Today, I am peevish about...

... relatively little, really.

It's midterm week here at my school, so I have students taking tests and generally behaving in the mornings, and then afternoons for grading with no students.  Granted, I have a metric shit-ton of papers to get through, so I can be righteously peevish about that.  It's still a pretty sweet schedule.

I also get to go out to lunch with some of my colleagues, which I usually enjoy.  The work-husband is usually in fine form over lunch, as is my new work-boyfriend (OMG, hello?  I've somehow picked up a work boyfriend - a 27-year old flirt who has relatively few social boundaries and a thing for "older women."  Does that mean I'm cheating on my work husband?  And wait - I'm now an "older woman?!"  Fuck me running!  Oh, the tangled web we weave...).  Plus, I have my favorite girlfriend teachers around if I get my stuff done, so it's all fun and games by Friday.

So, no peeves here today, really.  Hope your day is relatively peeve-free, too.

Endings

I've never been so happy to see a month end. This past November was one of the worst months of my life, and I've lived a few doozies, let me tell you.

I missed a very important deadline in the academic world, thus ending my streak of always having my grades in on time to date. I was officially called upon the carpet for it and have officially apologized to parents and students alike. Safe to say, I will never make that mistake again.

Also ending this month was any free time that I ever had - now with another person hanging around the house, an adolescent person who needs a ride to and from work, swim practice, and school, I've found I've less time to indulge in my afternoon winding-down rituals.

Scarily, almost ending this month was my marriage. For nearly 20 years now, my union with the WCM has been stable - boring at times, irritating as sand in your swimsuit at others, but always stable. It was rocked hard this month, and the sad part about that is that he doesn't even know it. Suffice it to say that I should have a fucking Oscar on my mantelpiece for the acting that I can do. Believe me when I tell you that he knows what the problem is. He just doesn't know the magnitude to which it affects me. I've told him. Repeatedly. He just. doesn't. get. it.

Lastly, a few of the illusions I've had about myself have ended. I've had the chance to look clearly at myself in the mirror and examine the parts of me (physical and not) that have been giving me agita for a while. I've accepted that I'll never wear a bikini, but that I can look damned sexy with the right lingerie. I've accepted that I'll probably never find what I'm looking for within my marriage, but I don't know what I want to do about that at this point. I've accepted that I could and should work a little harder at my job, but am not sure what I'm going to have to give up in order to do that.

So many endings without subsequent beginnings. No wonder November was bleak.

Friends and laughter

I have a long road ahead of me, teaching this new course. Already, I've had some bumps on that road, and will now have to redouble my efforts just to stay on target. I know that this uncertainty about my abilities has played a part in my depression this last month.

For my whole life, I've both judged myself and been judged on what I can do - my worth was always measured by my intelligence. Twisted as it sounds, it was one of the things that allowed me not to care about how I looked: as long as I was "worthy" inside my skin, it really didn't matter what the outside of me looked like. It reinforced my belief that putting emphasis on one's looks made one shallow. I've since achieved a slightly less skewed balance on that viewpoint. Because my self-perceived worth has been challenged this school year, I've dropped into this depression.

Today, I spent the afternoon surrounded by friends at a bridal shower. Tonight, I'll be helping another friend celebrate his upcoming 40th birthday. I'm thinking some friends and laughter will be just what the doctor ordered to drag my out of this.

Enough is as good as a feast

Recently, Mr. Peevish and I adopted a 16-year old.

Not formally, you know. Just, informally, as her mother is having trouble providing some of the basic requirements of parenthood - things like transportation to and from school every day, meals, and emotional support. Her mother, the lawyer, is doing interesting things like locking her child out of the house, not allowing her to eat anything unless she pays for it herself, and refusing to take her child to school every day. So, I've pretty much just adopted the kid.

I pick her up for school every morning and drop her off at one of her two part-time jobs after school. On days when she doesn't work, she comes to our house for dinner and to do her homework on my computer (and to raise her crops on Facebook's Farmtown, but hey, we all play there, right?).

She's a good kid. And I have enough of everything - food, support, time - that I can be generous with what I have. For that, I am thankful. I'm glad that I have the luxury of being able to give to those who need it. I hope that it makes a difference for her.

Hey, didja hear that?

Didja? Huh? Didja hear that?

Listen very closely, now, as you'll soon hear it again.

Wait for it...

Here it comes...

AAAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..........

Summer vacation is here.

Tomorrow is a day where I have NOTHING to do. Nothing planned, nothing required beyond a few phone calls in the morning. NOTHING.

I'm looking forward to it.

So, how've you all been?

Runaway

Whoops!

See the thing is, I got really busy recently. First, I took up this running thing (still not a fan, by the way), and then I got a social life with some visiting friends, and then I got sick (upper respiratory infection, ick!), then I found this trilogy of cowboy romances and just didn't even turn on the computer for, like 2 days, and do you know how many Facebook notifications you get if you don't log on for 2 days?

And don't even let me mention how busy May is for me in school terms - and the last two weeks are killer, what with Senior Final exams, being a single parent for a weekend while the WCM goes searching for the preserved remains of deceased crustaceans in upstate New York, then regular final exams, then packing everything up, then getting my grades in, then finally, about the second week of June, just being able to lean back and go "AAaaaahaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh" with a tall glass of iced tea and a cookie.

So, I'm ready to run away for a while and hope I don't wig out too badly before that blessed second week of June.

GTFO!!

You know, sometimes I really wonder why certain people became teachers. They whine, bitch, moan, complain, kvetch, and kvell so damned much about every little stinking thing - the students included - that you don't half think they'd have made far better use of their lives doing something like, oh, selling insurance or cleaning the streets or scooping poop in public dog parks.

See, there was this faculty meeting after school today. It was unusually long, as there've been a lot of issues raised recently regarding our governor's controversial wage cut for all state employees. People are understandably grumpy about it - after all, who in their right mind ever welcomes a ten percent reduction in salary? Yeah, that's right: nobody. However, there was one complete castrating bitch strident harridan today that just had to pipe up about the plight of the teacher. You know, how we don't receive paid holidays, take work home all the time, and are generally unappreciated.

Ok, so sure, she has a point. However, there are some perks - at least for me, personally - that make up for those things.

• One, I don't ever have to work on my birthday. It's during the summer. I have a whole summer free - sure, I don't get paid for it (although it seems like it, since I elect to spread my salary over the 12 months instead of taking it only during the 10 months of the year that I'm in the classroom), but then nobody can compel me to set foot into my classroom on that day.
• Two, I get to exercise my creativity on a daily basis. I'm not stuck in a cubicle, chained to a computer, slogging through reports and figures. I tried the cubicle-farm wage slave thing and didn't like it. The soul-deadening experience was not an experience I want to repeat.
• Three, I actually get paid to do something I love. During my very first teaching job, where I didn't have direct-deposit and had to pick up an actual paycheck every week, I routinely forgot about payday. The school secretary would chase me down to give me my money. It was, and still remains, somewhat of a bonus to me - I get paid to come to school every day.

All of this doesn't mean that I don't actually work, because I do. I work hard. It just means that I love what I do. This colleague of mine, well, let me just tell you that this is her second career. She started in industry and has come to teaching through the alternative route to certification. I think it's time for a reminder to smack her upside the head: if, once you've been teaching for a couple of years, you find yourself lamenting the downsides of the classroom and longing for the cubicle, just remember - you're not tied to the profession. If you don't love it, then do us ALL a giant favor and GET THE FUCK OUT ALREADY!!!! Quit your goddamn bitching, STFU, and get on with your life. Nobody wants to hear it, I promise you! You are obviously not cut out for teaching and should do something a little more personally financially rewarding for you.

Thus endeth my rant. Thank you for listening.

Hot and Delicious

Did you ever have a day when you got exactly what you wanted and needed at exactly the moment you both wanted and needed it?

I had that day today. It was a Professional Day, which meant no students in the school so teachers could get their grades in the computers. After a morning of hard graft grading papers, I stumbled down to the Work Husband's classroom nearly incoherent with hunger, and stood in front of him, wild-haired and dead-eyed, mumbling "Food. Me. You. Now."

Bless him, he chuckled at me and took me to lunch at the diner down the road. A quick glance at the menu inspired me to order the Cheesesteak Wrap. Now, if you're not from around Philly, you're not going to know the glory of a cheesesteak. This is a sandwich made from very thinly sliced beef that's been thrown on a grill and shredded by two metal spatulas until it resembles a pile of brown rags. This is then slathered in cheese and cushioned on a soft long Italian roll. I prefer mine with fried onions, American cheese, and thick lashings of ketchup. This was what I had today, but in a wrap, not a roll.

People, it was hot, juicy, meaty, thick, salty, greasy, and delicious. It was everything I needed in that exact moment, and completely satisfied me in a way that very few things have ever managed to do. Gawd. I'm shaking right now just remembering it. Mmmmmmmm...

So, fortified by both the food and the convivial conversation - the Work Husband is not the Work Husband merely for his looks alone, you see - I was able to very nearly finish my work today. All in all, it was a very nice way to come back to school.

There is no internet in Europe

I just got back from chaperoning a 10-day school trip to London and France. A colleague and I took 14 students with us and pretty much had a ball. Sorry I've been incommunicado, but, as the title says, there's no internet in Europe.

Well, there is internet in Europe, but none that I could easily access. So, instead, I saved it all up and wrote it down in an actual pen-and-paper type diary. Can you believe that?! How retro!

I'll give you the highs and lows here, briefly. First, the low:

We had to send a student home from the trip for misbehaving. Trust me when I tell you that his misbehavior was repeated, flagrant, and over the top. I feel bad for his parents.

Then, the highs:

Oh. My. GOD!!! LONDON!!! I went back to the Motherland! I saw all the sights - how touristy! - and even ate fish and chips. I rode the tube, peered through the gate at Buckingham Palace, and thrilled at hearing the bells chime at Westminster Abbey. From there, I took 11 of the kids on a bus trip to Windsor Castle while the other chaperone took the other 4 into London to Camden Market. Windsor was where Incident Number 1 took place with that student I talked about above.

And then we went to Canterbury - on Easter Sunday - where we visited Canterbury Cathedral and ate Hot Cross Buns. The bus then took us to the white cliffs of Dover, where we boarded the ferry bound for Calais.

Hopping off in Calais, we made our way to Rouen and snapped photos of the uber-Gothic cathedral there before partaking of a truly international dinner: Spaghetti Bolognese at a Chilean restaurant in France. That was a true WTF moment on the trip. That night, a group of students and I ventured out and walked around Rouen as it got dark - surprisingly, we had a pretty good time just goofing around, and wound up at Quick, which is like a French Burger King. My students were thrilled as anything to order their hamburgeurs et frites in French, and they were really cute! Then, Incident Number 2 took place.

The next day, we got on the bus again and made our way to Caen where we stopped at the Peace Memorial. That was a sobering event, but not nearly as heart-stopping as what followed: visiting the American cemetary and Omaha Beach. It's absolutely staggering to stand at the corner of the cemetary and see all the white grave markers stretching far beyond the reach of your vision. Somehow, all of the kids and I ended up on the beach at the same time. After dipping my fingers into the English Channel and taking 16 pictures of the group assembled in front of the water (one with every camera). We boarded the bus, yet again, for the tiniest town in France, where we were to stay for two nights. Let's just say that the hotel was lacking, the town was dead, and there were no communal meeting facilities for our students. This was NOT a good combination. It led to Incident Number 3, from which there was no coming back. It was decided that our Troublemaker would go home when we got to Paris, as we had to give his mother time to buy a ticket for him.

The next day, we visited Mont Saint Michel, which was awesome!! I got to be our tour leader, since our guide had some bad knees and couldn't climb the bazillion steps up to the top to buy the tickets to the Abbey there. It was amazing - the view is spectacular - and the architecture is just gorgeous! From there, we went to St. Malo, which is a really cute little town in Brittany. We had galettes and crepes, learned about the history of the town, and bought a bunch of souvenirs. Then, holy crap, we headed back to the hotel for the worst meal in the history of France. The kids, though, rose to the occasion, and we had the most hilarious conversation ever around the table. Afterwards, I wandered Plancoet (the town) with a bunch of students. During the evening before, we'd found a condom dispenser outside a pharmacy - which they'd found uproariously funny. It was decided that a packet was to be purchased with pooled euros, and that the condom fairy was going to pay a visit to some of our party that evening. The strawberry condom apparently made its rounds under the doors of our rooms that evening, until it was discreetly left in a bedside drawer.

Then, finally, we were headed to Paris, but not before we made a stop at Chartres to see the amazing cathedral there. Lunch there was also the best meal we'd had in France. One of my kids, H, ordered escargots and salade nicoise for lunch. She loved the escargots. I'm so proud! Another, A, ordered one of the specials of the day - rabbit leg and tagliatelle - and declared it to be the best thing he'd ever eaten. We arrived in Paris that evening and ate at a Moroccan restaurant. From there, I took our group on the metro to Notre Dame and then for a wander around the Latin Quarter. We encountered possibly the most polite Parisian waiter in the 2000+ year history of the city. Sixteen people ordered fancy coffee drinks, pastries, desserts, and crepes in a Parisian Brasserie, and this man was nothing but pleasant and congenial.

After arising the next day at four fucking a.m. to take Troublemaker to the airport, I had a bus tour followed by a walking tour of Paris. Pictures, pictures, pictures!!! All of the kids were exhausted by the time we were finished, and we decided that we'd just have ourselves a little dance party in the hotel cafeteria. A bunch of the kids came with me to the mall next to the hotel, where, after a little dress shopping (I got a dress and one of the other girls got a skirt outfit), we went to Auchan for some party supplies. We got different kinds of chips, crackers, cheese, candy, a baguette, and some sparkling cider for variety. We got into our pajamas, slapped our iPods into portable speakers, and played card games until we were too sleepy to continue. We bonded. Awwwwww.

Friday was the Louvre in the morning, then shopping in the afternoon. I had a group of kids that I affectionately called my Ducklings following me around the Louvre, as they have really strict rules about the under 18 crowd. We saw the main highlights, but then walked to a cafe and had a delicious lunch. We walked through Les Halles, where we saw a bunch of people lounging on the grass and came across a group of old men playing boules, which is pretty typical in a French park. I took pictures, but one of my kids got video of it. We did some shopping, finished our souvenir buying, found a bakery (one of our kids hadn't had an authentic pain au chocolat since arriving in France), got some bread and pastries, and wandered back to the park. Once there, the other group found us, and we all had a nice flop on the grass. We met the rest of the tour group at the Centre Pompidou, and then made our way to dinner. After that, we went up the Eiffel Tower and saw the city from the birds-eye perspective. After that, we got on a Batobus and had a tour of Paris by Night from the river Seine.

After a 3.5 hour nap, we got up and headed for the airport. Then home. And here I am.

I wanna go back!!!!!

Potty Mouth

Ok, so I have quite a potty mouth. I keep it leashed at school, for the most part. When I do let fly, it's usually in French, so the kids don't always understand it. Mostly, though, I make do with substitutions, like "shoot," "dagnabit," and "mother-of-pearl." Not quite as satisfying as the real thing, but they get the job done.

This video, though, made me giggle and wonder "what if... ?"

Swear Jar--Funniest Commercial Ever! - watch more funny videos

The Adventures of the Courageous Masked Jones in Montreal

It was a dark and stormy night

Evil lurked in the shifty dusk

Courageous Jones hauled her sorry ass out of bed at 4 am one dark and gloomy Friday morning.

"Time to go fight the evil noxious plague of ignorance that runs rampant in our school system city," she grumbled sleepily. Staggering her way to the bathroom, she pulled on her mask and ran her fingers through her short crop of hair. Business transacted, teeth brushed, and slightly refreshed, she shuffled back to her bedroom to ditch her monkey slippers and trade them for her slinky spandex travel gear.

Moving swiftly and silently through the house now, lest she wake its slumbering denizens, Courageous Jones swiftly stowed a few necessities in her utility belt and coiled her laser wit whip about her waist. She slinked down the stairs, keeping to the shadows, and waited, poised, for The Principal to arrive.

Their journey was short, and soon they were in the vaunted Tower of Learning in Canuckland, or, as it was know to the natives, Le Centre Sheraton. Yet there was no battle to be fought that day. Jones and The Principal chose to scope out the territory, joining forces with the WonderTwins from their same team. Disguised as mild-mannered teachers, they roamed Vieux Montreal, eyes constantly scanning for foes of all sizes. None, save the Foul Poutine, were to be found, though.

Courageous Masked Jones let her guard down that night and felt the beauty of the city around her. Little did she know that she would feel its crushing weight upon her the next day.

Madame Firebrand began her tutelage the next morning. If Courageous Jones had ever felt that she was up to the task of scourging ignorance from her classroom city, Madame Firebrand would soon extinguish that confidence. Madame Firebrand ran Jones through her paces, test after test, until she was ready to drop from the exhaustion and felt weak and trembling from the mounting fear. Mockery and self-doubt slipped from the shadows and fell upon her. Worse, her fellow participants the rest of the Justice League were succumbing to the same foes. It was time, thought Courageous Masked Jones, to butch up and face things.

Loosing her whip, Courageous Jones lashed out at the debilitating demons that diminished her self-worth and beat them back with the sure knowledge that, while there was always room for improvement, there was also the ability to improve within her. Everything she needed was at her beck and call. Calling it forth from every fiber of her being, Courageous Jones took the lessons that Madame Firebrand had provided and worked on them. She toiled, slaved, wiped her damp forehead, and then toiled some more. Pages of notes and plans appeared before her - the product of the sweat of her brow and the magic of her mind.

Courageous Masked Jones has a plan.

Now, does she have the power?

Stay tuned, superfriends, stay tuned!

Back, Incognito!

Thanks to my girl On The Curb for this one!

It really seemed to fit today, as my friend Hube, Colosssus of Rhodey contributer, Iron Man enthusiast (and major comic-book geek afficionado in general) decided to start up a side-blog (because obviously he has nothing better to do...) and is now writing at Comics of Rhodey. Feel free to check him out. If you'd like to make your own hero, go here.

I think I may write about the Adventures of the Courageous Masked Jones in Montreal a little later this week. She was, of course, incognito.

Off to the Frozen North!

I'm away to the Canada!

One of the few perks of being a teacher in an International Baccalaureate school is the opportunity to travel to conferences on how to teach effectively in this milieu. As I've only taught the middle grades in this system, I'm now going to be trained in teaching the upper grades. As I teach French, I chose training located in scenic and fashionable Montreal, Quebec, where ze frenchies are still prezent!

I get to go with my Principal - he seems fairly cool for an administrator - and with one of the middle school French teachers. I think we'll have a great time kicking back after the conference sessions are through for the day.

Have fun without me!

Skiving...

Ok, see, the thing is this - there has actually been so much happening around here, that if I concentrated long enough to write it down, I'd be writing for hours. I'll try to nutshell it for you, though.

It was midterm week this week. My lovely students were indeed lovely, and took their tests without too much bitching and moaning. My lovely school district gives us half-days during midterm week, so that we can grade our tests in the afternoons and get the grades in tout de suite. Lovely thing, that.

Well, we had ourselves a bit of weather here this week, too. We got about 3 inches of snow, topped by about a half-inch of ice. My northern friends scoff at this kind of snowfall. I admit to scoffing slightly at it, myself, but it got me a snow day, so I ain't scoffing too loud, ya know?

****

I've also discovered that I can't do the South Beach thing anymore - the Phase One brought out all of my disordered eating tendencies that the DS had put into remission. Pair those tendencies with a strong Oppositional streak, and the outcome of a week of sugar/starch deprivation was a carbohydrate orgy that would make Caligula blush and stammer. I need to skip Phase One entirely. It's not good for my mental health.

****

Last weekend, the WCM and his brother, AC, and I all went up to NYC for a Saturday. After an amazing lunch at the Carnegie Deli - seriously? who needs a sandwich that's 8 inches tall? - we went to an antique show at the Armory. This was kind of a "walk and gawk" event, as nobody had the thousands of dollars necessary to buy even the smallest of trinkets on display. I cut out of there a little early, as the boys were talking scrap metal with an armor dealer, and headed up to Madison Avenue, where I could continue the walking and gawking.

I love Madison Avenue. I stopped in a few couture houses where the price of a gown is more than my car and did a bit of salivating. My main destination, though, was La Maison du Chocolat. I sat in their teensy cafe section and had a cup of hot chocolate and a selection of chocolates. The price was exorbitant, but the taste... simply exquisite. The hot chocolate was thick and rich, hot and sweet, dark and spicy - every good combination in one cup. I bought a tiny box of chocolates to go home with me, too.

Once I was fortified, I paid up and continued to hoof it up Madison until about 75th, where I turned left, found Fifth Avenue and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I met the boys there in the gift shop, then we hit the Arms and Armor exhibit. They really can't help themselves. They love that shit. We strolled around, made a few gift shop purchases, and then caught a cab to our restaurant - Churascaria Plataforma. If you, like me, are a carnivore of the highest order, then this is your Nirvana. It was a celebration of roasted meats, of seared outer surfaces with juicy red centers. Delicious. Pricy, yes, but still delicious.

****

American Idol has come on, taking a bunch of time that I previously put to better use and rendering me a slack-jawed, mouth-breathing slave to the giant box. I've discovered over the last year or so that I can go for days without turning the thing on, if left by myself. There's just not much I want to watch.

****

Oh, hey! Speaking of watching things! I watched the whole of the Inauguration, from soup to nuts. Our whole school did, too. We dedicated the day to it. I really liked being able to do it, since I voted for this one, and since it represents such a turning point in our nation's history. Two things, though:

1. Aretha Franklin's unique phrasing of "America, the Beautiful." "My Cunt Tree 'Tis Of Thee" was rather, well, unfortunate. I just shook my head at that and the ginormous gawdy church hat she was sporting.

2. The poet. What. The. Fuck. Is. Up. With. The. Expressionless. Over-enunciated. Recital. Of. A. Fairly. Uninspiring. Frankly. Boring. Poem.? Praise. For. The. Day. When. She. Learns. About. Phrasing. And. Intonation.

Do you know when you dial information and the automated voice comes back with your number? You know the one, where the lady has recorded all the numbers using different inflections and the computer sorts them all out and assigns the inflection relative to the number's position in the strand to make it sound natural and comprehensible? Well, the automated telephone lady sounds more natural than this poet's rendition of her own poem.

****

The scrapbooking has gone pretty well. I've continued to play with my supplies in the basement, but honestly, it's pretty freaking cold down there. I have a space heater turned up to "Bowels of Hell" and it's just rendering it tolerable.

****

Ma Dawgs be illin'. Unfortunately, Slider, my old doggie has suffered a bout of intestinal distress, and has shat copiously all over the kitchen floor. He's been on the rice diet for the past two days, and seems to be recovering nicely. Zippy, the slightly younger and ever-so-much-more-spry doggie, decided not to be outdone in the excrement department, and one-upped his brother in a most spectacular fashion.

See, Trader Joe's makes Candy Cane Joe Joe's (think Oreos with bits of candy cane in the creme) once a year, around Christmas. I love them soooo much that, this year, the WCM went and bought me a case of them, so I would not have to suffer without them at any point in the year. He can be such a sweetheart sometimes.

Anyhow, they are usually kept locked in the basement. A couple of days ago, I found that I had neglected to lock the basement door and a certain little red dog had not only made a trip down there, but had chewed a hole through the side of the cardboard case, gnawed the side off a box of cookies, extracted the plastic tray of 30 Joe Joe's and eaten every single one. He, also, now has the shits.

So, I now have the joy of wiping two corgi bunny-butts every time they come in from outside. I've also mopped the kitchen floor at least 6 times in the last 4 days. I love my dogs, but I'm done with canines. I'm getting a cat the next time the maternal urge hits.

****

I think that's enough for now. Hope y'all feel updated!

A Very Crappy Christmas to you, too!

So a friend of mine is going to Barcelona with her fiance over the Christmas break. While there, she told me, she plans to purchase a Caganer.

Or, in the vernacular English, a Shitting Shepherd.

When she told us about this at lunchtime yesterday, one of my colleagues and I exchanged incredulous looks and in unison said "did she just say...?" and, oh, yes she did. Apparently, this is a Catalonian traditional addition to the Nativity Scene - a shepherd taking a crap in the presence of the Holy Family.

I'm... amused by this, now. At first, I wasn't sure how to feel - I mean, I was raised with the Christian traditions, devoid of the Christian religion. We did Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy (although, I'm not too sure that's a Christian one) just to appease both my grandparents and our childhood greed. Who doesn't like presents, right? So the little Pooper by the Manger seemed, well, vaguely sacreligious to me. Then, I considered that Spain is largely a Catholic country, and figured that if they didn't have a problem with it, far be it from me to take issue with the l'il pooter.

Ah, yet another quaint European custom...

Complimented

A student of mine just paid me a very nice compliment. She said:

"Madame, you've got mad dress game."

I'm glad I speak teenager.

Ah, Blessed Wednesday

It's a lovely quiet Wednesday in my house. There's nobody here but me and my dogs, and we're all vegging contentedly in the bedroom. I have tentative plans to bake some pies later, and possibly put together a pan of brownies and a small pumpkin cheesecake. Today is the warm-up for tomorrow's sybaritic feast.

Yes, I'm going to my brother-in-law's. To his credit, he hasn't poked me even once about the outcome of the Presidential election. This bodes well for our peaceable consumption of roasted fowl tomorrow. Happily, I'm not responsible for cooking the entire dinner - I just have to make dessert and a couple of side dishes - stuffing, green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes. My BIL is doing the turkeys. His job gave him a 13 lb bird, and I got a 21-lb turkey for free at the grocery store. My grocery store (not the lovely one with the Starbucks - I had to give them up because their prices were a scoche to dear for my pocketbook - but the cheapie one with the best deals) has a program that they run around every big holiday where if you spend over a certain amount in a given amount of time, you get a free turkey/ham/whatever is the traditional meat for that holiday. Since I hit the market every week, I spent the right amount and got a free bird! (FREEBIRD!!! HAHAHAhahahahahaha... or not so much...) Since Thanksgiving is all about the leftovers for me, we're cooking both turkeys. We're going to have grilled turkey sandwiches, turkey soup, turkey salad, turkey croquettes, and hot turkey sandwiches in gravy. Mmmmmm, tryptophan coma, here I come!

In other news, I've been sick as a dog for the last 2 days. No fever, but nasty sinuses, no voice to speak of, sore throat, and no appetite due to horrific post-nasal drip. Ew. It was bad enough on Monday for the WCM to actually nurture me! I had picked up Miss Peanut from her after-care, pulled out some beef stew that I'd defrosted that morning, and then come upstairs and laid down on the bed, not intending to sack completely out, but in reality, doing exactly that. When the WCM got home, he not only took my temperature, but went out and bought me medicine, and then, unbidden, made me a cup of lemon-ginger tea with honey. I know, I know, my expectations are ridiculously low if an unexpected cup of tea qualifies as a huge nurturing gesture...

Thankfully, it's been a quiet two sick days, though, because we've had parent-teacher conferences. I had four very quick and painless conferences, and one nightmare one. There's always one parent who wants to blame me for their child's poor performance, but this one? Her son failed spectacularly, with a 32 percent, and she wanted me to justify how I taught vocabulary. Um, 'scuse me? Grab some reality, along with a marker and some index cards and lemme explain about the use of flash cards, lady. Sheesh. When your kid fails because he hasn't turned in over half of the homework assignments or any of the projects that I've assigned, has failed or barely passed four of the five tests I've given, and shows no interest in my subject, my methods of teaching vocabulary are not the issue.

And now, I've decided to get back to the vegging. I'm going to do some online shopping in a bit, and cross everything off my Christmas list. Then, since I'm still in my jammies, I think I'll coddle myself a little and have a nap.

Happy Thanksgiving Eve, y'all!

You'll want some cheese with this w(h)ine...

So recently, I've started to feel a little blue, a little melancholy, a little down. I've had the urge to shut myself off a bit, to close people out, to retreat into my shell, not unlike the astrological crab that represents me. It's a defense mechanism, this withdrawal, to use that hard shell while I recover from my wounds.

It's no one person that's hurt me, it's no single event. It's nothing I can pinpoint, except a vague feeling of dissatisfaction with almost every aspect of my life. My job is major-league stressful, even though I love my students. The WCM is a nagging thorn in my side, for whom I can do nothing right. My house is a wreck and I hate cleaning. I've been rushed off my feet every day for the last three weeks, spending hours after school just keeping current with grading, yet I'm still responsible for everything at home, from Miss Peanut's homework, to scrubbing the toilets.

I need a break. I want to rest. I can't take all of this whirling about any more. I want somebody to do something for me for a change, without asking for or expecting recompense, instead of having to take care of all and sundry.

That's not likely, given who I married and the nature of my employment. So, I'm just going to cocoon a while, pull back and watch the world go by for a bit, until I feel like myself again.

Bits and Pieces

Because my mind is working in fits and starts these days - divided among school, family, friends, and hobbies, and not necessarily in that order - I offer you these bits and pieces of cognitive detritus. Do with them what you will.
*

So far, I've heard loads of funnies in the hallways of my high school. One girl was chatting cattily with a friend about another girl when I happened to be within earshot, and I overheard the truly priceless description of "she thinks she's Queen Shit on Turd Island." Well, that was worth a giggle - and not a detention - that day.

Another student's parting shot as he sailed out of school for the day was "I'm OUT, like titties at a strip club."

***

Cake has gone stale in my house. I baked one on Wednesday night, because I was trying out a cupcake recipe for a new colleague's birthday (more on that later) and only needed to make 6 cupcakes. I poured the rest of the batter in a smallish square pan (8x8, if you must know) and baked it. After I was done working cupcake magic, I frosted the cake (chocolate! even!) thickly with the rest of the (chocolate! again!) frosting. Nobody, including me, has touched it.

There is a half-gallon of ice cream - Edy's Loaded Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup - that has been in the fridge for 2 weeks, similarly untouched.

The WCM bought a tub of scrumptious coconut macaroons at Trader Joe's a week ago, and aside from the obligatory one-macaroon sample - necessary to declare them scrumptious - they are still sitting in their clear plastic tub on the counter.

WTF? I am perplexed, yet not particularly hungry. Maybe that's why I'm sitting at a new record low weight for me. It makes me nervous and more than a little insecure, body-image-wise. But, hey - I know that if I'm too nervous about it, I certainly know how to make the number on the scale move UP.

*****

My legs hurt - pleasantly so, though - from some fairly athletic and bendy canoodling I was doing the other day. Ha ha! I canoodled! I am smug with my canoodling! And also yoga.

*******

Those cupcakes I was talking about? Deeeeelicious. This is what I did - I baked 6 chocolate cupcakes. Then, I popped them out of the silicone liners. After that, I cut the tops off ("Off with their heads!" - I am a French teacher, after all). Following that, I cut the bottoms off and replaced them in the silicone muffin cups. I put four of the lovely middles into my mouth in the freezer. I then softened a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and layered some over each of the cupcake bottoms. I replaced the tops and froze these mini ice-cream cakes until they were solid. Once they were solid, I frosted them, and put them back into the freezer. They were yummy. Very yummy. And appreciated by my whole department. All 6 of us.

*********

And that's all I have to show for my last 2 weeks of toil and travail. Perhaps y'all did better.

Latest news from DS Land

This just in - the fucking vampires went after my inner arm again and withdrew 15 vials of blood for lab tests. In a couple of weeks, I should know if I'm deficient in any important vitamins and minerals. I have a bruise the size of a nickel where the phlebotomist punctured my vein - he was rough with me, after I asked him to be gentle. I hate when that happens.

After waffling for half a year over who I was going to have replace my surgeon for follow up care - the guy moved to Florida, for crying out loud! - I've decided not to go with the more local surgeon and to stay with the NYC practice that my surgeon used to lead. After speaking with some of his patients, I deduced that the local guy and his nutritionists are still on the low end of the DS learning curve, as far as post-op care goes. I don't have time to educate a nutritionist on the vastly different vitamin and nutritional needs of a Duodenal Switch patient, as compared to a standard Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass patient (think Carnie Wilson or Al Roker). Judging from the comments I heard, the local guy's patients are constantly educating their nutritionists. An added benefit is that I can schedule my appointments to visit my NYC peeps.

I'll be going up to New York again this weekend to hang out with my girl Crystal and one of the OH DS board "celebrities," Miss LeaAnn and her husband. There's going to be a huge group of us going out to lunch on Saturday - this should be a hell of a party! It's kind of bad timing for me, since school starts for me and Miss Peanut on Monday, so I'm coming back Saturday night or Sunday morning. I've got a hella busy day tomorrow, finishing up my classroom and getting my syllabi together (I'm teaching 4 preps again this year - ugh!), but I've been at school bright and early every day this week, staying until at least 5 pm every day, so I should be in good shape.

So, the news from DS Land is good and hopeful. I look and feel healthy, and hope that my bloodwork confirms that.