I've decided that this is a handy catch-all phrase for when I'm really pissed at someone. I suppose it's not really fair to Lou Reed - I mean, other than sitting across from him on the plane one memorable night, I don't have anything to do with him (frankly, I can't even name a Lou Reed sing off the top of my head). But, the phrase has stuck with me, and so it comes into use again today. The target this time is a vet in Larchmont NY (who shall remain nameless, but whose name is the same as cheap wine). This moron completely f***ed up Cali and Brooke's paperwork, and now they are stuck in doggy prison at Heathrow Airport. When I got there, the DEFRA agent told me they couldn't leave with me, and even said Brooke might have to go to quarantine because the paperwork said her microchip was put in after rabies vaccine. To be clear, this asshole in Larchmont wrote that both dogs had been microchipped in October 2009. She completely made a date up - Cali was chipped in 2005 and Brooke in 2008. Now this woman may cause Brooke to have to go into quarantine.
Added to this is the fact that Virgin did not clearly state that the paperwork needed a raised seal - they said that as long as the vet was USDA certified, they could certify the paperwork - wrong! As a result, if the rest of the paperwork checks out tomorrow, they'll have to get EU pet passports. In the end, that might not be a bad thing, but still. I had to leave them there, and didn't even get to see them. When the DEFRA agent was telling me all this, he looked a bit concerned at one point - I think because I probably looked like I was going to pass out. There was point where the world seemed to recede and all I heard was static. I pulled it together, though - a my mother's daughter, I could do no less! But, then I declined the cab back to the main terminal, choosing to walk the 15 minutes instead. There was one easy reason for this - I knew I was about to start crying hysterically, and really didn't want to do that in the back of a cab. By the time I finished walking to the terminal, I was reasonably pulled together again.
I'm trying to comfort myself with the fact that they survived the flight OK, and that it's a minor paperwork clitch, but I won't be at ease until they're here in the flat with me. Until then, I'm sending my favorite phrase across the pond to Larchmont, NY and hoping this woman's house gets invaded by all manner of pestilence in a freak biblical plague.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Running Away from Home
You always hear about people picking up and disappearing in the midst of trying times. I definitely have to be the only person I know who runs away from home with a carefully planned out grant application, and 20 boxes of stuff. Well, 9 boxes so far. Here’s hoping the Royal Mail turns up with the other 11.
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
**** You, Lou Reed!
So, I ran through a lot of titles for this post before settling on this one. The frontrunner was “World’s Worst Blogger” because, let’s face it, I suck at this. In my defense, I defy anyone who has had as much on my plate these last 6 months to find the time to write too! Maybe that’s a bit of a cop out, but after spending hours cleaning out the house in 90 degree weather, and no air conditioning, the last thing I need or want to do is sit and try to find witty things to say on a blog. Of course, if you don’t actually write anything, the blog doesn’t really work, does it? So, I am making the vow today to get my ass in gear and write more regularly.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Bleh
Yeah, that about sum up how I've ben feeling of late. I'm way behind on writing entries because I've just not had the best few weeks. Of course, I do realize that's probably the best time to write - you get the meatiest stuff, and it has a cathartic effect. But if can't get motivated, I can't write. And, it's not like the last few weeks have been awful - they've just not been particularly great. Definitely more bug days than windshield days. It started at Friends Lake on May 2 - Keith and I had gone up to open the house, and I thought it would really bother me to b up there without both mom and dad. But I did fine for Friday and Saturday. Sunday, though, I was really depressed. By the time I got home, I had a terrible migraine on top of feeling depressed. I missed work that Monday, for the first time since coming back from bereavement leave.
Then came Tuesday 5/4. I had to send more papers to the realtor for the apartment, and I twisted my ankle in a pothole in Tuckahoe, and faceplanted in the street. I ended up with a sprained ankle, and am now sporting an aircast. Add to that a broken toe four days later (same foot), and that's how that week ended.
The next week was a mad dash of work to try and catch up, as my Juniors were hopelessly behind - it's amazing how many "indispensable" lessons become dispensable when the end of the year is looming. Through all that, my ankle throbbed, and I tried to figure out how I'm going to grade the hundreds (yes, hundreds) of things I need to grade by June 18th. Mix in a couple of seniors in danger of not graduating, and Juniors manipulating and taking advantage of my good nature, and it all becomes a bit much to deal with.
Cleaning out the house has had its ups and downs. Coming across all of mom and dad's wedding cards, still in the little satin bag, as well as their response cards (yes, really), was both sweet and heartbreaking. The toys of my childood are being relegated to sell piles, as if I'm selling off those golden years. And, oh, yeah, we're tying to arrange a garage sale for this Saturday. Bags upon bags of stuff that needs to be sorted and priced. With 2 Yankee games this week, and graduation Friday, when is there time? In between trips to the post office (navigating around the pothole) to send more documents to the realtor and the mortgage people?
This week, my sadness is focused on the fact that I've sold my Jeep Wrangler. I love this car, but I had to sell it - I can't keep three cars, especially moving to the city. It's going to a good home (a 19 year old girl on Long Island), but this car is my baby. It's the first car I bought for myself. I had it in Mexico - drove it cross country twice! And, it's a really cool car - everyone oves it. I've never been cool in my life - it was kind of nice to have people look at my car and think how cool it was. I realize that I am more upset about this than a rational person should be, but I can't help it.
And, lest we think we're done, let's add some insensitivity to the mix. Today, while teaching the kids about analytic interviewing - and after yellng at them twice - I proceeded to give an example regarding a student's mother chaperoning a party. An instat after I spoke, I realized the student I chose (who sits right in front of me), is a student who lost her mother. I couldn't believe I could be so stupid. She didn't seem overly bothered by it, but I was horrified. And, in that perverse way we human beings have, the error led to hysterica laughter in the whole class. I was a complete wreck in front of them, unable to continue. It's like laughing at a funeral - something just gets into you and you can't stop. The kids must have thought I had fially lost it. It took me forever to regain my composure, and it wasn't something to laugh at - I actually think I started laughing in disbelief at what a complete moron I am, and then it just escalated out of control. A completely inappropriate response, and I feel like a complete ass.
So, yeah, bleh is about the best I can do right now. Now it's time to jump of the computer so I can strangle Brooke with her anti-bark collar (which, admittedly, would be more effective if she were actually wearing it right now).
Then came Tuesday 5/4. I had to send more papers to the realtor for the apartment, and I twisted my ankle in a pothole in Tuckahoe, and faceplanted in the street. I ended up with a sprained ankle, and am now sporting an aircast. Add to that a broken toe four days later (same foot), and that's how that week ended.
The next week was a mad dash of work to try and catch up, as my Juniors were hopelessly behind - it's amazing how many "indispensable" lessons become dispensable when the end of the year is looming. Through all that, my ankle throbbed, and I tried to figure out how I'm going to grade the hundreds (yes, hundreds) of things I need to grade by June 18th. Mix in a couple of seniors in danger of not graduating, and Juniors manipulating and taking advantage of my good nature, and it all becomes a bit much to deal with.
Cleaning out the house has had its ups and downs. Coming across all of mom and dad's wedding cards, still in the little satin bag, as well as their response cards (yes, really), was both sweet and heartbreaking. The toys of my childood are being relegated to sell piles, as if I'm selling off those golden years. And, oh, yeah, we're tying to arrange a garage sale for this Saturday. Bags upon bags of stuff that needs to be sorted and priced. With 2 Yankee games this week, and graduation Friday, when is there time? In between trips to the post office (navigating around the pothole) to send more documents to the realtor and the mortgage people?
This week, my sadness is focused on the fact that I've sold my Jeep Wrangler. I love this car, but I had to sell it - I can't keep three cars, especially moving to the city. It's going to a good home (a 19 year old girl on Long Island), but this car is my baby. It's the first car I bought for myself. I had it in Mexico - drove it cross country twice! And, it's a really cool car - everyone oves it. I've never been cool in my life - it was kind of nice to have people look at my car and think how cool it was. I realize that I am more upset about this than a rational person should be, but I can't help it.
And, lest we think we're done, let's add some insensitivity to the mix. Today, while teaching the kids about analytic interviewing - and after yellng at them twice - I proceeded to give an example regarding a student's mother chaperoning a party. An instat after I spoke, I realized the student I chose (who sits right in front of me), is a student who lost her mother. I couldn't believe I could be so stupid. She didn't seem overly bothered by it, but I was horrified. And, in that perverse way we human beings have, the error led to hysterica laughter in the whole class. I was a complete wreck in front of them, unable to continue. It's like laughing at a funeral - something just gets into you and you can't stop. The kids must have thought I had fially lost it. It took me forever to regain my composure, and it wasn't something to laugh at - I actually think I started laughing in disbelief at what a complete moron I am, and then it just escalated out of control. A completely inappropriate response, and I feel like a complete ass.
So, yeah, bleh is about the best I can do right now. Now it's time to jump of the computer so I can strangle Brooke with her anti-bark collar (which, admittedly, would be more effective if she were actually wearing it right now).
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Some days you're the windshield . . .
And some days you're the bug. Today was defiitely a bug day. It's not even that it was a particularly bad day, but it wasn't particularly good. One of those "I should never have gotten out of bed" days. I started the day with a headache, combined with a backache (too much heavy lifting lately, and not enough painkillers!). Add that to an inability to move faster than a glacial pace, and the need to attempt (unsuccessfully) to tame a completely unruly mop of hair, and you end up with me gliding into class at the last possible minute. Only to find out, of course, that I left my attendance and gradebook home. Cue utterly incomprehensible registration assembly for next year, and an inability to access the Virgin Atlantic website because our school censors categorize it as porn! Do you see where I'm going? All Iwanted to do all day was come home, relax, and watch Hamlet on PBS, which I've been waiting for forever. But, right in the middle of that, my lawyer is going to be here to complete some paperwork for the apartment. I'm going to call that "intermission," and try to convince myself that I'm at the theatre. Totally don't think it'll work. Totally want to take a mental health day but, after 3 weeks of bereavement leave, that's not happening. Bleh, I really hope tomorrow is a windshield day!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Early bird specials, telenovelas, Irish plumbers, Julia Roberts and Yorkie-cide (oh, and 8306 pennies)
For the record, the seemingly random title of this post should not be taken as an indication of my state of mind - although my students, bless them, must have thought I was missing a few nuts and bolts today (wierd day, frustrating day - see Yorkie-cide below). These are simply the things that have made up the last week.
I got home Friday from Florida. It was a very nice visit, but I don't think I could have kept up the 4:00 supper times for much longer - 4:00! I haven't even gotten home from school most days by 4:00! I was very grateful to return to my usual 7:30 or later dinner. My visit to the fam in the sunshine state also necessitated some telenovela viewing with my aunts. I really missed American TV - I would have even sat through a Judge Judy, if it wasn't so reminiscent of Casos de Familias. Actually, that show is pretty hard core - the arrested some guy right on camera - he was a pretty sick dude. Anyway, I enjoyed spending the time with my aunts, but I was really happy to watch just about whatever my tivo had recorded for me while I was away.
Then, of course, came the clogged drain that acked everything up in the kitchen. I had to call in a plumber, which became a lesson in humility. Ironically, I had spent the day telling my kids about how good I am at deciphering accents. I told them about my friend in college, and the Scottish football (soccer) team that joined us on the train to Edinburgh. About 4 hours into the trip, she asked me, "What language are they speaking?" I looked at her in disbelief and said, "English, Hannah!" Well, pride does indeed goeth before a fall because I could barely understand 5 words in 10 that this plumber was saying (the select universal swear words when he had to cut open the pipe to retrieve a stuck tool came through loud and clear!). To be fair, I admitted my humiliation to my students the next day - I figure, if I'm going to brag about my skills, the least I can do is admit my failings too!
And Julia Roberts - no, I did not meet the Pretty Woman this week. Instead, I fantasized about having a Pretty Woman moment at the Verizon Wireless store. After having an appalling experience with them last week, I became a T-mobile customer. The short version is this: "My mom and I had a family share plan, and she passed away. I want to cancel her number and keep mine." "Well, what you need to do - oh, and sorry for your loss - is . . ." You can see where this is going. Apparently a death certificate is insufficient proof that I'm not going to somehow commit fraud by keeping my own phone number. With a death certificate, they could only cancel her number and keep mine under her name. "So, you're going to bill a dead woman?" I asked. "No," the rocket scientist of a clerk said. "You'll pay the bill." "So, why can't I have my name on the account?" I asked, reasonably, I thought. "It's to prevent fraud," she said, talking out of her ass. WTF? That doesn't even make sense!! They asked for executor's papers (which I didn't bring, since the rest of the world is OK with a death certificate, except for the highly classified world of cell phones, apparently). I said, neer mind, and walked 2 doors down toT-mobile.
Now for the Julia Roberts moment. I needed to go back to Verizon to cancel the service completely, and I really, really, really, wanted to reenact the scene where she walks in to the boutique and tells the woman, "Remember me. You wouldn't serve me . . . Big mistake! Huge!" And she raises the shopping bags. Well, in my vision, I would have walked up to the customer service counter, repeated similar lines, and waved my Blackberry over my head. Of course, I didn't do it. She was there, but I had another woman who served me (yes, I know, I could have kept the moment alive by saying, "No, I want her"). In the end it came down to this - I'm a total coward, and really did not want to cause a scene in the middle of a crowded store! I'm such a wuss. BTW, the other lady asked for not one bit of paperwork.
So, where am I on that strange list n the title? Ah, yes, Yorkie-cide. Well, my, shall we say eccentric, Yorkie, Brooke, kept me up all night, pacing the hardwood floor (which, by the way, she is doing right this minute, thus Yorkie-cide is still a possiblity). I wanted to chuck her out a window in the middle of the night , but settled instead for flinging her into her bed at one point (it's soft, she's fine). It made no difference - she just kept pacing, all night. I think she was punishing me for the new anti-bark collar I just bought her - hang on, she's barking at me right now - that thing's a piece of crap! Oh, this day just gets better and better! I believe sedation may be necessary tonight - not sure if it's for her or me. Anyway, that's what started my day off - hah, she just got sprayed! Serves her right! Ooh, she's mad. She's so going to back at me tonight.
Wow, if this is how easily entertained I am, I'm clearly overtired. So, I'd better address the last part of the list - 8,306 pennies (less a few English pence that got mixed in somehow). This is the number of coins (plus honorable mention to 209 dimes) that I spent 1/2 hour depositing into a Coinstar machine this afternoon, after the bitch of a school day I had. They were all in a bunch of jars that Mom had in closets and cabinets in the house. I admit to being a tad disappointed not to have cracked 10,000 after all that effort, but I comfort myself that the crazy woman with the cart full of pennies must have been the subject of some dinner table conversation around Yonkrs this evening. I aim to please. And, I am really, really, really tired. And Brooke is limping on her bum knee, trying to elicit some sympathy, so I should probably go see if she's OK, and then slip her a mickey. Until next time!
I got home Friday from Florida. It was a very nice visit, but I don't think I could have kept up the 4:00 supper times for much longer - 4:00! I haven't even gotten home from school most days by 4:00! I was very grateful to return to my usual 7:30 or later dinner. My visit to the fam in the sunshine state also necessitated some telenovela viewing with my aunts. I really missed American TV - I would have even sat through a Judge Judy, if it wasn't so reminiscent of Casos de Familias. Actually, that show is pretty hard core - the arrested some guy right on camera - he was a pretty sick dude. Anyway, I enjoyed spending the time with my aunts, but I was really happy to watch just about whatever my tivo had recorded for me while I was away.
Then, of course, came the clogged drain that acked everything up in the kitchen. I had to call in a plumber, which became a lesson in humility. Ironically, I had spent the day telling my kids about how good I am at deciphering accents. I told them about my friend in college, and the Scottish football (soccer) team that joined us on the train to Edinburgh. About 4 hours into the trip, she asked me, "What language are they speaking?" I looked at her in disbelief and said, "English, Hannah!" Well, pride does indeed goeth before a fall because I could barely understand 5 words in 10 that this plumber was saying (the select universal swear words when he had to cut open the pipe to retrieve a stuck tool came through loud and clear!). To be fair, I admitted my humiliation to my students the next day - I figure, if I'm going to brag about my skills, the least I can do is admit my failings too!
And Julia Roberts - no, I did not meet the Pretty Woman this week. Instead, I fantasized about having a Pretty Woman moment at the Verizon Wireless store. After having an appalling experience with them last week, I became a T-mobile customer. The short version is this: "My mom and I had a family share plan, and she passed away. I want to cancel her number and keep mine." "Well, what you need to do - oh, and sorry for your loss - is . . ." You can see where this is going. Apparently a death certificate is insufficient proof that I'm not going to somehow commit fraud by keeping my own phone number. With a death certificate, they could only cancel her number and keep mine under her name. "So, you're going to bill a dead woman?" I asked. "No," the rocket scientist of a clerk said. "You'll pay the bill." "So, why can't I have my name on the account?" I asked, reasonably, I thought. "It's to prevent fraud," she said, talking out of her ass. WTF? That doesn't even make sense!! They asked for executor's papers (which I didn't bring, since the rest of the world is OK with a death certificate, except for the highly classified world of cell phones, apparently). I said, neer mind, and walked 2 doors down toT-mobile.
Now for the Julia Roberts moment. I needed to go back to Verizon to cancel the service completely, and I really, really, really, wanted to reenact the scene where she walks in to the boutique and tells the woman, "Remember me. You wouldn't serve me . . . Big mistake! Huge!" And she raises the shopping bags. Well, in my vision, I would have walked up to the customer service counter, repeated similar lines, and waved my Blackberry over my head. Of course, I didn't do it. She was there, but I had another woman who served me (yes, I know, I could have kept the moment alive by saying, "No, I want her"). In the end it came down to this - I'm a total coward, and really did not want to cause a scene in the middle of a crowded store! I'm such a wuss. BTW, the other lady asked for not one bit of paperwork.
So, where am I on that strange list n the title? Ah, yes, Yorkie-cide. Well, my, shall we say eccentric, Yorkie, Brooke, kept me up all night, pacing the hardwood floor (which, by the way, she is doing right this minute, thus Yorkie-cide is still a possiblity). I wanted to chuck her out a window in the middle of the night , but settled instead for flinging her into her bed at one point (it's soft, she's fine). It made no difference - she just kept pacing, all night. I think she was punishing me for the new anti-bark collar I just bought her - hang on, she's barking at me right now - that thing's a piece of crap! Oh, this day just gets better and better! I believe sedation may be necessary tonight - not sure if it's for her or me. Anyway, that's what started my day off - hah, she just got sprayed! Serves her right! Ooh, she's mad. She's so going to back at me tonight.
Wow, if this is how easily entertained I am, I'm clearly overtired. So, I'd better address the last part of the list - 8,306 pennies (less a few English pence that got mixed in somehow). This is the number of coins (plus honorable mention to 209 dimes) that I spent 1/2 hour depositing into a Coinstar machine this afternoon, after the bitch of a school day I had. They were all in a bunch of jars that Mom had in closets and cabinets in the house. I admit to being a tad disappointed not to have cracked 10,000 after all that effort, but I comfort myself that the crazy woman with the cart full of pennies must have been the subject of some dinner table conversation around Yonkrs this evening. I aim to please. And, I am really, really, really tired. And Brooke is limping on her bum knee, trying to elicit some sympathy, so I should probably go see if she's OK, and then slip her a mickey. Until next time!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Two Months
I have to keep this post short, because I'm on a borrowed computer, but I needed to acknowledge that today marks two months since Mommy died. In a wierd way, it seems like longer. I guess because it has been such a long two months, and because so much has happened in that time. It's kind of appropriate that I'm in Tampa right now, with Mommy's family, all of whom I know miss her too. So, being with family is good. It's all a little surreal. But, I wanted to say, on this two-month occasion, Mommy, I love you, and I miss you more than words can say.
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