Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Journalistic Excellence at Its Finest
This is a photo my husband took of the TV today as we shrieked in joy over the midday news.
Yes, apparently our mayor has seceded from our city and started his own town, which he is also the mayor of.
Dearest Channel 14 WFIE, for the love of all that is holy, fire your editor.
Yes, apparently our mayor has seceded from our city and started his own town, which he is also the mayor of.Dearest Channel 14 WFIE, for the love of all that is holy, fire your editor.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Me Can Count!
I just need to make a quick observation. I have a pet peeve to address. I cannot stand when people say they are some age "going on" some age. I was just talking to a woman who told me she was "27 going on 28," and, truly, I need you to know that it makes me cringe. I just wanted to stop her and say, "Hold on just a second, now! I am going to count this up on my fat little fingies to make sure 28 does in fact come after 27. Can't have you pulling one over on me! Onnnnneeeee....twwwooooo...threeeeeee...."
I understand that people say this to allude to an upcoming birthday, but for the love of god. If I ask, "How old are you?" I want to know how old you are...NOT when the next big milestone is coming. I'll be honest. If I want to know what month you're born in, I will ask you. I do not need a continual reminder of numerical sequencing now that I'm a full-grown adult.
It's really right up there with the rage it gave me when my teachers would insist on taking 30-40 minutes to read their syllabi out loud in class. After 20+ years of experience and practice, I like to think I've mastered both counting AND reading.
Controlling my rage over things that should be insignificant? Not so much.
I understand that people say this to allude to an upcoming birthday, but for the love of god. If I ask, "How old are you?" I want to know how old you are...NOT when the next big milestone is coming. I'll be honest. If I want to know what month you're born in, I will ask you. I do not need a continual reminder of numerical sequencing now that I'm a full-grown adult.
It's really right up there with the rage it gave me when my teachers would insist on taking 30-40 minutes to read their syllabi out loud in class. After 20+ years of experience and practice, I like to think I've mastered both counting AND reading.
Controlling my rage over things that should be insignificant? Not so much.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Drumroll, Please
A bookmark! Teacher Appreciation Week ended with a bookmark! More on a very interesting day at work AND a picture of this bookmark (which I will cherish forever, no doubt) coming soon...
UPDATE: I've decided I can't be bothered photographing the bookmark right now. Dry your eyes, and just take my word for it that it's a winner.
UPDATE: I've decided I can't be bothered photographing the bookmark right now. Dry your eyes, and just take my word for it that it's a winner.
Oh the Anticipation!
Oh kids, we're mere hours away from finding out today's Teacher Appreciation treat. I've been doing some brainstorming, and here are some viable options:
-a phone book (preferably from last year, according to Y. "Most of the numbers are still the same anyway," he adds.)
-a half-used roll of toilet paper stolen from the nearby grocery store
-circus peanuts *shudder* WHO EATS THOSE? I swear the original batch from 1950 is still in rotation on store shelves (so, of course, leave it to my boss to buy them b/c they're a steal!).
-leftover Halloween candy found in the deep recesses of someone's cabinets. ("The chocolate has turned white but don't worry, it's still edible.")
-a desk calendar with the dates up to today marked out
Any other ideas? Let's hear em! Make them good, kids.
-a phone book (preferably from last year, according to Y. "Most of the numbers are still the same anyway," he adds.)
-a half-used roll of toilet paper stolen from the nearby grocery store
-circus peanuts *shudder* WHO EATS THOSE? I swear the original batch from 1950 is still in rotation on store shelves (so, of course, leave it to my boss to buy them b/c they're a steal!).
-leftover Halloween candy found in the deep recesses of someone's cabinets. ("The chocolate has turned white but don't worry, it's still edible.")
-a desk calendar with the dates up to today marked out
Any other ideas? Let's hear em! Make them good, kids.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Serenity Now, God
*siiigh*
It appears Teacher Appreciation Week continues at my work. Do allow me to give you the updates so you know just how well things have blossomed since Monday's quarter-sized cupcake.
Yesterday my boss called me and told me not to come in because several of my students had canceled. So today I arrived to find my Teacher Appreciation Week gifts from yesterday AND today at my desk.
Tuesday's treat was a single serving box of chocolate chip cookies. I know you're wondering what kind, and the answer is they went really fancy and got Keebler. I learned later, though, that it actually wasn't from my boss; it was from a man named George whom, I swear, I've never heard of in my life. My boss added that "technically, Teacher Appreciation Day was only supposed to be Monday," but she decided to wave her beneficent hand through the end of the week on account of George's generosity yesterday. (For the record, I have no ill will against this George character. Thanks for the cookies, George. I'm glad you were able to convince my boss to spend five whole dollars on her staff over the course of this entire week.)
I digress.
Today's treat was eeeeven better: two "fun-sized" 100 Grand candy bars and a coupon book that is distributed for free with the newspaper every week. This (again, I swear), is what my boss had to say about it:
"I was going to just give one candy bar, but then I decided what the heck! You're not worth 100 grand, you're worth 200 grand! And someone was coming around to the office complex giving out these coupon books, so I grabbed a bunch and decide to give one to each of you. There are more in the front if you want more of them."
Again, I make $9 an hour and I am a licensed teacher. At this point it would be wise for me to say pray for me as I forge ahead with another interview tomorrow morning. Mama needs a light at the end of what is quickly becoming a godforsaken tunnel.
It appears Teacher Appreciation Week continues at my work. Do allow me to give you the updates so you know just how well things have blossomed since Monday's quarter-sized cupcake.
Yesterday my boss called me and told me not to come in because several of my students had canceled. So today I arrived to find my Teacher Appreciation Week gifts from yesterday AND today at my desk.
Tuesday's treat was a single serving box of chocolate chip cookies. I know you're wondering what kind, and the answer is they went really fancy and got Keebler. I learned later, though, that it actually wasn't from my boss; it was from a man named George whom, I swear, I've never heard of in my life. My boss added that "technically, Teacher Appreciation Day was only supposed to be Monday," but she decided to wave her beneficent hand through the end of the week on account of George's generosity yesterday. (For the record, I have no ill will against this George character. Thanks for the cookies, George. I'm glad you were able to convince my boss to spend five whole dollars on her staff over the course of this entire week.)
I digress.
Today's treat was eeeeven better: two "fun-sized" 100 Grand candy bars and a coupon book that is distributed for free with the newspaper every week. This (again, I swear), is what my boss had to say about it:
"I was going to just give one candy bar, but then I decided what the heck! You're not worth 100 grand, you're worth 200 grand! And someone was coming around to the office complex giving out these coupon books, so I grabbed a bunch and decide to give one to each of you. There are more in the front if you want more of them."
Again, I make $9 an hour and I am a licensed teacher. At this point it would be wise for me to say pray for me as I forge ahead with another interview tomorrow morning. Mama needs a light at the end of what is quickly becoming a godforsaken tunnel.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Teacher Appreciation Week
I've decided I dislike my job at the tutoring center. It's not the kids. No. I like the kids. It's...my boss. And frankly, I really need to secure a full-time job for the fall before I shrivel up and die inside.
The center I work in is severely lacking in new, clean materials. We routinely use books with pages falling out of them and books that have been written in, making them look not only unprofessional but ALSO a cheating student's dream. We're expected to use dry erase boards and markers for a significant part of our lessons, but the dry erase boards are warped, bubbled up, peeling, and dirty, and the dry erase markers barely write anymore. Despite this, my boss will not shell out for new materials. Why? Because her bonus check at the end of each year is dependent on the center's profit, and if she can avoid buying new teaching materials it means more money in her pocket at the end of the fiscal year. Lovely.
My main problem with this boss is that she's extremely passive aggressive, and I don't handle that well, especially when it's sooooo obvious and pathetic...not the careful manipulation someone like me could orchestrate. For example, our time cards are processed on Thursdays, so in order for our Thursday hours to count, we have to fill out our time worked on Thursday on Wednesday evening before we actually work the Thursday hours. Typically, I will get done with work at 6:45 on Thursdays. However, twice now she has stood over me and forced me to write 6:30 as my clock-out time for Thursday so she can avoid paying me an extra 15 minutes. I want to stab her for this, and the second time it happened I made my body language very clear that I would destroy her if she ever stood over my shoulder again and tried to cheat me out of paid work time.
A couple of weeks ago we had a small run-in about my work attire. I went to work wearing black pinstripe crop pants and a black shirt. The crop pants fall about 3 inches above my ankle. When I said hello, I immediately noticed she was giving me the up and down. "Oh God, WHAT?" I thought to myself. But I said nothing because she said nothing. So I went and worked my shift. At the end of the evening when everyone was packing up to leave, I was cornered on my own when she came up to me. "I just wanted to let you know so you know for the future," she said as I sat at my desk and she stood over me, "that shorts aren't allowed." What I wanted to say: "Are you freaking NUTS, lady? These are not shorts and you f-ing KNOW IT." What I DID say: "Well yeah, of course. That would be unprofessional, and I don't ever wear shorts anyway. I haven't since I was in middle school." Her response? "Well, just so long as you know." Um yeah psycho, whatever.
Fast forward to yesterday. Apparently it is Teacher Appreciation Week. Nothing...and I do mean nothing...makes me feel more appreciated for my $9/hr than what I found waiting for me at my table. I rounded the corner to discover a single napkin on my chair. Atop that napkin was a single cupcake that (I swear) was literally the size of a quarter. My boss rounded the corner right behind me and proclaimed, "That's just a little something from me for Teacher Appreciation Week." I tell you, friend, there are times when I can literally feel a part of my soul dying. I felt that sensation loud and clear when I had to suppress everything inside myself and feign the kind of extreme enthusiasm I knew she expected for her "generosity." I felt the bile rise in my throat as I exclaimed, "Thank you so much! That's so nice of you!" If that wasn't f-ing bad enough, she stood there and waited, nonverbally insisting that I eat the tiny, pathetic, quarter-sized cupcake in front of her and further express my gratitude.
God. It's times like this I hate my life.
The center I work in is severely lacking in new, clean materials. We routinely use books with pages falling out of them and books that have been written in, making them look not only unprofessional but ALSO a cheating student's dream. We're expected to use dry erase boards and markers for a significant part of our lessons, but the dry erase boards are warped, bubbled up, peeling, and dirty, and the dry erase markers barely write anymore. Despite this, my boss will not shell out for new materials. Why? Because her bonus check at the end of each year is dependent on the center's profit, and if she can avoid buying new teaching materials it means more money in her pocket at the end of the fiscal year. Lovely.
My main problem with this boss is that she's extremely passive aggressive, and I don't handle that well, especially when it's sooooo obvious and pathetic...not the careful manipulation someone like me could orchestrate. For example, our time cards are processed on Thursdays, so in order for our Thursday hours to count, we have to fill out our time worked on Thursday on Wednesday evening before we actually work the Thursday hours. Typically, I will get done with work at 6:45 on Thursdays. However, twice now she has stood over me and forced me to write 6:30 as my clock-out time for Thursday so she can avoid paying me an extra 15 minutes. I want to stab her for this, and the second time it happened I made my body language very clear that I would destroy her if she ever stood over my shoulder again and tried to cheat me out of paid work time.
A couple of weeks ago we had a small run-in about my work attire. I went to work wearing black pinstripe crop pants and a black shirt. The crop pants fall about 3 inches above my ankle. When I said hello, I immediately noticed she was giving me the up and down. "Oh God, WHAT?" I thought to myself. But I said nothing because she said nothing. So I went and worked my shift. At the end of the evening when everyone was packing up to leave, I was cornered on my own when she came up to me. "I just wanted to let you know so you know for the future," she said as I sat at my desk and she stood over me, "that shorts aren't allowed." What I wanted to say: "Are you freaking NUTS, lady? These are not shorts and you f-ing KNOW IT." What I DID say: "Well yeah, of course. That would be unprofessional, and I don't ever wear shorts anyway. I haven't since I was in middle school." Her response? "Well, just so long as you know." Um yeah psycho, whatever.
Fast forward to yesterday. Apparently it is Teacher Appreciation Week. Nothing...and I do mean nothing...makes me feel more appreciated for my $9/hr than what I found waiting for me at my table. I rounded the corner to discover a single napkin on my chair. Atop that napkin was a single cupcake that (I swear) was literally the size of a quarter. My boss rounded the corner right behind me and proclaimed, "That's just a little something from me for Teacher Appreciation Week." I tell you, friend, there are times when I can literally feel a part of my soul dying. I felt that sensation loud and clear when I had to suppress everything inside myself and feign the kind of extreme enthusiasm I knew she expected for her "generosity." I felt the bile rise in my throat as I exclaimed, "Thank you so much! That's so nice of you!" If that wasn't f-ing bad enough, she stood there and waited, nonverbally insisting that I eat the tiny, pathetic, quarter-sized cupcake in front of her and further express my gratitude.
God. It's times like this I hate my life.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Seven Deadly Idiosyncrasies--Part Deux (That's Two, to the Layperson)
You ask, "Cor, why in God's name have you opted to do another installment of this this thing and expose your mental illness to the world?" The answer, friend, is that I'm bored, and it's either this or I tell you horrifying stories related to my overactive imagination. So, without further delay, let's begin.
1. I have a longstanding phobia of the human pulse. I don't like putting my head against my husband's chest and hearing it, I don't like seeing it pulse in someone's neck or feet, and I don't like feeling it in my own body when I'm trying to drift off to dreamland. It also makes getting my blood pressure taken an interesting adventure. I know it makes no sense...the pulse should be reassuring. It should say, "Hey look! You're still alive." But for me it's disgusting, and it's like a counter ticking down the seconds I have left in my life. Blargh. I hate it. I discovered a while back that my brother, curiously, has a similar problem with the human pulse. It's weird, but I'm grateful I'm not the only one.
2. I secretly judge people on the basis of their spelling and grammar. I don't really need to say much about this since it's kind of self-explanatory. The worst for me is probably subject-verb agreement. Like, if someone says, "Is there any cookies?" I want to punch them in the neck while I scream, "ARE! ARE there any cookies?! I hate you!"
3. I get so angry sometimes when the contestants on The Price is Right consult the audience for help figuring out the prices of things. It's like, "Come on. Do you REALLY think the audience knows the last 3 digits in the price of that car any better than you do? Stop wasting time!" So annoying. Make a decision!
4. I am far too anal about time, resulting in a crippling desire for me to do everything on a multiple of five on the clock. For example I can't just roll out of the house at 3:03. It needs to be 3:05, and if I miss that window, by god I'll wait until 3:10. It's a sickness. It's getting better, though, don't worry. It's been nearly a year since I've worn a watch, and my husband and I fight far less over this unsavory anal quirk of mine. (That last sentence sounds all sorts of wrong, but you know what I mean. God, at least I hope you know what I mean.)
5. I can't stand hearing women with "crisp" S's. It's like they're hissing when they speak. I want them to say, "SSSSooo, I am SSSSecretly a SSSerpent." *shudder*
6. I love eyebrows. They're one of the first things I notice about a person's face. People with good eyebrows delight me, and I have no shame in telling them how much I appreciate them.
7. I make up nicknames for just about everyone I know, particularly those I'm just acquaintances with and especially those I'm not a huge fan of. In fact, I often find myself drawing a blank when I see these people as my mind desperately grasps at straws to remember their real name. Some notable nicknames over the years (many you may remember from the old blog) include but are not limited to: Crab Boy, Kermit, Chewbacca/The Jackhammer, Eyeballz, Figaro, Fitsy, The Text Messenger, Marla Hooch, Kappa Kappa Suck Me, Grimace, Coin Slot, Sir Spanx-a-Lot, Skidmark, SparkNotes, Rasputin/Jesus With Glasses, Chinless Joe Jackson, Pete Schweaty, The Hobbit, Dildohead, Senor Stache, Collette Reardon, etc. etc. etc. You get the idea. Am I going to hell for it? Probably. Will I give this up? Never!
In other news, you may remember that some time ago I decided to try to perfect a Rosie Perez accent. I abandoned it for a long time because it turned out I sucked at it, despite the incredible glee it brought me. Well kids, I'm back to working on it? Why? Because of the Band Aid commercial with the two little kids singing the jingle. The little girl sounds just like wee Rosie Perez and I can't get enough of it. So I will continue to work on the Rosie Perez voice when I'm alone. Aside from Kathy, it's likely that none of you will ever hear this, but do take comfort in the fact that I get such joy from it.
1. I have a longstanding phobia of the human pulse. I don't like putting my head against my husband's chest and hearing it, I don't like seeing it pulse in someone's neck or feet, and I don't like feeling it in my own body when I'm trying to drift off to dreamland. It also makes getting my blood pressure taken an interesting adventure. I know it makes no sense...the pulse should be reassuring. It should say, "Hey look! You're still alive." But for me it's disgusting, and it's like a counter ticking down the seconds I have left in my life. Blargh. I hate it. I discovered a while back that my brother, curiously, has a similar problem with the human pulse. It's weird, but I'm grateful I'm not the only one.
2. I secretly judge people on the basis of their spelling and grammar. I don't really need to say much about this since it's kind of self-explanatory. The worst for me is probably subject-verb agreement. Like, if someone says, "Is there any cookies?" I want to punch them in the neck while I scream, "ARE! ARE there any cookies?! I hate you!"
3. I get so angry sometimes when the contestants on The Price is Right consult the audience for help figuring out the prices of things. It's like, "Come on. Do you REALLY think the audience knows the last 3 digits in the price of that car any better than you do? Stop wasting time!" So annoying. Make a decision!
4. I am far too anal about time, resulting in a crippling desire for me to do everything on a multiple of five on the clock. For example I can't just roll out of the house at 3:03. It needs to be 3:05, and if I miss that window, by god I'll wait until 3:10. It's a sickness. It's getting better, though, don't worry. It's been nearly a year since I've worn a watch, and my husband and I fight far less over this unsavory anal quirk of mine. (That last sentence sounds all sorts of wrong, but you know what I mean. God, at least I hope you know what I mean.)
5. I can't stand hearing women with "crisp" S's. It's like they're hissing when they speak. I want them to say, "SSSSooo, I am SSSSecretly a SSSerpent." *shudder*
6. I love eyebrows. They're one of the first things I notice about a person's face. People with good eyebrows delight me, and I have no shame in telling them how much I appreciate them.
7. I make up nicknames for just about everyone I know, particularly those I'm just acquaintances with and especially those I'm not a huge fan of. In fact, I often find myself drawing a blank when I see these people as my mind desperately grasps at straws to remember their real name. Some notable nicknames over the years (many you may remember from the old blog) include but are not limited to: Crab Boy, Kermit, Chewbacca/The Jackhammer, Eyeballz, Figaro, Fitsy, The Text Messenger, Marla Hooch, Kappa Kappa Suck Me, Grimace, Coin Slot, Sir Spanx-a-Lot, Skidmark, SparkNotes, Rasputin/Jesus With Glasses, Chinless Joe Jackson, Pete Schweaty, The Hobbit, Dildohead, Senor Stache, Collette Reardon, etc. etc. etc. You get the idea. Am I going to hell for it? Probably. Will I give this up? Never!
In other news, you may remember that some time ago I decided to try to perfect a Rosie Perez accent. I abandoned it for a long time because it turned out I sucked at it, despite the incredible glee it brought me. Well kids, I'm back to working on it? Why? Because of the Band Aid commercial with the two little kids singing the jingle. The little girl sounds just like wee Rosie Perez and I can't get enough of it. So I will continue to work on the Rosie Perez voice when I'm alone. Aside from Kathy, it's likely that none of you will ever hear this, but do take comfort in the fact that I get such joy from it.
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