Torn's Questions

Torn gave me these questions. He prefaced it with:

Okay five questions. But I already know everything about you.

Oh really?


1. Tell us the sweetest memory you have with mom.

There's many. When she threw me a surprise birthday party for my 30th birthday at my least favorite restuarant so I wouldn't suspect anything. When she cried when I didn't make the Madrigals (the elite singing group of my choir) my senior year in high school. How she still thinks every man around is checking me out. The care packages she would send to me when I was in Japan; taping shows she hated because she knew I liked them (even though she'd have to miss her own shows to do it, since she never figured out how to tape one and watch another at the same time). All the times we went to Las Vegas with my sister; all of us having a good time together.

Oh, and the time she told me where babies come from. I really didn't care, except I was being teased by the other fourth graders. She was in her bathroom, doing her hair, and I was sitting in the doorway, in my pink bikini, because I was going to go swimming at my Grammy's place. I was aghast. I was never going to do it ever, and she'd only done it three times, right? Just to have kids right? I mean, I had a brother and a father, I knew what a penis was; that's what they PEE out of! No one is ever going to stick that thing in me. No way. I remember she just laughed and said that I might change my mind one day. I did.

2. What is your favorite dessert?

...ur... uh... just one? I don't think I can do that. I really love sliced strawberries and Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Crumbleberry Pie with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Homemade cherry pie with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Most any dessert-y thing with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream.

3. What is your worst moment with Charlie?

Definitely this time. It's part of a bigger moment though, because Poopala-fiesta happened again two days later. It was horrid.

4. Who did you lose your virginity to?

I totally thought I'd written about this before. Nope. It's a story I've told many times. It's the reason why I'm going to teach my little niece that just because she's a girl, doesn't mean she always has to be nice.

His name was Tony and he was horrible to me. He was the first person to lie to me just because he could.

We had gone out a few times at the beginning of my freshman year in college. Tony was older; was my manager at Jack-in-the-Box (I worked graveyard shifts to pay for school at first) and went to UCSB as well. I actually had had a crush on his roommate, but Tony was the one who noticed me. I had a feeling he was a bit smarmy, but after I got back one night after being out with him, my dad met me in the dining room. Dad said I could continue to go out with Tony, or I could live at home, but I couldn't do both.

Dad's a racist and Tony was black.

So, I did what any 18-year-old would do; kept dating Tony just to prove my independence from my father.

Big mistake.

Tony wanted to "lay with me" as he so delicately put it, and I thought it was time I finally slept with someone, so I made an appointment at the school med-center to get birth control. Tony had informed me that he didn't like condoms. Oh a charmer, that one.

So, that November, on a Sunday, my grandmother died. That Monday, my father was laid off from his job. And then, on Thursday, I failed my second mid-term in Comparative Literature, which meant I was going to flunk the course. I went to Tony's apartment to be consoled. At first, he was very sweet, telling me things were going to get better. We stood up, and we were hugging. He kissed me. Then, still holding me, he started walking toward his bedroom. I stopped at the door. Put my hands on the edge of the doorway, asked him where were we going.

"It's just more comfortable in here."

On the bed, clothes started coming off... I was down to my underwear when I said "Stop." He didn't. I said we needed to wait, that I wasn't on the pill yet, that I wasn't ready, that I wasn't comfortable...

He threw my clothes at me and said "Fine. Get out."

I couldn't handle his being angry at me. I was a good girl. I didn't make people mad. I was polite. Said "excuse me" when someone else bumped their cart into mine at the grocery store.

He knew it. Instead of telling him to go to hell, instead of storming out of there, I instead stayed. Told him I didn't want him mad at me, but I didn't want to get pregnant.

"I can't get you pregnant."
"Huh? What do you mean?" I knew he was lying... he had to be, right?
"I mean I can't get you pregnant."
"Are you saying you're impotant?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Someone who knows told me."

(Okay, at this point, if you are still reading, you are probably slapping your head and yelling at 18-year-old rebekah, but she can't hear you. I wish she could, but she wasn't even listening to herself. Remember, it had been a very bad week.)

"Oh right. Like who? A doctor?"
"Yeah, a doctor."

In my muddled mind, I let a little part of me believe him, and sat back down on the bed.

It didn't last long, and it hurt like hell. Unpleasant doesn't begin to describe it. All that kept going through my mind (besides the lyrics to Asia's Only Time Will Tell, which was playing on the stereo, and the words of which were rather prophetic), was that all the books and movies and so on, totally had left out the part about sex HURTING so damn much. I was actually wimpering.

He finally stopped, we got dressed, and since it had gotten late, he drove me home (I usually rode my bike the five miles back and forth from school).

In the car? On the way back? He casually said to me,

"By the way, I don't shoot any blanks."

I stared at him.

"I'm a real man."

Yeah, I bet his mother's really proud of him.


5. If you had to choose another job, what would it be? Would you ever want to be principal?

I would want to be a writer. You know, a real writer, not just moaning on the blog. I'd love to be able to write the book that makes someone else wish he or she had written it first. Imagine being able to inspire others the way Anne Lammott or Dorothy Parker have inspired me.

And no. No. Way. In. Hell. I would never, ever want to be a principal. The joy of my job comes from being with the students every day, and using my creativity when I make a lesson plan, and all the learning I do myself. Not the bureaucracy and politics and bullshit of education. Yeah, a principal makes three times as much as I do, but no thanks.

Thirteen Thursday # 10

Thirteen things in my purse:

1. Six pens. Pink, purple, green, and three black ones. I’m always grading papers, and don’t like to use red. Whenever I’m waiting somewhere, I pull out papers and go to work. Don’t ask me why I need three black pens.

2. Empty eyeglass case. I wore my sunglasses yesterday afternoon, and never put them back. Notice the swanky Valentino name on the outside though? That’s because I’m swank.

3. 68 cents in change. It piles up inside the depths until it gets too heavy and I put it inside my…

4. Overstuffed, black leather wallet. There’s some receipt hanging out of it (remember my habit from last week?) and $23 in bills. Also my driver’s license with a good picture. I have to renew it this summer, and am praying to the gods of the DMV to let me keep the old pic.

5. A receipt from an Amtrak refund. Dated 11/21/06. It’s from my trip out to New York last Thanksgiving. I had no idea it was still in there.

6. Ticket stub from the Dodger game I went to Sunday night. They won, 9-3. I don’t really care about baseball, but I go once a year on “teacher’s night.” It was also Jackie Robinson Day, and someone had to explain to me why all the players were wearing the number 42.

7. Three old band-aids, an emery board, a metal nail file, eye drops, Advil, one Imodium tablet, and my asthma inhaler. One can never be too prepared. Or, maybe I’m just practicing to be a mom.

8. Lime green checkbook. Mom got it for me for Christmas a couple of years ago. One of my favorite colors, but it doesn’t stay very clean. Last check I wrote? To myself for $40.

9. Cosmetics. A girl’s gotta look good, right? Let’s see, there’s a Labello hydro care lip balm. I got it the last time I visited Torn in Montreal. It’s by a German company, made in Mexico, and distributed in Quebec. I’ve never seen this brand in the states. Then there’s a Pure Spring lip gloss in Chocolate Mint; it’s a Rite-aid store brand. I bought it for half-price in Seattle when I was there in February. A MAC lipstick in “Tease Me…” (yes, that’s really the name of it), and a benefit creaseless cream eyeshadow in “Scrapin’ the Rail.” Just in case my eyes need to be sparkly.

10. Two butter rum lifesavers. It’s the end of a roll I’ve been hoarding. It’s not like I couldn’t go out and buy another package, but I never do. They remind me of my Grampy.

11. Instant Hand Sanitizing spray from CVS. Impulse buy. After all these years working around kids, I’m a little weird now about germs. Never used to be. And yeah, yeah, I know, these kill the good bacteria too. Whatever.

12. Little packet of tissues. I have really bad allergies. Really a drag to sneeze and have nothing to…uh… mop it up with. I always have tissues.

13. Coupons. That pink one is for a Pria energy bar. Buy one, get one free. I love a a bargain.

Supposed to be breaking out my sandals by now

I can't truly complain, but dang, it's cold for this time of year. The wind has me thinking I'm going to wake up in Oz any day now.

Nothing to compare to what's happening out East or around my Canadian buddies, but still.

On the bright side, it's easier to teach when the kids aren't staring out the window and pining for the beach. Teaching when it's beautiful outside is torture, for both them and me. So, the cold weather is a good thing.

(If I keep saying that, maybe I'll believe it).

On Center of Gravitas, gayprof talked about how he became the prof part of "gayprof." As a student he thought he might become a teacher. I teased him a bit about this.

See, he got it right. Too many folks do well in school, feel safe in that known world, and think, "hey, I'll be a teacher!" They don't realize that teaching isn't the same as being a student. I see student teachers and pre-professionals (to become a student teacher in California, one must log at least 120 hours of volunteer work in classrooms or other situations with children and teenagers), all the time. They are overwhelmed by what it truly means to do this job.

I never wanted to be a teacher. Not me. No way. Too much work, not enough pay, and no respect at all. Nope, I was going to work for a publishing company. Or as a technical writer (hah!) or write the great American novel. No teaching for me.

And here I am.

After graduating with an English degree, in 1986, there was a recession going on. No one wanted to hire me. I ended up at Seven-11 and a Hallmark store, riding my bike to both, because I couldn't afford a car. I shared a tiny 1-bedroom apartment with a girl I knew from school. When she was mad at me, she wouldn't tell me, just eat my food and then vomit it up.

Not a good situation.

So, teaching? How did I get here?

Little by little, I got better jobs. I had several working with developmentally disabled children, and then adults. It was teaching, but not really.

Then a friend who was teaching in Japan told me to apply, and I did, and boom. I was a teacher.

Three years in Nishinomya, teaching 400-450 students a day. I was a teacher already, but still, didn't want to face it. I was "on an adventure," not prepping myself for my career.

Back home, I got a job as an instructor for adults with mental illnesses... yes, a teacher again.

Finally I got it. Whether I fought it or not, a teacher was who I was. Ten years after leaving school, I was back, getting my credential.

Even that wasn't easy. The first time I applied to grad school, I was turned down. Yeah, okay, I was on the "waiting list" and they only accepted 10 people, but still. I called and asked what I needed to do to be better qualified (seeing that I'd taught for three years in Japan, taught as a teacher's aide in several special ed classrooms, and had volunteered in several more). I asked where I was on this "waiting list."

After some awkward hemming and hawing on the other end of the phone, I was told that they wanted to maintain a certain level of "diversity" and that they were trying to keep a "balance" of teachers in the program. That the "waiting list" wasn't a numbered list, but rather a list of "matches." She went on to explain what this meant; "you see, you white, middle-class female, you are a dime a dozen in the teaching profession, and don't even get me started about English teachers specifically. You don't have a snowball's chance in Hell in getting into this program this year."

I may have paraphrased somewhat, but you get it.


Reverse discrimination? I wouldn't call it that. I believe that students need to have teachers with whom they can identify. Does that mean I have to be the same gender, color, ethnicity and from the same socio-economic background? Of that, I'm not so sure. Could I have made a stink about it? Maybe, but even though I was hurt and disappointed, it made me think. I still think about it. We do need more diversity in the teaching field, and I'm not adding any (except of course, my sparkling wit and charm...), but should I be punished for that?

Another post.

I actually got an emergency credential, was paid for teaching, applied the next year, and got into the credential program.

Ten years later, here I am. I've never gotten tired of this job, this profession I've chosen. I get paid to care about other people's futures. Could I get into research? Sure. Do I still want to write that novel? Of course.

But day to day? I'm a teacher. And I'm happy.

Thirteen Thursday # 9

Thirteen Habits of Mine:

1. I blow my nose very loudly. Crazy, old-man-with-a-hanky loudly. Just like my father. Sister told me recently that she doesn’t use Kleenex because she never blows her nose. She said she never wanted to sound like Dad or me, so she just sniffs.

2. I remove tags from clothes almost immediately. Tags on shirts drive me nuts. I’ve destroyed shirts by ripping out the tags, which have been fastened with some super-strength thread, just because I couldn’t take the time to find a pair of scissors.

3. I wash dishes in the morning, not at night. Right before I go to bed, I don’t want to get my hands all yucky in the food and drink and soap water. I do it when I get up, drink my coffee and take a shower.

4. I save gas receipts. No reason. I have a little pocket in the driver’s door, which has receipts dating back five or six years. Some are so faded I can’t even read them. Suppose I should throw them out.

5. I use all kinds of things to scratch my back. Pencils, rulers, closed scissors, a coat hanger. I have a wooden back scratcher thingee, but never know where it is. It kinda of cracks my students up when I’m in front of the class and stick a ruler down the back of my shirt to satisfy an itch. I’m unaware I’m doing it until they start laughing.

6. My dresser drawers and closet are VERY organized. Things are sorted by style and length. Sleeveless, then short sleeves (woven on one side, knit on the other) long sleeves, etc. Nothing is ever squished in anywhere. And, that’s my problem. If something doesn’t have a place, it doesn’t get put away, and that’s why most of my house is a mess.

7. I make faces in the mirror sometimes just to crack myself up.

8. After a shower I dry off, use face moisturizer, spray stuff into my hair, then body lotion. Always in that order.

9. Going out of the house without earrings or a watch makes me feel naked, but I often wear no make-up.

10. Diana Ross and the Supremes is usually what I play when I’m cleaning the house.

11. Clothes I buy will come home with me from the store and visit for a while. I leave the tags on them, look at them, try them on again, and sometimes months later, return them to the store. But no, I don’t wear something and then try to return it.

12. My name and the date I bought/started to read it is on the inside cover of most books I own. It must be a teacher thing (I put my name on all my classroom books), but the date? Don’t know when I started that.

13. Every time I see a penny on the ground, I pick it up for good luck. If I start to walk past it, I inevitably turn around to get it. I don’t really believe anything will happen, but then again… on the other hand, if I drop a penny, I always leave it for someone else to find.

Is there a reason

why people are jumping all over Imus or Amus or Anus or whatever-the-hell-his-name-is about being racist and saying nothing about his sexism?

Nothing. I 'm hearing nothing.

He called the female basketball players, "Nappy-headed 'ho's." I'm not saying it wasn't racist but wait a god damn minute.

Has he given any reason he used that phrase other than "poor judgement?" Why would he say that? Why?

He was calling the whole team a bunch of prostitutes? Who does that? Okay, rappers, but they're jerks too.

I would love to see how men come to the conclusion that calling a woman a "'ho" is acceptable. Me, I don't even like the term "chicks" but 'ho?

Okay, if the woman is actually a "Lady of the night," then I suppose using the term, while rude, would be accurate.

I'm trying to think of a comparable term to call men, perhaps call a whole team of football players, but I can't. One doesn't exist.

Linguistically, or culturally, when did this word become a catch-all phrase? It's purpose is to demean. Why would this radio guy say it?

Scratching my head here people.

Pissed off

I'm so angry tonight that I can't write.

Everything I do put down looks whiny and sophomoric.

I wish sometimes I could just be a demanding bitch, and get everyone to do things for me.

But I can't.

fuck.

Thirteen Thursday # 8

Thirteen Things That Make Me Happy:

1. Clean, 100% cotton sheets that have been dried on the line. It’s something about the sunshine or the fresh air, or maybe just my imagination, but it smells so darn good!

2. Walking on Hendry’s Beach with the Wonder Dog. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, whether it’s early morning or sunset or the middle of the day. It always makes me feel good about living.

3. Going to Las Vegas with Torn. We’ve been going for many years together. We used to go with my mother, and sometimes twice a year, but now only in the summer. Last year was the first time I won anything of note, but it’s always a great time. It’s like a little fantasy world; no phones, no responsibilities… just the chance we might win big, free drinks, and laughing, laughing, laughing.

4. A clean house. It’s rare with me these days. Okay, it’s unheard of with me these days, but it has been known to happen. It’s a curse really; I hate keeping house, but love to have folks over. It’s the one thing that keeps me from going over the edge into pigsty-dom.

5. Fathers enjoying their kids. This gets me every time. It doesn’t matter if the child is a toddler or a teenager. You can tell when a dad is having a good time just being with his son or daughter. It can actually make me cry (if I’m PMSing).

6. Getting a pedicure. Bright red polish is my favorite toenail color. I have the feet of a hobbit, and this is my one indulgence. I never get manicures though.

7. Getting a card or little something in the mail for no reason. This doesn’t happen too much. People are just too busy. I try to remember that and do it for others instead.

8. Going out to lunch after 8th grade graduation with my teacher buddies. We’re all dressed up already, and we usually go somewhere kinda swank. We usually have a few glasses of wine, and it feels a little sneaky, like we’re playing hooky on a school day.

9. Saturday barbeques with my friends. This doesn’t happen much anymore, but I’ve just bought a little gas grill for my backyard. I’m going to start it up again. There was a time I used to bbq with my roommate and our friends every weekend. I haven’t had a roommate for eight years now.

10. Wine tasting when I’m not the designated driver. The Santa Ynez Valley (just inland from Santa Barbara) is an awesomely beautiful place, and when have you ever met grouchy people wine-tasting?

11. The first kiss. You know, when you aren’t sure it’s going to happen, and then it does? So, it’s been a while for me. I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember. Way, way back in my memory. It’s there. If I dig deep. Really deep. I mean China deep. But yeah, I love the first kiss, when everything’s a possibility, and nothing is a given.

12. Shopping in the Misses clothing department rather than the WOMAN’S clothing department. Yes, I’m in the largest size of the Misses department, but who cares? I’m no longer in the tunic and tracksuit community. The choices I have now are wonderful. Especially the dresses. Yahoo for dresses!

13. Being recognized. This is a huge deal for me. It can be something as small as saying “thank you for being such a good friend” to winning the Fulbright. For some reason, I have a lot of friends who aren’t comfortable with the “warm fuzzies” so even though I know they love me, it always makes my heart swell a little when they actually do tell me why they’re glad I’m their friend. And then, my job does not lend itself to commendations; the people that see me perform it are 13 years old. And, many of them take it upon themselves to keep me from performing that job. So, when a parent tells me I’m junior’s favorite teacher? Whoo boy… I can live off that for a long time.

A Good Day

I got up early today, got a load of wash going before 7 am. At 7:19, I got a phone call.

This friend and I used to walk our dogs together almost every weekend, and most every day during the summer. Then her dog died, and my friend took it hard. She didn't want to walk with me and Charlie-Boy; too painful.

She's been having a tough time all around this year, and I've seen her outside of school maybe just once or twice (and like gayprof, when I say "year" I'm always referring to the academic calendar).

Imagine my surprise when she suggested we go walk with the wonderdog at a new park that's been created nearby. We met at The Daily Grind, sat and drank our coffee and talked and talked. Went to the new park and walked and talked and talked. Stood by our cars and talked some more. Walked around the park a second time and kept talking.

At 11:45, we decided to go to The Brewhouse (place of oh-so-delicious homemade potato chips covered with melted Gorgonzola), and eat and talk some more.

It was great.

This Spring Break has not been the best, but today made up for it a little. I'm lonely, and most of my teacher friends are away on some fun kind of trip. I'm here, doing laundry and cleaning my bathroom. Three different people I've called haven't seen fit to call back. It hurts, because I know all of them check their cell phones, which means they just chose not to call back.

The Fulbright exchange was going to shake my life up, in a good way... but now it's not.

And I'm still here, a little adrift, trying to figure out what I need to do to meet people.

Today was a good day.

What Not to Wear

I so love this show. I'm home on break still, and was vegging out in front of the marathon of this last night. The hosts are horrible to the women that are on the show, but if I could get $5000 for new clothes and a trip to New York, I'd deal. The whole new hair and make up thing I could get behind too.

Although, I don't have much hair at the moment for them to fiddle with.

However, the kinds of women they choose never seem to be, how shall I put it, the full-figured types. Oh, they'll have some big-breasted size 10 woman, but not a truly large woman.

When I talk about losing weight, so much of it is wrapped up in the clothing choices I would have. We all know that no matter what our size, we have problem areas; our butt is too big, too small, too flat, too shelf-like. Our arms are too fat, too jiggle-ly too scrawny. Our waist is too big, our hips are too big, our thighs are too big, our chest is too small.

It seems to me though, that at least, if I was just a couple sizes smaller, a whole world of clothes would open up to me. Just a size 12. Which is still considered "big and beautiful," which is the size of most "plus" size models.

Wait a minute, I thought plus sizes started at 16?

Oh yeah, that's the real world.

Because I have some control over my size, it allows the world, society, snotty teenage boys, the right to make fun of me. To discriminate against me. To expect me to work harder than a skinny little petite woman at appearing "presentable."

Eh.

I don't have the energy for a rant. And the whole non-complaining thing is keeping me subdued as well. I should go walk the dog.

Isn't she sweet?

(and no, I wasn't the one who bought that shirt. It actually was a hand-me-down. Sister made sure Ethel was wearing it when I went down last weekend. How cute is that?)

Saturday Morning

I have this great picture of my niece I want to post, but it's a bitmap, and it's not working. I've been trying to figure out how to save it as a jpeg, but nope. Won't work. I didn't take it with my camera either. Poop. Any suggestions?

Walked Charlie this morning, and started my personal three-week challenge of no whining. I got the idea from this website. Even though it's a church, I kinda like what it stands for. I don't have one of their special purple bracelets, but I can try anyway. My two New Year's resolutions were to not go to McDonald's for a year, and to stop comparing myself to other people. I've been good about McDonald's so far (I did have one ice cream cone my mother bought for me a couple weeks ago) but not as successful with the comparisons. And often, that's what leads to my complaining.

So the whole "Complaint-Free World" is something I could get behind. I've gone three hours... let's see if I can make it three weeks.

Did I tell you? D is back home! The last post on his blog (by his wife) is from a week ago, so I don't know how things are exactly at the moment, but he's home. Good good good stuff.

I met with the head of personnel Wednesday, and now we just have to figure out how to decline the assignment in the most politically correct fashion. Remember, I'm letting down this woman in Hungary as well. Darn it. I know it won't work, and I've dealt with the fact that I'm not going, but now she's going to have to deal with the same thing. And, I know this, and she doesn't.

Rats.

Now, what to set my sights on?

Thirteen Thursday # 7

Yeah yeah, I know, I've been remiss with this the last couple of weeks. I've been busy, okay?

Thirteen Things That Annoy Me

• Ice cream that gets knocked off the cone because it wasn't placed there securely enough by the scooper person at Baskin Robbins. This always happens right after you've gotten the rocky road, never after several licks
• Permanently embedded bluetooth headsets, especially when they aren't in use. What? They need to show the world they are important by wearing an earpiece like Uhuru on Startrek?
• Olives. Nasty poisonous fruit soaked in brine. They can't keep to themselves either; they have to leave their foul-tasting residue on everything they've even slightly touched.
• Those window stickers with Calvin peeing.
• A snagged nail and no emery board.
• Finding the most beautiful dress I've ever seen, in the size 16 section, for less than 25 bucks, and upon inspection, seeing that it's a size 10 that's been hidden in the large marge section.
• No "thank you" when I hold the door for someone.
• Cigarette smoke when I'm eating.
• Parents who say, " I'm a single parent, I'm busy. I can't check junior's homework every night," even though junior is flunking three classes.
• My aunt making jokes about how messy I am, even though she's only been in my house once in the last 13 years.
• Spitting. Okay, spitting in public. No, hawking up a lung, then spitting in public.
• The wailing infants and apparently motherless toddlers careening into me at Ross, or some other crowded store.
• Stepping onto a wet floor in my socks.

Getting what I want, almost

I'm glad I'm going home today.


Okay, on to more interesting things.

See, the thing is, about Hungary and all? I applied to go to the UK. I wrote my application letter about wanting to teach English in the UK. My interview? Back in December? All three interviewers were former Fulbright teachers in the UK. All we talked about was teaching in the UK.

Hungary was never mentioned.

At all.


So, Saturday morning, as I was going out to my car to load it up with stuff for Sister and Niece, I saw the big fat FedEx package. I grabbed it, and ran into the house.

And in the second sentence, saw that my exchange was to be with a woman in Hungary.

Tears immediately showed up.

HUNGARY? I don't know a thing about Hungary, except the language there is one of the most difficult in the world to learn (language is actually scaled linguistically... One being quite easy to learn, such as Spanish, and Four being quite difficult, such as Chinese. English is considered a Three).

Okay... I know Paprika comes from Hungary, and it used to be a communist state... but that's all.

And, of course, I'm actually sent no information about my exchange partner, except her name. Nothing else. No e-mail address, no location, nothing about the school, nada, zip.

I'm told in my letter to contact my administrator, who has been sent all this information and more to get her contact information.

Which, is a problem.

Why, you ask? Well, our two-week spring break just started. No one will be back at school or the district office until April 9th. Yeah.

Oh, and I am supposed to accept or decline the assignment within 10 days of receiving the notice.

Argh.

I'm trying to be open-minded. I mean, this is my fault. I did check that teensy weensy box on my application stating that yes, I would consider other countries than the ones I selected.

What was I thinking?

So today I called Washington DC, and at least got her e-mail address. We've exchanged just the barest of details.

Well, she actually has all my application materials at her perusal. Even though we aren't supposed to see the other one's application, I guess her administrator over there handed mine to her.

Get this. She's married with three little girls. Wants to bring the whole family over. That means that they can't stay in my apartment. That means I'd have to find them a place to stay. Because Hungary is so much less expensive that the United States, I'd have to pay part of their rent, in addition to my rent there. Which, wouldn't be so bad if I could come back to my apartment now. Which I couldn't. Which means I'd have to sell or put in storage all my belongings I want to keep (my grandmother's dining table, and my mother's china and all).

Also, she teaches religion and English. At the only Jesuit school in Hungary. It's a Catholic boarding school folks.

Catholic. Mass, and communion, and rules galore.

Where's my open mind now?


Dang it.

If I go, it also negates my chances of going to the UK for at least six years through this program. If I don't accept, it means my partner gets screwed too. She doesn't get a second chance this year either. It's a one-shot deal.

Damn it.

Yes, it sounds all exciting and cool, sort of.

But see, the thing is, I've taught ESL before. At a private Christian school... that's what I did in Japan. I don't want to do that again. My skills, my expertise, is in teaching all of English. Not the American pronunciation of "Aluminum."

I don't know what to do.

Shh...

Okay, so I'm at my sister's right now, stealth blogging.

She truly is overwhelmed, and yes, she brought it on herself, but if I can help out, just a bit, it's better for my little, beautiful, princess niece.

Sister is napping; Ethel was up every hour on the hour, screaming her tiny lungs out, making herself known. They're both asleep now. I've been to Von's, Starbucks, and taken Gargantua for a half hour walk already. I asked sister when was the last time he actually got taken for a walk -- she said "probably the last time you walked him."

That was in November people! My mom and I have been trying to get her to hire a dog walker; this guy is 75 pounds and an Australian Shepherd. He needs activity, and he's not getting it. Might be why he tries to chomp on Charlie? Barks like he's going to kill whomever comes to the door?

Sister said to me today when I brought it up again, "Nope. I'm not going to hire a dog walker, I don't want a dog walker."

Okay, so she's sleep deprived, but still.

I feel bad if I don't walk the wonder dog for an hour a day, and he's a little lazy boy.

Anyway, I have to go. I guess I bought the wrong things at Target yesterday, and have to return them. I also wasn't told I needed to buy milk when I went to Von's so I have to go back there too.

Oh, and right before I left the house yesterday? I got a thick FedEx package from the Fulbright people.

They're sending me to Hungary.

It's been a while

I know. I do check in on your blogs when I'm at work, but I can't comment there. I'm leaving in an hour or so to go to my sister's house to help out for a few days (read: slave labor). She said to me the other night, "I can't ask my friends to do the things I ask you to do... you're my sister."

Uh-huh.

So my spring break starts with getting a crate again for Charlie-boy, driving to Mom's to get some kind of casserole (American Chop Suey? what the hell is that? Was I out every night mom served that for dinner?), and a playpen thingamagig Sister needs to put Niece in when Sister is out in her office.

Then drive to Carol's house to drop off Wonder dog, because the little 22-pound guy makes Sister's dog, Gargantua, "nervous" (which actually means that he bites Charlie for no reason), and then back to Sister's house for three fun-filled days of fetching things and cleaning things and cooking things for Sister.

I know. Bitter, party of one?

Selfish is how I feel. I mean, it's my niece, right? Shouldn't I be thrilled? I am. I am thrilled there's more to my family now. Family does mean everything to me.

But I didn't have the baby. I didn't choose to have a baby all by myself. And I'm a little resentful that there is an expectation that I'll just be there like I always am.

I'm sure a shrink would have lots to say about all this.

Let me end on a lighter note.

We had a great big windstorm two nights ago. Patio furniture flying across my little yard, flower pots falling over and breaking, and electricity that went out for about 12 hours. Anyway, coming home from work yesterday, I saw this little guy.



I'm guessing he somehow got in there, and then couldn't get out because the sides were too slippery. Can you see the beautiful blue-green spots on his back? I ran in, got my camera, and snapped a few pictures, and wished I had a better camera. Then I tipped the pot over to let him get back to the business of being a lizard.


I promise to be in a better mood the next time I post.

She has a name

Cassandra. A big name for such a little baby, but Sister is already calling her Casey. Not sure if that's how it's spelled, but sister is very clear; it's not Cassie, it's Casey... pronounced "Kay-See."

I think I'm just going to call her Ethel. For fun. Besides, it'll piss sister off.

Mom is still down there, helping out, and last night they spent three hours in the emergency room. Baby has Jaundice (like so many do at first), but Saturday night, on Saint Patrick's Day, in a Los Angeles emergency room? It took some time.

Looks like I'm going to have to drive down there and pick mumsy up on Tuesday night and bring her back here. Remember? She won't drive at night or on the freeway or on any road with which she's not familiar?

Yeah. She told me on the phone that Sister-in-Law had offered to do it, but I bet a million dollars I end up being the one.

Gah.

I was at a poetry conference all weekend (stop laughing, it was good!) but I've not had any time to catch up, let alone write much here.

There are stories, including the one that explains why I'm going to have to throw away the shirt I was wearing in the delivery room, but they'll have to wait.


And, the good thoughts for D are working again; it looks possible that he'll come back home next week. Things are moving in the right direction for him. Slowly, yes, but it's all good.

I'm wiped out, and I'm not the one who gave birth yesterday

So, I'm just going to post a couple of photos... there's more in my sister's camera, but we'll all have to wait for those.

Baby Girl and Rebekah

Baby Girl and Grandmommy

She's Here!

And the 7 pound, 15 ounce little beauty still has no name.

Sister labored hard and long... and the doctor said, "We're going to give it two more pushes, and if she doesn't come out, we're going to have to go cesarean," and that was enough to give sister the extra umph to get tinkerbell out last night.

I'll tell the whole tale later, with pictures, but right now, I'm trying to get sister's house ready for her and the little one's return (Sister never got the nesting urge you hear about... the place needs some... uh... organizing).

Have a good one.

Today is probably Baby Day!

Yesterday, coming out of my faculty meeting, I got a call... Sister's water had broken and she was on her way to the hospital.

Mad dash to my room, called the sub service, left two days of plans for my sub, and tried to organize everything in the classroom so the teacher doesn't have any problems. Well, they always have problems with the kids, you all know that, but at least no problems with supplies and whatnot.

Race home, run around trying to get everything in order, talk to my mother about 1000 times whilst trying to get my act together, and calm her down that Sister will not have the baby in one hour. I had to get the crate for the wonder-dog, I had to get the diaper genie thingamagig that was sent to me instead of her, I had to get clothes, I had to clean out the car so that my stuff, Mom's stuff, Charlie and his stuff, and aforesaid diaper disposal all could fit.

Then the drive to the hospital in West Hills. Then the drive to Sherman Oaks to drop off the pooch and set up the crate and leave instructions with Carol's partner for his feeding and all.

Then the drive back to the hospital (oh, my car turned over 100,000 miles on the way back, btw).

Then the wait.

And the wait.

We got silly, and there is a hilarious picture I will post after I retrieve it from sister's camera.

And the wait.

Mom and I were in reclining chairs, but they were cruel pieces of furniture. Sister had an epidural, and all three of us finally got some sleep between 4 am and 6:30 am. Sister's nurse said she was only 3 and a half inches dilated, so we had time to go to sister's house, shower and possibly take a nap.

So, Mom is taking her shower now, and I'm on her computer, waiting for my turn. It's almost 10 am now, so I don't know how much nappage is going to occur.

But...

I'm going to be an aunt today! Who cares if I miss out on some Z's?

Wish her luck (and send good baby name vibes).

Cheers.

A Sunday walk

It's gorgeous outside today. Supposed to break some heat records, but I don't know about that.

Makes me feel just a teensy tiny bit bad for Torn and Chunks up in Canada way... but, we all make choices, right?

Anyway, yesterday kinda sucked as days went, so it was great to get up early, walk the dogs from Montecito to Summerland, and have a big breakfast at the Summerland Cafe, a place where dogs are allowed at the outside tables.

Here, these should help you imagine our walk:

A frolic in the water...

Charlie boy getting his tootsies wet.

As usual, Jelly is much better at sitting still for a photo. If you look in the lower right hand corner, Charlie decided he would deign to look at me for the picture. Of course, I was not taking the picture of him at that moment.

Not high art photos by any means, and they are kinda small here, but gives you the idea.

Have a good Sunday.

Thirteen Thursday # 6

Keep those thoughts and prayers coming for D, okay?



Today I went hunting around my bathroom for the post. I'm not taking a picture of it, because it would scare you, the mess it's in. I do have a clean sink, toilet and mirror. It's just cluttered beyond belief. Before it was remodeled into two apartments, the bathroom was the kitchen in the original incarnation of this quirky little building. It's huge, but odd.
Here goes:

Thirteen things in my bathroom:

1. 53 pairs of shoes. But that counts the brand new pair of lovely, black-pebbled-leather, wide calf boots with a kitten heel I got in the mail yesterday. The thing is, no matter how much I weigh, shoes always fit. Size 8 is such an easy to find size.
2. 127 pairs of earrings. The other item that always fits, no matter what. I rarely have lost any earrings, but have narrowed down the collection. I used to have over 300 pairs. I finally got rid of the florescent, golf-ball width ones from the 80's. Funny thing is, I usually just wear my $9 silver hoops every day.
3. Several rocks. Every time I go to the beach with Charie, I pick up a beach rock. Don't ask me why. I have a small ledge that runs below the mirror and above the sink, and the rocks (and the occasional shell) live there.
4. Opi Nail Polish in Kenebunk-Port. My favorite red polish. I never get manicures but get pedicures as often as I can afford them. This is on my toes right now.
5. Pair of scissors. Hum. Wonder what I was cutting?
6. Oxi-clean, Miracle Foam. Miracle my ass. I don't know if there's anything that will clean up the dinginess of my shower floor. This is one of a long line of cleaning products I've tried to no avail. And it smells awful too.
7. Yesterday's mail. I tend to pick up the mail, come in the door and head to... you know. The school bathrooms are not the best place for taking care of business. Besides the fact that I have 4 minutes between classes to run, do my stuff, wash my hands and run back.
8. Two pairs of trousers, a pair of track pants and a pair of shorts. All on the floor. What a slob I am.
9. Rubber cleaning gloves. Okay, so I don't get manicures, but does that mean I want washer woman hands? I've got a pair in the kitchen and a pair in here.
10. Two plants. Used to be five, but I've killed three of them. The one that's doing the best is one I got from Torn before he moved to Canada. It's in an old copper tin thing that doesn't drain... yet I think it's at least 1o years old. Hm.
11. Victoria's Secret and Ikea catalogues. Guess which one I like better?
12. About 75 different bottles and jars of lotions and creams. Even though many of these are 1 oz trial sizes, I realize I have a problem. I was a little addicted for a while to ordering the strangest scents (black pepper pear? Vanilla Cedar?) of these from small, online shops. I've not ordered any for over a year. I've thrown out several and am working my way through the rest. You all have your vices, this is one of mine.
13. Zip lock baggie of travel size items. Yes, it's a quart size baggie, and all the travel items are three ounces or less. I just keep it ready to go. Makes it easier when I'm packing to go. Although, don't think I'll be flying anywhere in the next couple of months.

Now you know a bit more about my secret single life. Maybe it's good I don't have a partner; I'd have to change some of my habits.

Come on now...

Okay, so the other day? the anti-infection thoughts for my friend D?

We need more.

He's got pneumonia and a staph infection. One of those awful, antibiotic-resistant, needs-to-be-in-isolation-for-10-days kinds of staph infections.

Makes my last post look even more whiny than normal.

Please please please... any extra thoughts, prayers, intentions, chants... send them D's way.

Sometimes

I feel like a fraud.

Being a good person, caring about others, being honest when it's necessary... doesn't mean anything.

All those stories and songs and movies and stupid trite sayings? I've actually tried to live my life by them.


And instead of the happy ending, I'm the one who ends up with nothing.

(Oh, I know, so dramatic. Don't worry... I'm not in the abyss.)

It's just that I sit back once in a while and take stock.

I bought into the fairy tale, and it was a lie. Sometimes there is no happily every after, or prince charming, or even a nice little cottage somewhere.

Sometimes, the heroine of the story keeps trying and trying and gets nothing for her efforts. Taking a chance, going for broke, sometimes just leaves her empty-handed.

This year, I've been trying to do for others; you know, not feel badly for myself by getting outside of my head. Be there for those that need me, be the ear, the shoulder, the friend who says what needs to be said, and hears what needs to be heard. Forgive what needs to be forgiven.

And?

It hasn't worked.

Sometimes, you can be the best person possible, and no one notices. Sometimes, it doesn't matter.

Sometimes, you're still left wondering:

Why isn't it ever me?

Songs for my movie

I shamelessly copied this from Gayprof.

Opening Credits: “Over the Rainbow” by Johnny Mathis and Ray Charles
Just over the rainbow? Is that the gay pride rainbow? Is it because I’m always falling in love with gay men? Do I just have to get over it? Will my dreams come true?

Waking Up: “My Man” by Billy Holiday.
Yeah right. It’s been eight years since there’s been a man waking up in my bed. Oh, unless you count the wonder dog.

First Day of School: “Two Sides to Every Story” by Etta James
“Ms. Teacher! Johnny pushed me!”
“Well, Timmy took my pencil!”
“He did, he did, I saw it!”
“Shut up Ralph!”
“Ms. Teacher, Timmy just pinched me!”

There’s more than two sides. I know it’s true.

Falling in Love: “Finest Worksong” by R.E.M.
Is that because it’s work, but it’s fine? I don’t know. Haven’t fallen in love in a long time.

First Song: “I Can’t Believe You’re in Love With Me” by Louis Armstrong
Yeah, I’d probably go into anaphylactic shock at this point.

Breaking Up: “You Try to Find a Love” by Bill Withers
And keep trying and keep trying…

Prom: “Bloody Mary (A Note on Apathy)” by Five for Fighting
Hm…more like Carrie’s theme song. My prom wasn’t so bad. It’s definitely a post in and of itself.

Driving: “Prince of Darkness” by Indigo Girls
Uh. Yeah. Most folks don’t like to drive with me. Say I don’t pay close enough attention to the road. Don’t know if I’d compare it to Satan and all though.

Flashback: “ Lie to Me” by Chris Isaack
Now, this is a good one. I was lied to, royally lied to several years ago. Found out that not only had I been cheated on, but that I was someone’s beard. That kinda sucked.

Starting a New Relationship: “Cat’s in the Cupboard” by Pete Townsend
Someone’s hiding in my closet? My new boyfriend is hiding? What?

Wedding: “Stuck in the Middle With You” by Steeler’s Wheel
Oh, that’s charming. Romantic and all. Maybe because I’m so vanilla and suburban and all?

Birth of Child: “Whisper” by Evanescence
Wouldn’t that be great? Didn’t Katie and Tom have a silent birth? Am I going to become a scientologist?

Final Battle: “And When I Die” by Blood, Sweat &Tears
It’s a kicky song, I’ll give you that.

Death Scene: “Drunken Angel” by Lucinda Williams
If I have to go, being drunk and an angel wouldn’t be the worst way.

Funeral Song: “If It’s Magic” by Stevie Wonder
Then I’ll come back to life.

End Credits: “Fragile” by Kylie Minogue
So people can leave dancing in the aisles I suppose.

Good anti-infection thoughts

are needed.

D is back in the hospital; he has some kind of infection they've not identified (after 12 hours of tests) and is expected to be there the next five or six days.

I'm glad he's where he needs to be, but oh gosh, I just want him to get stronger and better.

Think a good thought for him today if you can.

And the name meme continues

YOUR REAL NAME: Rebekah

YOUR GANGSTA NAME (1st 4 letters plus izzle): Rebeizzle

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (fave color + fave animal): Green Dog

YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name + childhood street): Smith Lancaster

YOUR STAR WARS NAME (last 3 letters of your last name + first 2 letters of your first name + first 3 letters of Mom's maiden name):Arsresit

YOUR SUPER HERO NAME (2nd fave color + fave drink): Teal Zinfandel

YOUR IRAQI NAME (2nd letter of your first name + 3rd letter of your last name + any letter of your middle name + 2nd letter of your Mom's maiden name + 3rd letter of your Dad's middle name + 1st letter of a sibling's first name + last letter of your Mom's middle name): Elmiods

YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM NAME (Grandma/Grandpa's first name + Jones): Midge Jones

YOUR GOTH NAME (Black + name of one of your pets): Black Charlie

YOUR AMERICAN IDOL NAME (fav car and sea food): Carmen Ghia None

NAME OF YOUR DREAM BAND (name of computer + printer): Gateway Epson

MOVIE STAR NAME (sibling's middle name + mother-in-law's maiden name): Graham (I don’t have a mother-in-law, so I’m one of those single names)

YOUR ALTER EGO NAME (name of one your childhood pets + popular brand of clothes when you were young): Hezekiah Chemin De Fer

YOUR LAWYER NAME (fav actor's last name + fav hard liquor): Stewart Gin

YOUR HIP HOP NAME (fav candy + fruit): Peanutbutter Cup Boysenberry

Thirteen Thursday # 5

Thirteen jobs I've had:

1. Sweeping up hair at Adorn Coiffures. It was one of those hair places that women went into once a week for a wash n' set. Older crowd. I used to empty the little ashtrays that were set into the arms of the drying chairs. Can you imagine? All that ammonia, hair spray and toner smell, mixed with cigarette smoke? Gross.
2. Fryer/cashier at Jack in the Box. Yep. Made $2.85 an hour there, plus a meal allowance of $3.50 if I worked more than four hours in a shift. Red, orange and yellow uniforms. Double-knit polyester. I worked the graveyard shift, 6 pm to 2 am, Thursday through Sunday nights when I was a freshman in college. I wouldn't recommend it.
3. Resident Assistant. The 10th floor, all girls. 6o girls to be exact. I was 20, they were all 18. I got free housing and meals.
4. University Children's Center aide. I adored this job. I never babysat as a teenager, but this was so much fun. I rode my bike to work and was happy to go every day. I almost became a preschool teacher, but the pay sucked.
5. Clerk at 7-Eleven. I couldn't get a real job after getting an English degree, so I worked here and as a...
6. Clerk at a Hallmark store. I had to wear skirts and hose at this one, and it was one of those , "if you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean" kinda places. Every time someone bought a card, I'd scurry over to replace it. I broke a lot of things there. Not my fault! Too many knick knacks anyway.
7. Living instructor at St. Vincent's Academy. This was a boarding school for developmentally disabled children and teens. It's not there any more. It was started by Catholic nuns for orphans way back. I worked in one of the group homes with the 14-16 year olds. I was attacked more than once. It wasn't a nice place.
8. Resident instructor, Work Training Programs. I actually lived in a group home with six severely behavior disordered, developmentally disabled adults (try to say that ten times fast). Okay, so I lived in a converted garage apartment that attached to the house by a door. Oh the stories I could tell. The night one of the residents ripped the front door off the house chasing me? Another day.
9. Special Education aide, severely/multiply handicapped class. At one point I thought I'd go into special education. This job was another one I really enjoyed. Not taxing on the brain, and I loved the people. Both my coworkers and the students.
10. Teacher of English as a foreign language. I've talked about this before. Three years at a private girl's school in Japan.
11. Custodian. I did this for two weeks, two hours a day, and made $250. Gross gross work, but good pay. This was in 1991.
12. Apartment Manager. Ew. Don't do this if possible. I mean, Torn has to do it, but his financial security relies on it. My building had 16 apartments in it, all populated by crazies. I was also teaching and working at the winery at the same time. Too much.
13. Beckmen Winery, wine pourer. This job was great, until they hired a bee-otch as a manager. I worked there four years, every Sunday, and always had fun. Very few grouchy people go wine tasting. I learned a lot about wine, and got 50% off the wine there (and most other wine in the Santa Ynez Valley).

On a snarky hunt

So, I watched the Oscars the other night. The highlight for me is always commenting on the clothes and the hair, the good and the bad.

Did anyone see Philip Seymour Hoffman's hair? Really really bad.

I mean bad.

But, can I find one website with a picture of it? A snarky remark? a mention?

Nope.

It was as if he was trying for greasy dreadlocks, but gave up half-way through the process (being that he has thin, straight, baby blond hair).


Is there a gag order out there about it? Does he have people that will hurt you if his hair is written about? Should I be scared now?

And what does it say about me that I've spent the last half hour searching the web for info about somebody's bad hair?

My niece Tinkerbell

She's not here just yet, but already we have a picture!

My head itches

I've never had a problem with dandruff, but for the last two years, I've had the most itchy scalp known to humankind. No psoriasis, nothing weird up there, just itchy.

What does this mean?

Yes, I've had it checked out, and there's nothing wrong, and nothing that can be done. Well, unless I take my mother's advice and douse my head in olive oil. No thank you.

So, I itch, and I'm sure some folk must think I have lice. Charming. Perhaps that's the reason I don't date?

On other Sunday morning news, I went out early to get started on my laundry (the washer and dryer are outside, behind the main house), and I was surprised by this little gift:



If you click on it, you'll see how lovely it really was. This is the view from the laundry area. I don't remember the last time I saw a rainbow in the morning. I know there's something about the angle of the sun and so on that makes rainbows only possible at early morning and late afternoon, but that's about as technical as I get.

Did I tell you all that my friend D is home? Yahoo! His wife is doing great at both keeping up with all that he needs (including a feeding tube for the next 4-6 weeks, and the blog. I've linked it above if you're interested).

I know he still has a long way to go, but the really scary part is over now. I know it's because of all the positive thoughts sent his way. And I know some of you really helped. Thank you, and keep it up! He has to stay clear of infection right now. His chemo starts up again in about a month.

That's about all the Sunday news for now. I was trying to convince Torn of a Las Vegas trip, but with his trendy and hip stay in NY, that doesn't look likely until at least July now. Ah well. Save my money.

Walking the Wonderdog

Sunrise a few mornings ago. Taken from the driveway.

Yesterday, after a short but torrential downpour. I was trying to take a picture of the hawk hanging out on the phone wires, but it ended up looking more like dust on my camera. Time to get a new one perhaps?

Just cute little mushrooms growing out of the dirt and mulch at the side of the road. Charlie boy was very interested in them, and I had to keep shooing him out of the shot.

I really can't complain.

Thirteen Thursday # 4

And before I begin, D called last night! Yep, from the hospital. Sounds just like he always does, and called at 11:00 at night, which he always does (he has a hard time remembering that most folks sleep at that time). It was so good to hear his voice. He might be going home tomorrow. Still has a lot of healing to do, but... it's all looking so good right now. Thanks for all the good thoughts sent his way.

Thirteen things on my desk:

1. Vanishing Venus nail polish. It’s a really cool color; a brownish-red with a green shimmer. The shimmer doesn’t show so much when it’s on my nails. Okay, I know it sounds weird, but it’s pretty.

2. Teacher’s Edition of the 8th grade Holt Literature and Language Arts textbook. Five years ago we adopted new textbooks at our school. Because I was the department chair at that time, all the publishers sent me loads of free “inspection” copies of their texts. Which means now, I have my very own book to mark up and keep at home, and have another, official one at school. Makes things much easier when planning lessons.

3. A baby shower card I misplaced before my sister’s shower a couple of weeks ago. Whatever. I’m so done with her being pregnant. I know, I know, I’ll love the baby, be a great auntie, but my god, the world does not revolve around her big belly (I sound snotty, don’t I?).

4. A list of nine students who are missing at least six assignments in my class. I need to call their parents. Ugh.

5. Strawberry Shortcake roll-on perfume. Someone sent it to me, but I can’t imagine wanting to smell like that. I sometimes trade on makeupalley.com, and thought I might swap this.

6. A big green Christmas tree ornament. It has red flocking on it, and is lovely. A student gave it to me this year, but I didn’t put up a tree. It’s oversize, and when I was packing up the other decorations, I had no idea how or where to store it. So, here it sits.

7. Lifesavers. Mom always gives me a lifesaver book every Christmas. I have two Wild Cherry rolls left. I don’t like ‘em; tastes like Sucrets to me. Anyone want them?

8. Knox Original Unflavored Gelatine. Don’t ask. I have no fucking clue.

9. Maidenform Stay Put Fashion Tape. This stuff is fab. I am, how shall we say… not small up top. I have to be careful to avoid gaposis when wearing a shirt or dress that buttons. This tape solves the problem. It can be used to keep fabric close to the skin too; but I’m not the type to wear the deep-V tops.

10. Metal nail file. One never knows when one will need to smooth out a snagged nail.

11. Four used, AA batteries. From my SanDisk. I know it’s bad to throw the batteries into the regular trash, but I don’t know what to do with them! Help me.

12. Glass of Sauvignon Blanc. What, you think I drink English Breakfast tea when I’m composing?

13. A box of 25, PC Formatted, floppy disks from Staples. Really, really bright colors. Florescent, if you will. What the hell am I going to do with them now? My thumb drive covers it all. What’s going to be obsolete next?

Ten Reasons Why I'm Glad I'm a Woman

1. Clothing choices. I can wear a skirt, pants, shorts, capris... a dress, and no one lifts an eyebrow. It's all acceptable. Color is also no problem (such as the beautiful baby blue sweater shirt I gave Torn for his birthday a couple of years ago, which he promptly handed off to his spouse, who was then teased about the "gay" color of it the one time he wore it to work).
2. Seating. I can sit at a movie theatre, on the aisle row on a plane, in a desk at work, and I don't have to keep my legs at a 90 degree angle to get air to my privates. I don't know why so many men have to sit that way at all times, just glad I don't have to.
3. Speaking of privates: I'm glad my plumbing is all self-contained. Nothing hanging out there, all exposed and needing to be protected. Besides, mine is prettier than yours.
4. And something else. I don't have to worry about being caught out if I'm... uh... you know...turned on. I can be subtle about it, and my body won't give me away.
5. Crying. I cry when I'm happy, sad, angry, touched... at those commercials narrated by David Ducoveny about puppy food. I don't feel the need to "suck it up" and no one thinks less of me because of it. I think if men were allowed by society to cry, we wouldn't have near the problems with have with violence. Just my opinion here.
6. I can carry life inside me.
7. My body can feed another being.
8. Women are more tolerant of pain. If men had the cramps I have every month, they would take to their beds and never get up again. I can feel shitty, and still keep up with my life.
9. No one sees me pee when I'm in a public bathroom.
10. I can scream if I see a mouse, and no one questions my femininity. I can tell my friends I love them, and no one questions my femininity. I can hold my friend's hand, or put my arm around her shoulder, and no one has to question if my motives are platonic or sexual. Bottom line? I really do think it's easier to be a woman in the Western world.

But.

I'm sure glad there's men in it.

13 Thursday # 3 - Thirteen CD's

I’m transferring my CD’s to my computer, and it’s taking a pretty damn long time. Next will be how to convert my CD (wma.) files into Mp3 files. Any advice?

1. Smashmouth –Smashmouth
2. Western Wall/ The Tucson Sessions – Linda Rondstat & Emmylou Harris
3. Billboard Top Hits – 1979 – Various Artists
4. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill – Lauryn Hill
5. Pretty Woman soundtrack – Various Artists
6. Tapestry – Carole King
7. Car Wheels on a Gravel Road – Lucinda Williams
8. A Spanner in the Works – Rod Stewart
9. The Ballad Album – Rod Stewart
10. Songs in the Key of Life – Stevie Wonder
11. Still Crazy After All These Years – Paul Simon
12. Patty Smyth – Patty Smyth
13. Now Ain’t the Time for Your Tears – Wendy James

Okay, I realize there is no rhyme or reason to either my choices or the order in which I’ve listed them. Over the last few years, my cd’s have lost their logical, alphabetical set up. Some are in my 25-CD changer, some are at school in a CD wallet, some are in another wallet, some are in boxes and about 200 of them are in the wall unit I’ve outgrown to hold them all.

Here’s the lowdown:
Smashmouth just cracks me up. Summertime, fun music. The lyrics are witty and sharp. I do get tired of them after a while however.

Western Wall/ The Tucson Sessions is something I’ve not listened to for… years. I listened to it today, and don’t know why. Good stuff.

Billboard Top Hits –1979: Right back to ninth grade. “Just When I Needed You Most” by Randy Vanwarmer? Playing that over and over again in my mint green bedroom, in only the way a 14-year-old girl can? I’m there again.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill: I have a tendency to buy things because they are hyped up, rather than actually figuring out if I like it first or not. Don’t like this one. Call me unhip, call me uncool, but I just don’t like it.

The Pretty Woman soundtrack reminds me of living in Japan. I love almost every song on this album. All peppy and upbeat. Like the florescent clothes I wore out at night dancing.

Tapestry is one of those albums that every woman between the ages of 13 and 60 probably own, or should own if they don’t. One of the most perfect albums out there as far as I’m concerned.

Car Wheels on a Gravel Road: Like TMoLH above, I bought this because it was supposed to be oh-so-great… but didn’t listen to it first. Can’t get into it.

A Spanner in the Works and The Ballad Album: Rod Stewart was my first true love. I used to watch the old film clips of girls screaming and jumping up and down for the Beatles and just didn’t get it. That is until I went to see Rod Stewart at the California Mid-State Fair. I think I actually peed my pants that night.

Songs in the Key of Life is another album that everyone should have. Joyful, relaxed. This is music to play with friends around.

Still Crazy After All These Years: “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” is on this album. I remember I asked my mother for the 45 of it for Christmas when I was in sixth grade. She sounded disgusted and huffed, “I most certainly will not!” I had to explain it wasn’t a book, it was a song.

Patty Smyth has disappeared. What happened to her? I wore this cassette out when I first had it.

Now Ain’t the Time for Your Tears is an album I bought in Japan. She was a protégé of Elvis Costello I think. Was she ever popular here in the states? Some of the English language pop I listened to over there was British stuff; music that didn’t make it in America. It’s a loud album. Good for cleaning house.

He's out

And he was talking last night.

12 hours instead of the 7-9 expected for the surgery, but the doctors are happy with the result.

All that strong energy worked! Keep it coming.

Tomorrow, think the good thoughts

Tomorrow is the day D has his surgery. Whenever you read this, send your strength his way. I know I'm going to be a little bit of a wreck inside until I know he's out of it, but I also know he's going to get through this part.

I went to see Billy Collins speak today at UCSB. I've seen him once before and loved it. My students think I'm nuts to pay money to hear a poet read his poetry, but they'll learn. Maybe.

Oh, that reminds me, I need to pick a poem for Poetry Monday tomorrow. Something uplifting and hopeful this time. No need for tears two weeks in a row.

Yahoolamunga!

I've been recommended for a Fulbright Teacher's Exchange.

Now if I can only get through the silly baby shower tomorrow.

13 Thursday # 2

Thirteen googles leading to my blog:

You know you’ve looked. You got to your Sitemeter, or whatever counter program you use for your blog, and you see who has stopped by. Oh, there’s Massachusetts, Gayprof’s been here; here’s Colorado, so my friend James must have come by (and yet again NOT left a comment).

And then there are the google searches. The unknown people who have typed in a word or phrase, and your blog came up as one of the hits. Sometimes, it’s obvious why and sometimes, not so much.

1.embarrassing stories about bloody period panties and tampons
God, I don’t want to know. Why, oh why would someone want to look for these? Will it be repeated somewhere? Is it some perve? What?

2. zicam chews
Okay, someone wants to know about these. They are horrible tasting. If I’ve saved one person from using them, my blog has served a higher purpose.

3. firetini
I don’t know if these are served anywhere other than Elements restaurant in Santa Barbara. They are yummy, but dangerous.

4. Maureen "little crush" Eve
Huh?

5. drunken babble
This makes sense

6. pairing hard apple cider with buffalo wings
It’s just so specific. Like a question. Here’s the thing; Buffalo wings, while tasty, aren’t really known for their gourmet cache. I don’t think anyone who eats them will be too particular about what they drink alongside them.

7. "just babble" blog
This person knew the name of my blog, but didn’t have the web address. I’m so curious. Who was it?

8. three cheese ravioli queer eye for the straight guy
Yes, this was a search. Is it some kind of code I don’t know? And although I have referenced the television show, I don’t think I’ve ever talked about ravioli.

9. "very short toes"
Every time I see a body part search, I automatically think a person has a fetish. What’s wrong with me?

10. "Sofia Rose" AND boobs
I knew when I posted last June about my sister taking the cleavage picture that I would get hits about it. Who’s Sofia Rose?

11. dress sneeze button boobs
Again, so specific. Hmmm…

12. fulbright application
Maybe someone else applied? Is thinking of applying? There is a lack of good, first hand information about the whole process of it… maybe I should write something?

13. pierogies cause heartburn
I beg to differ. They are however, probably one of my top five favorite foods. Had some last night actually.

Next Monday

My friend D goes in on Monday for surgery for his throat cancer. He'll be under the knife for 7-9 hours, with two different surgeons working on him. Then, two weeks minimum in the hospital, barring any complications. I talked to him last night, and even though he was tired, he was upbeat and really sounded good.

I'm trying so hard to be positive and hopeful, and use my thoughts and prayers to send him as much strength as I can, but I'm also scared. And every time I'm scared, or let myself think of the worst that could happen, I feel like I'm betraying him. You know how they tell you that dogs can smell fear, so don't be scared? And that just scared you even more? So you are even more scared of that big black dog that used to bark at you on the way home from school on Padova Road every day? No matter how many times you told yourself you weren't going to run past that chainlink fence, you always did? It's like that.

Every Monday in class I share a poem. It's my sneaky way of teaching them all the forms and poetic terms they need to know without cramming it into a two-week unit. Yesterday I shared one of my favorite poems, Funeral Blues, by W. H. Auden. First period, no problem; It's got an AABB rhyme scheme, it's a lyric poem, it's an Elegy, it uses the devices of metaphor and personification... all that jazz.

Second period? I barely made it through the third stanza before my voice cracked. By the end I even had some girls in the class tearing up along with me. By fifth period, it was already part of school lore: "Ms. S. was crying during class!"

Perhaps it wasn't the best choice.

Then again, why wasn't it? Poetry is important to me because it speaks to me. Not all poetry, if I have to hear Casey at the Bat one more time I'll scream. Those who say they don't like poetry, just haven't heard poetry that means anything to them yet. I've loved this poem for years; yesterday it just hit me a certain way. And isn't that the power of a good poem or book or movie? It touches us, makes us feel we aren't the only ones who feel this way? Or show us a new way to see something? Yes, my students are required by the California State Standards to know the difference between a Sonnet and an Ode... but is that what really counts?

No. It wasn't intentional, but I'm not going to feel bad about showing my human side to my kids. That poem is powerful because it touches me, not because I know what form it takes, or can identify the rhymes in it. My students should see that.

D. was talking last night about how his cancer could be a good thing. How it really pulled out the goodness in people; how the little things (like his being a flake last summer) didn't matter anymore now that something really shitty had happened. How he and his family have been overwhelmed by the outpouring from others. Sure, they expected the phone calls, some cards, but not the people flying out to Seattle, and the gifts and the time. Someone actually sent them an anonymous cashier's check of $1000 to help them through. He didn't expect the words that were said, and the amount of love shown them.

I wish I could say this as well as he did last night, but I can't.

Please though, and I'm speaking to myself right now too, don't dwell on the nonsense in your life. There's so much more to it. I'm not saying it's not fodder for the blog, nor that the ridiculousness in the world needs to be ignored -- I'm just saying, there's so much wonder in the world, take the time to notice it.

Drunk People

Torn's comment after yesterday's post:

You can't take a drunk person's word seriously. It's the alcohol talking.

I think there's more to it than that. I don't have a drink and become a raving bitch. I don't start spouting racist slurs, or make fun of everyone who doesn't happen to agree with me. I don't belittle others just because I can, and I don't start fights.

It's still the person inside talking. Alcohol just loosens things up a bit. It's not doing the talking.

This isn't to say I'm a lovely drunk. I tend to get weepy much of the time. But, that weepy person is still me, not the three Gin and Tonics I just had. That weepy, whiny person is there all the time, but decorum generally keeps her hidden away.

There's a flirty, almost slutty girl that comes out every once in a while too; and she's me as well. It's the part of me I keep stowed up on a shelf most of the time, since it's not socially acceptable to act like that in general circumstances.

I have never accepted the excuse of "I was drunk" for someone's actions. No, I think alcohol just magnifies certain parts of one's personality. I'm not an asshole in my sober life, and I'm not one in my drunken one.

And this is where the wonder of alcohol begins. When I drink, which I love to do, and do often, it's usually to relax or as part of hanging out with friends. It means I don't have any work to do, my responsibility for the day is over, and I can just be me.

Drinking is usually fun. There are times when I'm tired, or I know I'm emotionally exhausted, when I don't drink, because it won't be fun. I can tell much of the time, when I'm going to be a weepy drunk, and I avoid it. That's not how I want to be spending an evening, and it's certainly not the way my friends want to spend an evening with me. There are also times when I know I've hit my limit, and I don't want to be achy the next day, so I stop.

So, my question is, why do people like my friend's husband keep doing it? Well, yes, of course, the alcoholism part... but more than that. He's unhappy, and gets more unhappy as he drinks. How can it be something he wants to continue to do? That's the core of it. Most of us, if something makes us feel bad, we stop doing it. And yes, I'm not being dense, I'm not ignoring it is a disease... but still.

Smokers know the cigarette is bad for them, but they get a little kick from it, a little buzz. I know too much chocolate cake adds on the pounds, but the little sugar high and the pleasure at the moment of eating it overrides my knowledge. But, if alcohol only makes you unhappy, and gives you a hangover in the morning, why continue to use it?

Even drunk, I'm still me. None of my friends have changed their minds about who I am after they've seen me knock back four or five (and yes, even more) glasses of wine. And my friend's asshole husband?

Sober or not, he's an anus-probe.

The Brewhouse

After work yesterday I went to The Brewhouse for happy hour with a friend from work. Jackie is great; only 25 and married already two years. I'm her official "mentor," but really, we have fun hanging out together.

Anyway, the food is good, the beer is wonderful, and the prices (at least until 6:30 pm) are fabulous. It makes up for the fact that it's the LOUDEST place in town. And that's before the live music starts up.

I don't know what it is about that place. Everything echos off of everything else, and it's hard to even think, let alone have a conversation.

Noisy places get to me. I mean, not an amusement park or a concert, but restaurants and bars. I know, what an old lady I am. But I've always hated it. I like talking (have you noticed?), and I like being with my friends. I don't like the way my voice takes on a screeching crow quality when I raise it over the din to be heard. I don't like having to ask someone to repeat something 16 times because I can't catch it when it's said at a normal level.

Lastly, I feel overwhelmed when I'm in a place like that. All day I'm asking kids to stop talking; the last thing I want to do to relax is go and be on edge.

But still. I was out, with a friend, so things were good. I had a "Milk Stout" beer, which I'd never heard of until yesterday, and it was tasty. I had another. Jackie and I ordered the homemade potato chips with Gorgonzola... again with the tasty.

Then.

Melinda showed up. We had asked her if she wanted to join us earlier at school, and she said she might.

What she didn't tell us is that she might bring her husband.

Her evil, rotten-excuse-of-a-human-being husband.

I can't stand this man.

Loathe is too tame a word for how I feel about him.

It really does suck, since I do like Melinda. Just without him. All he does is drink and get mean. I swear, that's it.

He was already drunk last night when they showed up. He ordered a pitcher of beer, but because the glass (yes, he ordered a pitcher for himself), was a beat behind, just started drinking from the pitcher itself. Epitome of charm, that one.

Jackie and Melinda and I started talking about school, but he said we couldn't because it was so boring for him. Okay, so I asked if anyone had heard about the prank that turned into a terrorist scare in Boston... I had only heard a bit about it, so I really was asking if anyone knew what the deal was.

He then went off on me about being vague... as if I should only talk about those things I knew 100% about.

I won't bore you with the details of the next 45 minutes, but suffice it to say this man makes it his goal to bash on me whatever chance he gets. I don't know what I ever did to him. I was pretty close last night to screaming at him (I didn't). He gets loud, and being that he's 6'6", he's pretty damn intimidating.

Driving home, I thought about it. Standing up to him wouldn't have made anything better. I should have just smiled at him and sweetly asked him if he felt better about himself after mocking me. You know, that smile that says, "oh, you poor thing. You really have no confidence at all now, do you?"

Let it go rebekah, let it go.

Thirteen Thursday # 1:

Since I am shy about parts of my body, I’ve never chosen to be a part of HNT.

However, I’ve now discovered this:

It’s for the rest of us folk, who don’t get the “oh, you’re so hot!” comments when we post photos of ourselves.

Now I have a clique too.

13 Items in my Fridge:

Trader Joe’s Capers in Vinegar – so old I can’t remember the last time I used them

Lucerne low fat vanilla yogurt – best before Jan 07 07

Colors Eau De Toilette Vapo-spray (yeah, I keep perfume in there)

Three eggs - Jan 16 07

London Pub Steak & Chop Sauce - No date... what does that mean?

Smucker’s Simply 100% Fruit Boysenberry – best before Jan 2006

Holistic Select Natural Dog food, Tuna, Salmon & Shrimp flavor – best by Nov 17 09

Smart Ground Veggie Protein Crumbles, Taco/Burrito flavor – sell by Mar 14 2007

Trader Joe’s Middle Eastern Flatbread – there should be a date on it somewhere

Trader Joe’s Light Sour Cream – use by Feb 3 2007

Coffee-Mate Peppermint Mocha Creamer – sell by Mar 9 07

Saint Brendan’s Irish Cream Liqueur - isn't it great that alcohol doesn't go bad?

Stirrings Simple Tangerini Mix – Best by Oct 06

Yes, I’ve just come to the realization that it’s time to do some cleaning. The tangerini mix is the worst looking, even though it’s not yet been opened. There are lumpy things floating around in it.

Yet, see that my dog actually has the freshest food in the fridge. Telling, no?