watching a documentary called Married to the Eiffel Tower.  It's about three women who are objectum sexuals.
"Objectum sexuality" or object sexuality is defined by Wikipedia as

"a pronounced emotional and often romantic desire towards developing significant relationships with particular inanimate objects. Those individuals with this expressed preference may feel strong feelings of attraction, love, and commitment to certain items or structures of their fixation."

One woman married the Eiffel Tower a few years before the production of this documentary.  She is also a world champion archer, and developed a particularly strong relationship with her bow, Lance.  She also has significant relationships with the Golden Gate Bridge, a samurai sword, various wooden gates and the Berlin Wall. Throughout the movie, we get to see several moments of this woman and her fellows caressing buildings, sharing a bed with miniature models, and visiting their significant others (some of which are in different continents).

Mrs. Eiffel Tower visited Berlin to see her lover:
To the Berlin Wall: "I tried to hate you. I tried. ...I curse myself for being human. I wish I were an object like you!"

This movie is just as interesting as I had hoped it would be and is filled with leagues of psycho-data to analyze and think about.  The only part that made me marginally upset was that these women (all objectum sexuals are women, according to the documentary) claimed to love these objects soooo deeply.  With more passion and depth than most human relationships.  But they also loved so many at the same time.
Does Mrs. Eiffel Tower have no respect for the sanctity of marriage? She spends a great deal of her married life fawning over the  Berlin Wall (who is married to another woman in Sweden, the scoundrel) and falling in love with every red fence she sees with just the right angles. 

The documentarian fails to reveal that objectum sexuals believe in polygamy until the last ten minutes of the film. 

Anyway, I learned something today! Someone else watch this so we can have a chat!

you can't trust anyone. not even your own memory.

All semester, I have been watching my freshman roommate sit in the front row of my Happiness class.  She sits between another girl I know and her on-again-off-again boyfriend.

Every once in a while, I would see her and remember freshman year: things like the time she made me get her laundry out of the dryer because she didn't want to have to put on a shirt and pause Gilmore Girls (the same episode she had watched three times that day). I would see her hair and remember what her shampoo smelled like and how she used to leave her wet towels on the floor.

And then today, as I was talking to my professor about next year, she waved, said goodbye and pushed her boyfriend (who is in a wheelchair- she doesn't just shove people around willy nilly) out the door. And as she left, I saw that her backpack said "Chelsea" and heard that her voice was not my ex-roommate's voice at all. This was not my roommate. I have never spoken to this girl, let alone slept in the same room with her. This was a stranger who looked, acted and DATED exactly like my freshman roommate.

Two things:

1. You can't trust anyone. Even if you think you used to share a bathroom. Because you probably didn't.
2. Doppelgangers freak me out.

I see you, CofC

I see you, girl in front of me at Einstein's.
Someone explain to me the sorority girl paradox that makes every girl in the Greek system look either perfectly put together (like right before the Mallard Ball!) or like a pile of laundry that has become self aware and put on make-up.

Einstein's girl has clearly just finished a run. She is wearing a t-shirt from the mixer last year and bright athletic shorts. This attire alone would not lead me to the conclusion that she had just exercised, because if you pair the shirt and shorts with Uggs, a Lilly Pulitzer tote and a Tervis tumbler full of something brown (usually Diet Coke or iced tea...or bourbon??), you get the cookie cutter sorority girl as she appears in class 5 days a week. What convinced me was the splash of dirt on the back of her calves that meant she probably ran by some puddles or through wet grass. Sometimes I like to be Sherlock Holmes.

So she had obviously been for a run, but she also had a full face of make-up on. And not the slightly smudged well-I-just-didn't-wash-it-off-from-last-night make-up. This was fresh stuff. So she had either a) put on make-up to go for a run (why??) or b) gone for a run, then put on make-up to come to Einstein's, but didn't take the time to shower. She also took off her running shoes and had sandals on instead. (This is more than can be said for her friends. Two of them had on Uggs and one girl did not have any shoes on at all. This ain't the beach, this is an eating establishment!)

After I noticed the make-up, I also noticed that she had at least three HUGE hickeys on her neck. This has nothing to do with the rest of the story. I tried to fit this into my story for her, but I just can't.

So, girl in front of me at Einstein's, you confound me. You embody all the contradictions and stereotypes of the modern sorority sister. Slouchy but not comfortable. Sloppy yet put together. Like there was intention behind your outfit, but it seemed to be "why put on real clothes just to go to class? I save those for the weekends and going out drinking on weekday nights."
I save comfy clothes for weekends and staying in on weekday nights. Maybe this is where my confusion comes from. We're too different. And yet, we both exist here, we both got into this college. We must serve as parts of a continuum. I just don't know exactly where I fit on that line. It must be somewhere between pearls and PBR.

OK. so about Valentine's day...

For some reason people were worried about me being lonely on Valentine's Day. Because I am currently unattached, this must mean that V-day means Single's Awareness Day (SAD) and upon the stroke of midnight incurs uncontrollable sobbing and self-deprecation.  Not so.

This Valentine's Day (or as Harrison put it "Clearance Chocolates Eve") was amazing! I enjoyed many of the same things couples do on this loveliest of love days:

1. Valentines- dinosaurs and chocolates and a hand-drawn one on my door that said "let's stick together" with a little happy-faced glue bottle
2. Expressions of love from loved ones- my parents sent me a package full of my fiddle music!
3. Serenades- I had a song written about me by the lovely Katelyn Carter and got to hear some new Brother stuff from Shane (:fan girl squee:)
4. Pink things!- clothes and shoes and cupcakes!
5. Treating myself for no reason other than it being the 14th of February- I enjoyed a very delicious and free coffee from Starbucks and a Chocolate Strawberry cupcake from Cupcake. 
6. Dinner with loved ones- even if it was at Liberty cafeteria...

The day was near perfect. However, I did get a rather annoying text message. This is how I read it (witnesses will assure you it was not much different):

Hey Claire! It's that guy you are friendly acquaintances with from church who hasn't talked to you since I started dating that girl that you don't talk to anymore! So anyway, I invited a real good friend of mine (read: lonely fellow-Navy-man) to my intimate Valentine's dinner with me and that girl who hasn't talked to you since freshman year. I was hoping you could drop whatever you're doing this evening to come out with us and make him feel like he isn't a third wheel (which he totally is). Let's face it, you are probably just watching sappy chick flicks and shopping for cats on the internet, because that's what single girls do, right? So come out with us tonight (it's 6:35, so that gives you enough time to put on deodorant at least) instead of sobbing into your ice cream! I'm totally paying for everything. See how nice I am? ;) K bye.  

Several problems with this:

1. no, I don't want to double date with a friendly acquaintance, a stranger, and a girl with a grudge against me.
2. it's 6:35. I already had dinner.
3. I could have romantic dinner plans of my own!
4. Just because I'm single doesn't mean I will take every desperate stranger you throw at me! Show me a picture first. And does he like Muse?
5. why did you invite that guy to your V-day dinner? To get him a date. And your girlfriend is in a sorority full of single girls, so I am pretty sure I was far down on a list of possibilities. It was 6:35. Now I am many-times insulted.

Luckily, I got this about an hour after he sent it, so I had a more legitimate excuse than "ummm...no." But seriously. Like I had nothing better to do!

notes on professors

I spend hours everyday taking notes from them. Lectures, power-points, the dreaded group activities. Now here are some notes on my professors:

Dear sir  Dear Dr. Sir,
your hair is ridiculous. I wonder how you wash it. Or rather, if you wash it.
Long, crumpled, and dark, it hangs in a ponytail almost to your waist. The size and shape of this "do" forces me to recall an unsightly clog pulled from a shower drain.
And your sweatshirt. Forest green, navy, or grey. The same shape and sad feel about it that suggests it has been worn hundreds if not thousands of times and never given the proper respect it deserves.

These things are excusable given your work as a researcher and your passion for the disgusting animals you work with: pigeons.  What gets my attention everyday is your interesting "air quotes." A typical human would use two fingers to gesticulate, either apart like peace signs or together like a Boy Scout's promise. But you, Dr. Sir elect for mitten hands, making a motion like you are waving to two small children standing next to each other. This intrigues me and disturbs me. Did you choose to do this sometime during your young experimental phase? Is it an attempt at non-conformity and rebellion? Or do you have some mildly disfiguring hand problem that restricts individual finger movement?

Carry on, Dr. Sir. Because your class is pretty boring and at least I have the quotes to look forward to.

Love, Student.

Dr. Lady, it is hard to take you seriously today.

Every other meeting with you leaves me unsettled and fearful. You always look so put-together and scornful. Your outfit makes me imagine a closet full of turtlenecks and earth tone jackets. A vanity with the perfect make up and polished-rock earrings. An alarm clock set to 5:30 to ensure enough time to wash and shape the perfect helmet of hair placed atop your glaringly critical head.

Today, I see a new side of you. And that side is knee-high black patent leather dominatrix boots. 

The dominatrix bit is only assumed.

As I try to concentrate on whatever it is you are saying, I am paralyzed by the squeaking sound of your boots rubbing together as you attempt to daintily cross your ankles. It's the sound of balloons rubbing together or that squelch from the jerk who squeaks his shoes on the linoleum when he comes in from the rain. The sound that hits me somewhere in the middle of my head by the back of my throat.

I will not be concentrating today.  Excuse me while I attempt to shove notebook paper in my ears and scrub the image of whips from my brain.

Love, Student.

hiberknitting

and update on my existence so far this break:

I have been knitting. And watching television.
The end.

Of course there have been some family tussles, some exam stress (not mine this time!) and I did see Harry Potter again. Of course I did. Because the Groupon tickets were expiring.  And because it's Harry Potter. I mean, come on.

We're still not sure where we will be for Christmas. Here or New Orleans, New Orleans or here... There is still work to be done at my grandmother's house, so we will be back. But it is the day before the day before Christmas Eve, and we are still flip-flopping.

So MERRY CHRISTMAS! Hope I see you.

RLS: the fruit of the sea

"Anyway, like I was sayin’, shrimp is the fruit of the sea. You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, sautee it. Dey’s uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich. That- that’s about it."   -Bubba

Some friends came to visit me this weekend! Because they love me. And well, because they love Charleston.

On the to-do list for Saturday:

1. Farmer's market in Marion Square (to get delicious tiny powdered-sugar donuts and to enjoy the state-fair atmosphere of jump houses and many babies and dogs) 
2. Aimlessly stroll around the city, inputting historical tidbits that I learned by walking next to the slow-moving carriage tours
3. Japanese horror movies! Hosted by the C of C Japanese Club. Which is different from the Anime Club. Different. They were very adamant.
4. Dinner at Hominy Grill

So. Hominy Grill. You may have heard of it. You've definitely heard of it if you live in Charleston. Or if you are a die hard foodie. Or if you watch or read Anthony Bourdain (if you don't you should).

From reading Anthony Bourdain, watching No Reservations, and living in Charleston, I have ascertained that Hominy Grill is delicious in many respects, but famous- maybe world renowned- for its shrimp and grits. The name "hominy" means grits. Heck, grits are on the sign! For years I have been meaning to eat at this restaurant, but never made the time to. A few weeks before they came, Stephen texted me with one request for the Charleston trip: Hominy Grill.

Saturday night- of course we go. It's a great place for brunch, but we were really hungry and ready for some famous food. Also, there was the slight possibility that it would be easier to get into around dinner time.

6:32 PM- I call ahead to ask the waitress about the wait time. The restaurant is several blocks away and in a direction I normally don't like to walk after dark. She says there are tables, but we should probably make a reservation. "OK, can we have a table for 7 o'clock? For four," I ask- CaraBeth is coming with us. "Our next opening is at 8," she says. Eight. I look around at Kala and Stephen and CaraBeth and mouth "eight?" But no one gives me a firm yes or no, so I freak out and say thanks and hang up the phone.

We decide to walk over and hope they can fit us in. We arrive around 7, which would have been perfect if they had had a table waiting. No such luck. We find the hostess and put our names down for eight.

In the intervening time, CaraBeth needs a drink because she hasn't been feeling well (since she ate a package of cookie dough the night before). We wander around, finding coffee houses that close the minute we walk to the door, a mysterious "Tent Association" building that is crumbling to pieces, and end up eating an appetizer at O'Malley's.

FINALLY, we get back to Hominy. It's starting to get cold at night, and we are tired of walking and shivering. The hostess leads us in the cozy, warm, homey kitchen-like restaurant...and then out the door onto the patio. Of course, it's an adorable patio with lanterns and twinkle lights, but still.

All I can think about is how good the shrimp and grits are going to feel: warm, hearty, delicious. I will have shared a meal, across the time/space continuum, with Anthony Bourdain.  

Our waiter comes out, gives us water, asks if we'd like anything else to drink. Stephen gets a decaf coffee. The rest of us mumble something like "water's good..." "mm fine..."

"Great!" he says, "I just wanna let you know about our specials tonight, they're on the wall behind you" (he points) "and I do have some bad news- we're out of shrimp tonight!"

My jaw. hits. the table.

No shrimp? No shrimp and grits? No SHRIMP? What would Bubba have to say about this? I have been building this meal up in my mind for weeks. And no shrimp. Thanks for taking our drink orders first.
"You're totally welcome to leave and come back tomorrow," he continues. "Honestly, I've worked here four years and this has never happened before." I'll bet. I'll bet you're lying.

I already don't like this guy.

I order some rice casserole that usually has some shrimp in it, and we negotiate the changes: instead of shrimp, how about chicken? Fantastic. I am still disappointed.

When he brings out our food, he hands everyone their dishes and as he makes his way to me says "Guess what, it's your lucky night, we found FOUR shrimp for your meal! You got the last ones!"  Oh, it's only every girl's dream to eat the last four shrimp! Especially with the knowledge that they were probably fished out of someone else's unfinished entree or scraped out from under the fridge. Goodie.*

All in all, the food was pretty good, Kala and Stephen's visit went great, and the Japanese movie we watched was expectedly and understandably grotesque and confusing. So, a good weekend for sure.


*This is not meant as a negative review of Hominy Grill, and I fully intend to go back and try again someday. But maybe next time I'll try for brunch.

always something

Right now, it is rainy outside. Something I have been wishing for all week, possibly all month. I get to sit inside and do homework (because it's a Sunday) and read and watch TV with the room all to myself. I might even stay in my pajamas until mass tonight.

Or so I thought. Until I remembered that as Motivation Girl at the Call Center, I am in charge of themed weeks. This is the first one of the semester: Fiesta Week, which means decorating with Mexican blankets and getting supplies for the quesadilla maker. Only I still don't have a key to the office, so I have to wait for the shift to start today to go in, which kinda makes me look like a slacker.

I thought today would be sooooo relaxing and productive; I'd be free of my general stresses and soothed by the rain.

But there's always something.

That sounds depressing and cynical. What I mean is: I need to remember that the things that stress me out will almost always be around, but I should also recall how dumb I feel when I spent so much energy worrying about something that didn't ever become a problem. Daily reminder: It's not worth it! 

PS- I really want a quesadilla maker for Christmas.

spoiler alert

Sometimes things just don't bother you until they bother you. However, I seem to find the thing that bugs me a lot faster than other people. Usually the first or second day of class.

In my sophomore Chemistry class, I unfortunately noticed my teacher's habit of finishing every sentence of notes with "mmmmkay" and when I complained about it to my friends, the same glass shattering noise could be heard as in the clip from HIMYM. Soon after they realized this, it began gnawing away at them, and they blamed me.

And now it's happened again. My Famish class is taught by an adjuct professor from somewhere up north. I know this because she says "about" weird. But it's more than that. In the past couple classes I have been racking my brains for who she reminded me of... Someone mildly famous that she shared her speech patterns with.

And then she said it: "Also too..."

and I knew.


this is going to be a long semester.

shenanigans

It's my last day in A-town. So I should be packing right now, but I can't bring myself to do it somehow. Don't worry, I will. Eventually.

The other day, I woke up like usual for work. My alarm went off, ruined my dream, and I fumbled around, sleep-drunk, for the off button. I coaxed my head off the pillow and stumbled through the mountains of "packing" in my room and headed towards the bathroom.

For those of you who know me well enough to have been upstairs in my house (or just those of you who may have creeped up there, or even those of you who I've already told this to) you know we keep our hamster in the bathroom. This sounds weird, I know. But it's best for everyone; if a hamster is gonna be smelly somewhere, it might as well be where it's already smelly. And with three boys using that room, trust me, it's rancid. OK, maybe it's not that bad. It does smell like showers sometimes, which is good. Especially if they use my mango and pomegranate soap and think I don't know about it. ANYWAY. The hamster is in the bathroom. Between the two sinks on the counter.

Also- about the hamster: Daniel bought her. He saved money and begged and begged for one. Mom said if he had enough to buy the hamster and its food, he could get it. We had had hamsters before; a little brown one named Pepper and a black and white we named Oreo for obvious reasons. Oreo was a bitch. Anyway. They both died of the same mysterious eye-popping-out disease at completely different times in our family history. They also both escaped a few times. Don't ask me how. I just know one ended up chewing up the carpet in my closet. It was the bitchy one. So when we tried to catch her she ran all around and gnawed at our hands with what I remember to be venomous eye teeth.

So my mom had one condition when Daniel left with my dad one evening to buy his hamster: "That thing better not have a tail. If it gets out, and it will, I am NOT picking up anything that has a nasty rat tail without whuppah-ing that thing. NO. TAILS." (a note to those outside the family: whuppah is the noise a whip makes. SO there you go.) Daniel, restless with excitement, agrees vehemently, crossing his heart and hoping to die and all that.

Well, a bit later they come home with a little cardboard carrier (which is dumb Petsmart, hamsters eat cardboard. Use your brain) and I'm sure you can guess what Daniel brought home:
In my mom's defense: it is a tail. But Daniel protested that is it a Chinese dwarf hamster, and the tail is really small.

Daniel named her Aphrodite. Eventually, Mom grew to like her.

So that morning, I noticed her food dish was empty and her water was almost gone. I filled them both, with a mental note to give Daniel a verbal lashing for shirking responsibilities, etc.

When I came home from work, my mom called from the living room "Guess what So-and-So said on Facebook: 'you should put the hamster in a plastic bag and keep it in the car' hahaha!" (for those of you who haven't heard The Dead Dog Story, remind me to tell you. The shorthand is this means the hamster is dead.) I paused, trying to understand. "What?!" "Oh. Aphrodite died."

SO. Never feeding a hamster again. But at least she kept her eyeballs. And her dignity. Unless Ethel (cat) dug her up in the back yard...

Magnum, Thomas Magnum

While on vacation, I was able to learn many new things about my family members. For instance, my grandmother, uncle and father all love Magnum P.I., a show I had never seen before the trip. But after watching several episodes, I think I understand where the love comes from.

Several factors:

• It's set in Hawaii! My dad has been to Hawaii a few hundred times with his family. Interestingly, these trips stopped when I was born, or I was neglected to be invited.
• Thomas Magnum has a ridiculously full mustache. Something a family of bears could comfortably live in.
• Short-shorts: they come in many textures and colors, but they're always the same size: tiny.
• Vietnam flashbacks- who doesn't love those?
• There is a grumpy British butler (Higgins). This is what made Batman and The Addams Family work too. OK, so Higgins isn't a butler, he's "curator of the estate," and Lurch isn't (wasn't?) British. But still. Basic principles.
• He drives a red Ferrari. Cool cars are essential for successful characters, such as the Batmobile, the delorean, K.I.T.T., the Gadgetmobile, the Millenium Falcon, the stair car (watch out for hop-ons), the Mystery Machine, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and that car Ferris Bueller steals from Cameron's dad (which is also a Ferrari).
• He's what my mom calls a "gland." It's hard to explain what that means because I don't exactly know. Basically he flirts with anything that moves. Which may include his 'Nam buddies; TC and Rick (whom I call Ken because his character is exactly like the Ken doll from Toy Story 3).

The show is endlessly entertaining in the way all 70s/80s cheesy private investigator comedies are. I suggest watching it so I have someone to discuss it with who was born after the invention of the VCR.

a typical night home

So I am left home with my brothers tonight while my parents are out at some country club function with relatives. They took the good car and abandoned me with Ryan. So let me tell you what that means:

Ryan is a thirteen year old boy. And for any of you who ever wondered "what is the worst age for a younger brother to be?" you would have your answer in the number 13.
He is helpful and considerate at his best, but usually spends his time farting, muttering sarcastic comments in a stage whisper, or trying to break my fingers.
Right now he is playing a video game. Which means I don't hear much from him except the occasional overly loud groans and the deep thud of his foot hitting the wall. In a while, either his eyes will be tired or he will get fed up with a level he can't beat and he will come looking for a fight. Or possibly to watch Buffy. I can never anticipate which way it's going to go.

Luckily, I also have to pick up Sean from work soon, so that at least adds another element to this hormonal puzzle that could either result in a pleasant evening bonding with my brothers over a movie, or stomping upstairs and doors slamming.

Let's see, shall we?

fallen leaves down a creek

So far, my summer vacation (this past week) has consisted mostly of hours upon hours of television, even more hours of sleep, and a few interludes with a friend or two. I can not believe I have been home for less than ten days. It feels like years. In a good way. Or maybe not...

I know that if this were all I had to look forward to, the remnants of my sanity would begin to drift away from me like fallen leaves down a creek. Or dandelion seeds in the wind. Or helium balloons into the abyss. I know because even now, after living through one thirteenth of my vacation, I can feel it starting.

The GOOD NEWS IS that I start my job tomorrow. Or today, rather. I take on the exciting position of splash park supervisor/ concessions stand cashier. Huzzah.

I know that after a week or so of that, I'm gonna start to lose it again. And that, my friends, is when I pick up my quilt!