What a difference a day makes!

Yesterday at about this time I was seriously considering banging my head against a wall. I hadn't had a bad day -- the kids were a little inattentive, but I had a nice lunch with co-workers, then came home to address our new insanely-slow-DSL-connection problem. And I spent the next 2 1/2 hours dealing with SBCglobal. Listen, let's leave it at this: I am sure that, if I spoke Bangladeshi or whatever, I would discover that the five people I talked to yesterday are brilliant, insightful, and witty. But since I do not speak Bangladeshi and they do not speak English ("What bastard are you using?" "What WHAT?" "Baah-sah." "Browser?" "Yes.") it was somewhat more difficult to resolve. I skipped my 5:30 ballet class thinking that I would just go to the 6:30, then realizing that I also hadn't picked up my veggies. I didn't have time to get them, come home, get ready to go, and then go to ballet, so I rushed out of the house and got them on the way to class and they sat in my car (they do not appear to have suffered much). People were driving like FRICKIN' IDIOTS, too.* Anyway, so I was cranky when I got there, but then I did some pique attitude turns that the teacher complimented me on, I worked out some of my frustrations, and I saw some of my good ballet friends. Then I went outside and solved the Mystery of the Tailgating Stogie Men. These three old guys sit on the tailgate of a truck (one has recently been bringing a lawn chair) and smoke cigars all Wednesday evening outside the ballet studio (which is in a shopping complex). So last night I just decided to ask them. Apparently they all meet for dinner at the Peking Gardens every Wednesday and then come out and enjoy a cigar and the "scenery" (I think he was winking towards the girls in leotards). And they flirted with me. Well, I was happy to have the answer, anyway.

Then today school went better and the weather was cooler (still in the 90s, but much more bearable). I got a burst of cooking energy (see Count Broccula -- I'll update soon), and made a bunch of stuff that turned out really well, including a cobbler that, when I tasted it, made me go "Ho-o-o-ly shit, that's good!" and give a wicked giggle.

Oh, just got to tell you a little about the Naughty Lady party at my neighbor's house last weekend. It was me, three black women (the husband's sisters and mom), one Hispanic friend, and 15 Hmong women. Which didn't make me uncomfortable or anything, it's just that I had no idea what they were saying most of the time. Anyway, I'm fairly well read and not uncomfortable with sexual topics, so when the Lady would ask questions like "Why should you never put products containing sugar on your vagina?" I'd yell out "yeast!" I'm kind of a teacher's pet -- I can't help answering questions if I know the answer. So after a while I was getting these looks like, "Who are you, the sex ed teacher?" And when it came to the one-handed condom application contest, I blew (sorry) the competition away. I'm not Susie Bright or anything, I just know who Susie Bright is, okay? Anyway, toward the end of the evening, we were browsing the catalogs, and the Hmong woman next to me leaned over, pointed at an item description, and said "Now, when they say 'shaft,' is that the part on the end?" Man, I thought I was on Candid Camera. Plus, their house is decorated nicely and everything, but there was the occasional jarring item -- like the photo of Neighbor and her mom in the full ceremonial Hmong garb, both looking quite somber -- on one of those felt scrolls that has six-shooters and horseshoes and says "WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE."


* On the stupid drivers, most were just normal things -- a tailgater that came rushing up my ass going 70 in the exit lane, a guy who turned his signal on, then went straight (at me). But the cake-taker yesterday was a woman in a Jeep who rolled through a stop sign, then slowed WAY down in the intersection, coming almost to a stop, rolled through to the other side of the intersection going about 5, and drifted into the lane of oncoming traffic. Now we were not in a heavily trafficked area, nevertheless I thought she might appreciate her having her attention brought to the fact that she was BEHIND THE WHEEL OF A VEHICLE, but not apparently OPERATING IT. I beeped. Not even honked. I touched the horn the shortest possible amount of time, as Bill Bryson's Japlish expression goes "tootling the horn melodiously." And this bitch (who, I think was looking for a french fry or something on the floor, since her body was completely slumped down in her seat with her head down) looks in the rearview and starts SCREAMING. Like I'm in the wrong. Like it's perfectly normal to stop driving and just let the car drift where it may. Man, I had some road rage with that one.

Jeez Louise!

Well, I was gonna post at length about all the exciting adventures, but the internet is sooper-dooper slow tonight. Highlights:

Still working on the house -- latest room looks awesome. I couldn't be happier.

Summer school -- not too bad, and halfway done.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince -- over too soon. Now I'm going to be jonesin' until the next (and final) installment.

Reception invitations -- about 2/3 went out. All over the west coast this week people opened the mail and went "Oh! Honey, do you suppose it's meant to look like this?" Yeah, well, I'm a do-it-yourself kind of girl -- extra ink smudges, trapezoidal pieces of vellum and strings of hot glue aside . . .

I've been sorting through books to try and weed them out some -- out went all the ones I never liked, never read, and will never lend. Sorry to professors Bauerly, Olmstead, Tucker, and the comtemporary Brit lit guy -- your entire syllabi are in boxes by the door. Still, it's tough. I love my books and hate getting rid of any. I'm probably the only person I know who could have packed four boxes of books, loaded three bookshelves, and still need another entire bookshelf for the keepers in piles on the floor.

Gotta go -- bedtime (and quick showertime first).

Take care, all. --K

Hey everybody!

wedding tree
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

We got married! That's right, it's now officially the Piggs-Mockula household of not-living-in-sin. We had a lovely time in a very small ceremony downtown, then a really nice dinner and a champagne tasting/cake eating soiree at Mom's. I'm really happy, Piggs is really happy, we had a great weekend, it was absolutely no stress, no scariness . . . we even spent the rest of the weekend with friends, going to G3's art gallery show, throwing a birthday party for Monkeygirl, going rafting with Monkeygirl and Toltec1, as well as some old friends (and their friends) from the Santa Cruz area. Today was low-key, just breakfast out, a little shopping, then we had to drop Toltec1 off at the airport. We will go on a smallish Monterey trip in the next month or so, then next year we're starting to talk about a bigger trip.

This was truly a wonderful weekend and a great way to kick off a marriage -- no hangovers, hurt feelings, or wedding planners. It ruled. And we're married! Yay!

In two and a half hours I'll be Mrs. Piggs!

Well, technically, I'll still be Ms. Mockula, but I'll be married to Mr. Piggs! Cool, huh? I'm excited, not nervous, happy . . . eatin' yogurt.

I've tried to prod and see if there are any nervous parts in me -- "poke poke - it's a lifetime committment, you know . . ." -- but there's nothing really to poke at. I feel good. Hellos to everyone out there in the Piggs family and the Mockula family, to my Gynas and webgyna and countless others that will be there for the par-tay in September, but who are, I know, here with us in spirit today. Thanks, all.

Now, for the cranky Mockula you've all come to know and love -- How come I was not properly indoctrinated into all this girl shit? My hairstylist (who is fabulous, and gave me a great cut) suggested "just putting it up in hot rollers" for a bouncy wave. Sure, that sounds easy! So I bought myself some rollers (my hair styling products consist of a flat brush, a round brush, a blowdryer and several varieties and viscosities of goo), heated them up ("is the dot turning black? Is that a reddish black? Does burgundy count?"), and began to roll them in neat rows, alternating roller sizes and types (ceramic and ionic), and rolling some towards the front and some towards the back.

Fooled you! No I didn't, dude. I don't know which ones are which (some of them are deeply ridged like something sci-fi, others just appear ribbed for her pleasure). There are no rows. The rollers were rolled in whichever direction they would stick. Several of them have crashed to the floor. There are no instructions as to how the clips are supposed to hold the rollers, so I just kind of stuck them on any which way I could. Let's be honest; there are several that I wrapped the ends around, then just kind of pushed at my head and stuck a pin in. I have ends sticking out all over, which, from previous hair-styling experiments, I can only assume will stick out in kinky sharp points once I take these rollers out. And as for the "cool end" of the roller that the box proclaims the rollers have, I couldn't find the non-finger-burning end, and there are only two ends . . .

It's also hot, so I'm hoping my makeup doesn't sweat off. I'm not wearing all that much, so maybe that'll help. Well, tell you what, when I get all finished, I'll try to post a photo, and you can decide for yourself whether I am a disaster of a tomboy playing dress-up, or a ravishing beauty on my wedding day. Most likely, somewhere in between. I'm anxious to find out myself.

Take care all, and wish me luck (just for the styling, the marriage part will be a-ok.)

--CM-P (kidding, we're not hyphenating, that would just be cruel).

Been a while!

Okay, let's see -- I finally finished "When Smoke Ran Like Water" by Devra Davis and "Fever Pitch" by Nick Hornby. They both moved a little slow for me, because A: Nonfiction environmental studies by an epidemiologist, while interesting, was not exactly summer beach reading and B: I'm just not really interested in soccer, sorry "football." I honestly didn't dislike either, though, it just took a while.

The conference -- some of you know I was in Asilomar this week for a conference on the International Baccalaureate program. It was extremely interesting, and packed with information. I was so busy the whole time -- attending my "sessions," going on a field trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, getting fed (we all left with a pavlovian response to the dinner bell), getting to know my new co-workers, running and sitting on the beach. I took a couple books, several magazines, and my wedding invitations and address book, and I really barely cracked anything. I learned a lot and had a lovely time. We drank too much -- not that I got drunk, but we went through a LOT of wine. I also met people from all over the country and the world. I talked for a long time with a woman born in Cuba who has lived in Russia and is currently teaching in Abu Dabhi with her Palestinian husband, just to give you an idea of how international this program actually is.

Of course, Thursday when I left Asilomar it was 65 degrees, and when I arrived in Sac, it was 101.

Girls only -- remember that nail polish I recommended? Dude, I didn't have to touch it up until Tuesday, and that was after extensive sanding, cooking, baking, and a full week.

My Mom worked her ass off while I was gone, completely finishing the sanding, priming and painting (but for the trim and ceiling). Wow, huh? I brought her some socks from Monterey, think its a fair trade? Yeah, me neither. We'll finish the trim and ceiling this week, and hopefully get started on the walls in the other half of the room.

I finally watched Kill Bill 2 -- wow, no wonder everyone was saying it was so much better than the first one. It had so much more narrative and character development, and David Carradine was fantastic. I really liked it.

Today I bought a portable, large capacity clothes dryer that runs on alternative energy. Okay, it's a clothesline, but a really nice one. See, it it one of those old school pole ones with a big square of clotheslines. It holds a lot more than just one line running across the yard, and has the added advantage of not drooping so far down in the middle that your clothes are hanging on the ground. Plus, the only really LONG space in my yard totally bisects it, so that if there's laundry on the line, you really have to duck underneath to go into another part of the yard. This one is much more compact. I already had a concrete block in the yard with a hole in it, so all I did was open the thing up like an umbrella and stick it in the hole. Naturally, it's more labor to go hang all the laundry, but once it's up, it doesn't really take any more time. Plus, it doesn't cost anything on the old SMUD bill, and doesn't heat up the house (which is a good thing, since our AC is on the fritz).

Tonight is my bachelorette party, tomorrow our band plays a show (see thegynas.com for details), Monday there's a block party on my street, Thursday (we think) Toltec 1 arrives in town, and Friday Piggs and I are gettin' hitched. Then Saturday there's an art show and a birthday party (for Webgyna and Monkeygirl respectively) and Sunday is Wedding Weekend Waterworks (i.e., rafting.) You think I'm busy enough? It's hard to tell.

I'm sure there's interesting stuff I'm forgetting, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Take care,
CM

Bubba, a product endorsement, and the Mexican National Anthem

Bubba is a little boy who ran over to me yesterday at a coffee shop, climbed up on my chair, put his arm around my neck, and leaned in to me comfortably. Just to make sure, I turned my head so he could see me and asked "Did you mistake me for someone you know?" His mom hurried over and explained, "No, he just loves women." We talked briefly, and while we did I patted Bubba on the back. After a second, I noticed he was patting me, too, on the back of the head! He got down, played in the fountain, went through a little gate, collected some rocks, then took a couple laps around the courtyard. On the first lap, he was clothed in overalls. On the second lap, no overalls, just pull-ups. On the third lap, the pull-ups are dangling off one leg and he's trying to kick them off while still running from Mom, who's hot on his nekkid little tail, explaining that "we are not in our living room."

Okay, I only do this occasionally, but I tried a new nail color the other night, and it is so good I am endorsing it for my (what, two?) female readers. It was L'Oreal Steel color. I was looking for a really obnoxious bright rasberry color, and that was just the first one I saw, but it went on smoothly, dried quickly (fast enough that even I didn't smudge it, and I am the smudge master), looks really even, and after two days (okay, one and a half), it's not chipped or worn at all. Usually, I can count on messing my nail polish up while it is still wet, and then getting a chip within the next 24 hours, so already this is an improvement. Okay, that's all.

The Bubba story reminded me of several funny stories from my school, one of which was a kid who, when asked if he went by any other name, said "You can call me Bubba." My friend replied "Are you sure, honey?" Anyway, I was thinking of all these stories, and may someday tell you about the Hummer (if you haven't heard it already, which is unlikely -- it's one of Mockula's greatest hits), the catfight behind the gym, the band teacher with the unfortunate name, and many more. But for today, it's the Mexican National Anthem.
It was the last week of my first year, and the last week is notoriously hard to deal with. You've already turned your textbooks in, the days are short, and any kid with half a brain realizes you've also finalized your grades. So one day I decide to bring my bass guitar and entertain the kids. A kid named Junior asked if he could play it. He was a sweet and trustworthy kid, so I said yes. With little hesitation, he picks out the strains of "Lowrider," by War. Having a brain fade (sometimes I feel like an absolute stroke victim -- yesterday I couldn't remember "Sturgis"), I said "Oh, wow, cool! That was great! What's that song called?" And Junior replies "I think it's, like, the Mexican National Anthem." My friend Henry loved this one, and once, when the song came on (about 4 years later) at a party, we both went "Hey, it's the Mexican National Anthem!"

The to-do list

One of my favorite Frog and Toad stories is about a to-do list. It's amazing how much stuff you can cross off and still not feel like you've done anything.

I left a message with Kaiser about my foot thing.
I created a wedding invitation list and got/requested a few more addresses from folks.
I sent an e-mail to the lady at the county office of education who I think can help me out of a bind.
I made an appointment at the county clerk's office to get MARRIED.
I contacted a friend about a carpool to a conference (just e-mailed, haven't heard back).
I called to arrange for someone to pick up my van so I can donate it.
I called our insurance lady to ask a question (left a message again).
I reserved a boat for our upcoming rafting trip.
I (finally) sent monkeygirl the last two addresses for my bachelorette party.
I ordered something secret for the reception (although everyone who reads this blog regularly already knows what it is).
I sent an e-mail to potential rafters to confirm the date & such.

Now I'm off to shower, then coffee with sora3, then pick up veggies, then ballet. Not much concrete to show for what has been a fairly busy day.

Bye all,
CM

I rule

Gimme some sugar baby.


Which B-Movie Badass Are You?
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They got the bad guy!

The story's over at Sweetie's blog but the good news is that they hauled that dude's ass off to jail. Plus, I got to ride in the back of a police car and wave at all my neighbors. Finally, huh? I just hope he doesn't get bailed out and show up this weekend or something. Oh, our stuffed animals had some thoughts on this as well at their blog.

In other news, you know in "Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail" how they show the hand turning the pages of the big illustrated book, and eventually a big hairy monster hand envelops the other hand? Well, in the movie that is my life, I have almost never heard the page turning to another chapter quite so loudly and obviously. It's like that moment in between CDs when you can hear the mechanism in the player changing and Paul Simon's Graceland was on and the "Myth of Fingerprints" just finished playing and now, after a brief delay, Patti Smith is starting off on "Gloria." I said goodbye to the last of my colleagues and turned in my keys. The guy causing all our problems here at home is in jail. We bought our wedding rings. I said goodbye to an old friend. So many things are changing, I'd almost believe in some kind of astrological influence. The last time my life changed so drastically was the few-month period in 1999 when I left my husband, moved in with a roommate (monkeygirl, actually) for the first time, finished my first and hardest year of grad school, quit my job to start substitute teaching, and applied for and was accepted into the intern program that got me into teaching. I also got seriously ill, which I'm beginning to be concerned that I am now. Is there a term for this, like 'sea change' or 'Saturn's return' or something? I can almost hear a Disney's Haunted Mansion sound effect -- the creak, thud, of a chapter of my life closing. But I can also hear the creak of it opening onto a new one.

Excitement, adventure, high-speed chases, and tearful goodbyes.

No, really! First, a thought on my last day at my school -- the absolute hardest part is leaving all the wonderful people I work with. And none of them know my blog address, so you know I'm not just saying it to be nice. I really wanted to talk to each of them personally to say goodbye, and I tried, but didn't manage to hit quite everyone. It was really bittersweet. Everyone said totally undeserved nice shit about me, like how hard it was going to be to replace me. I made a special point of thanking all of the support staff people -- the counselors, attendance lady, custodians, administrative assistant. I don't know what it's like in other fields, but in teaching, those people are the ones who make EVERYTHING go. Potential teachers out there (Zoombaba, listen up), these are the people to be nice to. I'm serious.

Also, we had our promotion ceremony today, and while it was really nice to see my current students in the ceremony, it was absolutely touching and astounding to see two of my students from my very first year of teaching who graduated from high school on Tuesday. One of them was a constant thorn in my side. I loved her and sometimes was utterly frustrated by her. She made me mad. She questioned everything and never gave in on anything, even when she was wrong. We butted heads a lot, but still I had a really deep affection for her. She is going to Cal Poly in the fall to study biology so she can become a pediatrician, the dream she had five years ago when I first asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. Writing this right now is the third time I've teared up over it.
And one last thing on the promotion ceremony. I wish 13 year old girls could look around objectively and see how utterly nice and attractive and lovely and respectful they look when they dress appropriately for the occasion and their age. The ones in floral sundresses, pants and blazers, knee-length skirts and blouses -- they just look so sweet and nice. The ones in the skirts that barely cover their asses, the stiletto heels they can't walk in . . . not so much. There's a time to dress like that -- when you're an adult in a dance club looking for nookie. Not at 8th grade graduation. Oh well, nothing you can do, right?

Okay, now on to the adventure and high speed chases . . .

So yesterday I'm driving home in my rental car (if you're just tuning in, my Matrix was stolen from work on the 6th) from Trader Joe's, and just a couple blocks from home, I see a Matrix hogging the road up ahead. As I pass it, I look at the driver (looking for the face of stupid as usual) and it's my scuzzy two-doors-down neighbor! I turn my head as I pass him to look at the license plate, and it's MINE! It's MY CAR!
Since I'm nearly home, I rush in and call the cops. I'm all ready to be like "He's heading northbound on 58th . . ." when the dispatcher basically tells me to shove off, that they can't do anything unless I find it parked somewhere. I'm like "so, I saw my neighbor driving my car two minutes ago and I can tell you exactly where, and you're not interested?" Yep.

So I make gazpacho. Angry, cut into little tiny pieces with a knife gazpacho. Furious gazpacho. And sweetie, bless his heart for being angry too, keeps popping back into the room to make sure I'm right about everything I've told him. Pop: "And it was light blue?" Pop: "And did it have the fuzzy dice?" Pop: "ANd the police said they couldn't do anything?" Pop: "And it was that guy from the house down the street?" Pop: "And it was a blue Matrix?" Finally, I flipped a little. Something to the tune of "I'M REALLY PISSED OFF AND WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU WOULD QUIT ASKING ME THESE THINGS AND YES I'M SURE IT'S MY CAR BECAUSE IT HAD MY FREAKING LICENSE PLATES ON IT."

I ate the angry gazpacho, then went to the dryer to get my dance clothes, which were still wet. I turned to sweetie and said "Do you want to go for a drive and see if we can find it parked somewhere?"

We drove through the worst parts of town for about 3/4 of an hour (and I definitely found the worst parts of town -- we were circled overhead by a helicopter and passed about 15 cop cars while driving). I finally decided to take one swing past a little shopping complex in our neighborhood (there's a dive bar in there), and spotted him on the road. Reza called the cops and we followed him. Now, I lied about the high speed part. He was stuck behind a slow-moving truck hauling a camper for a few blocks, then he passed it and I stayed behind it so he wouldn't figure out I was following him. He drove . . . wait for it . . . right back to our neighborhood! He parked around the corner and walked to his mom's house. We parked our rental car in the garage and waited by the Matrix for the police. It took a while for the cops to get there, and by the time they got to the mom's house, he and his buddy had taken off in a van (they probably figured out what was going on). I stowed the car in a secret hidy-spot, and set the wheels of revenge in motion. Speaking of which, if you would like the car theif and house burglar's name, date of birth, social security number, driver's license number, or address, please feel free to e-mail or comment below. I will make sure all requests are answered in a timely fashion.

Unfortunately, this is not a high priority for the police, so even though I can hand THEM all that information and several bags of evidence from the car, they can't dust the car for prints until Tuesday, and they couldn't come out for four hours today after I SAW him enter the house. It's like "Hello, here is the name and location of a criminal who is wanted for a couple felonies. Oh, you're busy? Terribly sorry to bother you . . ."

I also can't get the locks changed until next week even though he still has a key. I bought a super-The Club and am going to limit my trips for the next few days. I also am e-mailing all the information I've gathered to the detective. Plus, there's gonna be some fucking WRATH towards that den of hillbillies. I won't do anything illegal, don't worry (I turned down the offer of my step-sister's thug friends), but I will sure as HELL call the cops every time they're fighting in the streets, call the code enforcement people every time they're place looks like shit (all the time), call about the building they did without a permit, call this asshole's probation or parole officer . . . heck, I already told the officer that came out yesterday that the teenage kid who lives there sells pot. I'm kind of hoping they're behind in their taxes, too. I've got people . . .

Also, I'm pissed about my insurance company. They wouldn't pay to re-key the car, and said they'd deal with it if it got stolen. Well, are they going to pay now? Probably not.

Wow

This has been some week. Today is the last real day of school. Tomorrow is the promotion ceremony, so I read their names and stuff, but after they go home at around ten, I'm done, too. I still have to pack a little more and check out, but nothing serious. I cleaned out my desk and computer today. I think I've left the next teacher fairly well stocked without leaving them with a roomful of junk (which happened to me when I first started, then again when I moved rooms). Friday technically we have to check in, but usually I'm ahead of the game enough that all I do that day is turn in my keys.

I'm really going to miss the people I work with, but at the same time I already know I'm going to be working with some very cool people at my new job, too.

I'm getting married in three weeks and two days! There's really no comparison between this time and last time, but I still think about how tortured I felt, how concerned, how many people said "Well, you know you can just call it off," but I didn't really feel like I could. I feel so at ease about my impending nuptuals, like it is just the right thing to do at the right time.

I found out that another couple of friends of mine are having a baby, and I'm very excited for them.

I've been losing sleep over a decision I made earlier this week, not because it was a bad decision (it wasn't) but because I know someone else is hurting over it, and for that I'm sorry.

I'm still getting used to being ever-vigilant with the security system, the deadbolts, etc. Sweetie is extremely anxious about the whole thing, and I wish there were some way I could calm him. The reality of it is, we are doing all the right things to keep our home safe, but if something happens (hell, it could be an act of god, too), then it happens and there's not much we can do to prevent it, so we might as well live our lives at some peace.

I'm worried about money, even though EVERYONE says not to be. It's just that I really wanted to get a new air conditioner, but can't do that and a new car, which it looks like I will need. I am going to try to get the absolute best car deal I can, but with that on my credit, I probably won't be able to afford the AC for a while. And we're not going to spend a ton on the reception, but I had planned to spend my savings on that, not on the downpayment for a car. I also may not take a $500 class I was planning on this summer, not because of the money, but more because of the time. Between a conference I'm going to, three weeks of summer school, fixing up the house, and reception planning, I just don't want to add another time committment. Okay, now that all that's off my chest, I have to run a few errands around here.

Take care, all.
CM

Picture thingy.

I am not that type of gal either...

I stole this from G3 (with permission). I seem to be the only one to have done this over on his livejournal , so I hope some more people take me up on it.

1. think of the first word that comes to mind when you think of me.
2. go to http://images.google.com/ and search for that word.
3. reply to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results (don't tell me the word).
4. put this in your own blog so that I can do the same. (optional)

Also, you are probably not as dumb as I am, but if you are, here's how to post the picture: type in (<)img src="thepicture'swebaddress"(>) but take out the parentheses. It totally worked, dude. I had to ask.

Don't feel much like writing,

but ought you let y'all know I'm not dead. Anyway, there are 6 days left of school, I found out that I do get to go to the conference in Asilomar (yay!), I'm getting married in a month and two days, and there's plenty of other good news, too. That's what I want to focus on.
I made a yummy batch of hummus yesterday (I use less oil and more garlic than most, because that's how I like it), and the other night I made myself a pretty hair thing for the wedding. I spent $17 and still have beads left, and I think mine's every bit as nice as the ones I saw on the web for $85 and up. Gotta go, meeting time.

Prostitute, Bob and the vibraphone, and classroom complaints.

Okay, first, I forgot to mention that yesterday I saw a woman in Home Depot dressed in shorts, stiletto heels, and a bikini top/bra. Frankly, I think it was a bra, but we'll call it a bikini top to give her the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, she was like 45! A 20 year old might (and that's a big MIGHT) be able to get away with something like that (especially if you changed the shoes to flip-flops) if she appeared to be on her way to or from the beach, but a grown-up? It was wierd.

My neighbor Bob came by tonight, and while he had good intentions (to be friendly and check to see whether the police had found anything out about our burglary), he ended up rambling on for like half an hour on the subject of his kids, the houses they inherited which had been destroyed by renters, his own dependable landlord of many years, his son's interest in music, his own fiddlings with the guitar ("I only ever learned two songs out of songbooks -- everything else was all my creations."), the vibraphone he has in the garage -- he even offered to bring it over sometime when we have band practice, to "break out the vobes and play around." No, Bob, no. He also reeked of alcohol and referred to his upcoming birthday as "the big FIVE OH."

Finally, I think "Modernization," the fancy term for the remodel my room was supposed to get, might have been a little more believable if when I moved in there had been noticeable improvements. People keep asking what they did, and don't initially believe me when I say that they removed the lights, all the cabinetry, the phone and the pencil sharpener and then painted. They even damaged the floor a little. And they left it really dirty, with dust all over. The room would be more workable if it had lights, didn't stink like industrial paint, and had all the electrical outlets working. Ah, bliss. Also, I'll be real goddamn pleased when I get my COMPUTER BACK. It is pretty hard to keep up with one's grading (and I need to turn in a list of failing 8th graders by Monday) when one has no computer on which to record the grades. If you're wondering, yes, some teachers still use those red spiral-bound books, a pencil, and an adding machine, but I grew up in the information age. Now if only they could bring in a FREAKING WIRE, we'd be set.

This is the dawning of the age of aquarius . . .

No, really, recent weeks are enough to make you believe in hippie shit like astrology. Everything's going so well . . . ever since the burglary, there hasn't been really a bit of bad news. I mean, I've been sick and whatnot, but overall I couldn't ask for mo' better stuff. Most importantly right now (and this will be news to almost none of you), Sweetie and I finally spat in our palms and shook on it -- we're getting hitched! I'm thrilled, he's thrilled, everybody who loves us is thrilled and relieved.
But also, the weather is gorgeous, I'm looking forward to my new job, I saw a great movie yesterday, the flooring project is going well, and Sweetie made the perfect cup of coffee the other day (I mean it's always good, but really, this was exceptional). Anyway, so I'm pretty much secretly singing the Zippidee-doo-dah song in my head all the time. In other news . . .

A commercial for toothpaste has a woman obliquely referring to bleeding gums by saying she had a little "pink in the sink." I don't know what that would be a good euphemism for, but wouldn't it be great for something? Rhyming always does that. You know, like "junk in the trunk." Good stuff.

I'm still going to the gym regularly, still toning up, still haven't lost a pound. Oh well. Let's pretend I'm losing gallons of fat and gaining oodles of muscle. I did have a lesson in the motivating power of gold stars, though -- the gym's having a motivational thingie, their "fitness triathalon." Every time you work out, you note how many "miles" you've gone on the digital readout on the bike/treadmill/whatever. Well, I'm up there in the three or four names that have like a billion stickers noting my progress, and when you reach your first goal, the stickers change from silver to gold. I saw that, and I was like "I MUST get more stickers!" I think I briefly turned into an evil villain. Mwahahahaha -- stickers!!!

More on the self-involved front -- I went to the Benefit (cosmetics) counter the other day and the gal asked if she could "freshen" me up. I have to say, I like this wording a lot less than I liked the old "Do you have a minute so we can play with some color?" Anyway, last time they sold me some moisturizers, noting, by the way, that "a lot of women are starting to be concerned about that at twenty, now." This time, they sold me an under-eye de-puffer (am I puffy? Really?) and a "brightening" thingie for the corners of my eyes. ("Let's just get the redness right here, okay?") Anyway, I would just like to advise the nice folks at Benefit, that although their current scare tactics are working (I bought the shit, after all), I used to buy shit and walk away feeling GOOD, like the time I bought the "Jelly" lip gloss and got three compliments and a wolf whistle on the way back home. What am I going to get now, "Nice firm eye bags, ma'am!"? Anyway, please, please, Benefit ladies, let's all go back to sparkly mica-based eyeshadows and purple mascara, okay? You'd get your comission, the company would get its profits, and I would walk away feeling hot, not insecure. Thank you.

The movie Crash, which I saw yesterday, was excellent. I consider it a must-see. I don't want to tell you anything about it, not because there's some big surprise, but because I don't want you to have too many preconceived notions. Anyway, I found it very thought-provoking.

Ummm . . . wireless internet is good. I'm writing from the hammock. Another band asked me to sing on one of their tracks, which is really cool and I'm excited to do it. Our own band has some cool new songs that are getting a good reaction from "the people," and I want to write more of that kind of stuff, but unfortunately I'm not very good at sitting down and going "I am going to now write a song in this style." Basically, I have to wait until I'm driving around and it just pops into my head full-blown. Hopefully, one will come along soon. My band homework is to call around to some recording studios and find our how much it costs and whether we can record all at the same time, because we really have trouble recording apart. I also have to write a cover letter for out press kit.

School is out in three more weeks, but its only 13 days, because this is a short week and so is the last one. I'm super-ready for it to end. I've been feeling rushed all the time -- every single day is "I have to pick up BLANK, then call BLANK about BLANK, then head to BLANK really quickly before my BLANK at BLANK o'clock. I almost never have "Gee, I have nothing to do. Should I read, watch TV, listen to music, garden, play bass, or do odd stuff around the house?" Even things that sound like chores, like gardening and painting, would be a welcome respite from all the running around. Speaking of which, my free time here is pretty much up. The sun's about to go down, and the last project on this weekend's list, sinking PVC pipes into concrete blocks for play props, is still ahead. Wish me luck, and I'll blog more when I have more time . . .

Later,
CM

Still busy

Dear Friends,

News of my demise has been greatly exaggerated. Not dead, just not in contact, either. Finished my paper, did Open House (7 parents, thankyouverymuch), been to the gym, boxed up some books, took some shit off the wall, did 1/3 of the in-service, and now it's bedtime and I'm leaving off some verbs and nouns in my blog to save time. What a life. Happy, though.

Crazy-ass schedule

Someone told me once I thrive on being busy, but I don't remember agreeing to it.

Monday: 2 liaison meetings, 1 Dr. appt.
Tuesday: Drama club, open house, in-service day, final assignment for online course due.
Wednesday: Protest at Capitol, in-service day, band practice
Thursday: Must be packed to move, in-service day, band practice
Friday: Moved (in theory), band practice?
Saturday: Awards ceremony for students, Gynas show

All of which means -- I'd better get in gear!

Liar Liar Pants on Fire!

So, Arnold Schwarzenegger has been quoted in the paper lately accusing those mean old teachers of lying. They (we) contend that he promised to pay back the money he took out of the schools' budget last year and fully fund prop 98 again. Now he says (in yesterday's paper) that he never said any such thing. We made it up, apparently. Nuh uh. Here's an article from his very own Join Arnold website.

The Sacramento Bee article from yesterday reads, in part:
On Tuesday, Schwarzenegger accused the union of lying.
"I did not break a promise like they keep saying," Schwarzenegger said of teh CTA, which has been running television ads for months that accuse him of breaking his word. "I borrowed $2 billion, and now I'm supposed to give it back this year? This is wrong. It's a right-out lie," he went on. "We did not make a promise that we would give it back this year because I couldn't guarantee we would give it back this year because we didn't know how much money we'd have."

More floor and stuff

So, we did another room. This has been an interesting project, in that each room really presents its own unique challenges. The first room was mainly difficult in that we'd never laid flooring before, so everything --cutting, measuring, snapping it together -- was new and required practice. It took us a long time, but not because the room itself was that difficult. In fact, probably the hardest part was getting the last boards cut lengthwise, which we had my dad do on a table saw at school.

The second room was mainly difficult because of the walls and the big moulding issues (described elsewhere on this blog). It also took a long time, but the main culprit was the walls. We made a breakthrough on cutting boards lengthwise, though, figuring out how to do it with a different blade than we'd used before on the jigsaw.

This room was different again because it had the house's original asbestos tiles under the carpet, and many of them had shattered or warped over the years. I did a lot of patching the day before we laid the floor. Also, the closet floor was bare concrete, and therefore also at least 1/4 inch lower than the rest of the floor. Finally the closet doors presented some challenges (hinges coming loose, pegs too short). Worst is that my nemesis wall (also previously written about), which has been papered and painted numerous times and was finally looking pretty good, got ripped to shreds because the bottom of the paper was stuck fast to the carpet. I have to repaint quite a bit of it now. Nevertheless, we tried a new method (working left to right, instead of right to left) and it worked a lot better for two reasons. First, we just are more USED to doing things that way (like reading), and our brains seemed to wrap around the task a little better. And second, because the grooved edge of the planks, which is supposed to go on the left, is much more susceptible to getting badly chipped. Well, before, we had to look for unchipped ones, because that end would be in the middle of the floor. Now, we can hide the chipped end close to the wall under the moulding. Ta da! Now we can use a much greater percentage of the planks.

I've been really happy with how all of the rooms have turned out, but I think I'm even happier with this room. The color scheme I have in there clashed badly with the blue carpet, and it's a big enough room that you could see a lot of the blue. It looks so warm and friendly now -- even the beautiful antique furniture looks better against the floor than it did before. It's, not to exaggerate, about a billion times nicer-looking. I'm really thrilled. In fact, I had a rug in there, and I'm not going to put it back down because I'd hate to cover up the floor!

Okay, enough flooring. I'm sick! Hacking cough, breathing like an obese person, Kathleen Turner-voiced sick. But my Dr. said it was asthma, and I walked out of there with a duffel bag full of asthma and allergy medicines. So far there's no change (I still woke up at midnight and 4am hacking, and I still can't yell at my students), but hopefully that will change soon.

And, sorry, LAST post on this, I swear, but I picked something else up at the pharmacy that day -- my "medication" from Friday. The poor pharmacist, who until that point had been consulting me on everything in a very normal manner ("Okay, to use this inhaler, take a deep breath, hold for ten seconds, then exhale and wait about thirty seconds . . . you have to wash your mouth out after the steroid inhaler . . .") all of a sudden is like "this one . . . well, did your doctor . . .?" I interrupt him, "It's cool, my doctor showed me how to use it." "Oh good, because I can't really demonstrate . . . I mean, I could tell you, but there's no way for me to show . . . you know, just physically, I couldn't . . ." My eyebrows are crawling for my scalp at this point, in disbelief that he didn't just drop the subject after I said I knew how to use it. "Thank god, huh?!" I gave a fakey laugh, grabbed the bag and ran.

Oh, another thing from the Dr. visit . . .

I almost forgot that right before I went in for my appointment, I went to the little girls' room. As I walked out, a woman was opening the door very slowly (you've had this happen, I'm sure: they put their hand on the handle and open it an inch, then continue to talk to someone outside). I was leaving, so I pulled from the inside, and the woman, startled, goes "Oh, can I come in?" I give her a puzzled look, as there are several stalls and I'm obviously leaving. "I mean, are you cleaning in here?" Not impolitely, but in a tone probably stronger than wholly necessary, I say "No," then edge past her to get out. "Oh, I thought you might have been . . . I saw the staff shirt, and I thought . . ." She was still talking when I let the door swing shut behind me and walked off. Okay, yes, I wear a white polo shirt that says "Staff" on Fridays, but you'd think the fact that the word right before "staff" is "Spartan" and there's a big spartan head on it would give away that I'm not Kaiser staff. Sheesh. And quite frankly, I don't think I look like a janitor, either. At least, I hope I don't . . .