Teenage Angst II

Lately I have been subbing at a local high school.  I taught junior high many years ago, but I figured high schoolers would be cheekier.  And they did not disappoint!

In one of my first classes the first day, I was asked a myriad of questions all right at once.  The one I heard above the others was, "What kind of car do you drive?"  

My response:  A souped-up Pinto.

Next question:  Are you a drag racer?

My response:  Do I look like a drag racer to you?

Answer:  Yes!

ALLLL RIGHTY THEN!

In another class, a student changed seats three times.  I told him I would recommend to his teacher that he be issued a passport due to his love of travel.

Also, I have come across interesting names.  Sequeya (pronounced like "sequoia" and she took great offense when I said, "Oh, like the tree,"), Montasha; Jasus Harkins, Jr; Darnicia; Khadijan (I'm sure her family are immigrants from somewhere in central Asia); Jamarc; Lleyna (pronounced "Laina"); ReShonda; and Erin and Dominique who are both male.

Today two classes were supposed to watch a Ken Burns documentary on the Civil War.  They had to take a minimum of one fact per ten minutes.  Here are some of the best facts I came across.  For the record, there were plenty of kids who took perfectly good notes.  These, however, came from students who had been sleeping and woke up just in time to get the last half of the fact, therefore missing the point (and sometimes fact) completely.

Lincoln declared war.

Old Fuss and Feathers was to [sic] fat to ride a horse.

Somebody momma look like a dude.  (It was a photo of a soldier's mother.)

21 million slaves lived in the North.

The [sic] took a picture of chopped off feet.  (It was a photo of amputated legs/feet.)

William Tacumtin Sherman resign.

The South was proslavery for the issue on slavery.

Robert E Lee was sent to Blairs House to anchor position.  

(Lincoln had Lee arrive at Blair House, where distinguished visitors stay, to offer him the position of leading the Northern armies.)

Lee took position and place of that spot.

Lincoln contemplated with Chief Justice.  (Lincoln had contemplated arresting the Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.)

Both sides would let Blacks sign up for the war.  (No, neither side allowed this.)

Lincoln could remove himself from himself.

The Blunt Forth War was bloodiest in U.S. history.  (???)

People cooked there [sic] food in there [sic] basements

General Benjamin Butler was going for president.  (He was in cahoots with the President.)

July 7 was the last horrible war.

The war was real bad millions died or very hurt.

Fredrick Douglas [sic] wrote good newsletters.

Tenise [Tennessee], North Caralina [sic], and other states joined the South.

Grant took the Duck of Kentucky.

Grant became drunk all the time but became a general.

Everybody that volenter [sic] didn't make it over half got sent home because there wasn't anoff 

   [sic] spots left for them most souths.

Lee was considered a drunk before he signed in front of the army.

At the end of the day, I heard over the security radios that someone had puked in front of the band room.

Can't wait til next time!  I'll keep you posted.

Teenage Angst I

A few weeks ago, I went back home to Little Rock for a friend's wedding.  I arrived a few days early so I could get some quality time with my parents and catch up with a few friends before the craziness started.  I am also writing a book, as you probably are aware, and made a huge mess trying to get to letters and emails that I had sent/people had sent me.  In the process, I came across this bit of angst that I had written my junior year of high school.  I thought it was hilarious and overly-dramatic.  If I have learned anything from subbing at a high school last week, it's that EVERYTHING is overly-dramatic and only adults find it hilarious.  

I will also say this:  I had clearly read too many essays in Seventeen and YM.  

However, I am trying to get a post ready for your reading pleasure (or bathroom-time reading).  In the meantime, I leave you with this bit of fluff from a sixteen-year-old Ms. Pixie.  

Cheers.

I feel like love is some mass Monopoly game, only I'm stuck in jail while everyone else goes around 5...30...105 times and gets to collect their $200, but I can't because I'm stuck on this stupid square and can't roll 1 dumb six.  It's almost as if the dice are loaded [against me].

The first time I felt like this was when we visited my cousin and his gorgeous friend Robert.  He was the same age as my sister Margaret - a year older than I was.  He was well-educated, tall, had nice hair and teeth, and a cynical sense of humor that seemed to frost his virtues perfectly.  The only problem was that he worshipped Margaret as if she were Hera herself.  And she was beautiful with her auburn hair that was thicker and and longer than mine; her eyes were just as big as mine, but green.  She had a more olive skin tone and an interesting nose that made her look as though she were some exotic princess accidentally left behind.  But I'm digressing.

One night I went with my cousin, his girlfriend, Robert, and Margaret to Taco Bell.  I made the mistake of riding back with my sister and her ever-devoted-love-slave.  Of course I ended up in the back seat while in the front they discussed poetry about the moon and how magical it was and had she ever read T.S. Eliot's work?  Why of course she had!  It was her favorite!  Really?  His too!  And so it went on and on and on.

Finally, there was a break and Robert threw, "So, Laurel, what colleges are you applying to?" casually over his shoulder, much as one would last September's features section of the paper.  I told him which colleges and universities, and really wanted to add something along the lines of "Screw U," but I didn't.

Instead, I rode the rest of the way home wishing I could be on any star I wanted, any planet, any place but here.

We got home and I mumbled, "Thanks," and got out, while Margaret stood on Love's Threshold, passed "Go," and collected her $200.

When I Grow Up I Want To Be a Teacher

The year after I graduated college, I taught German to junior high students.  I had my Exploratory kids (7th graders who took it for nine weeks), my German I (mostly 8th graders) and then German II (mostly 9th graders).  I taught at one school in the morning and then drove to another school for the afternoon.  The teacher whose place I took didn't seem to teach the kids anything other than how to read train tables.  This is a very helpful skill, but if you don't speak the language and can't ask to buy tickets, it's not quite as helpful as it could be.

Eleven years and six jobs later, I have decided to come back to teaching.  As my friend Paul put it, "You're always saying that you need to get back in the classroom.  DO it already and stop bitching about it."  Paul is wise and right.  No matter what job I've had, I've felt the pull to be a teacher.  When I worked for my member of Congress, part of my job was distributing constituent mail.  However, I would take a red pen and correct grammatical errors before handing them out.  Years from now when people want to look at their letters to their Congressman, they will see my red corrections on them.  This isn't something I'm particularly proud of, but at the same time it's about as big a sign as I can get that I need to go back to teaching.

Moose Man was active duty military until last year.  This meant that no matter what I chose to do professionally, I would end up having to pull up stakes and start all over again.  It wasn't the way I wanted to have a career like teaching.  If I got certified, I would be given the crappiest classrooms and be the basic low person on the totem pole.  Plus, I figured anyone who got certified in Hawaii wouldn't be accepted anywhere else.  I had heard horror stories about the public schools and how the kids refused to accept authority of any "haole" (mainlander) teacher, which I took with a grain of salt.  The one thing that made me not want to get certified, though, was that some of the local universities lost their accreditation while I lived there.  I was very thankful I hadn't started the process.  Moose Man is now a full-time reservist and we are settled in a cool house and the area is now a permanent home.  So now I feel that I can start my teaching career.

When I taught in Little Rock, I had been offered the position of German teacher permanently.  They were going to hire me and give me all my wonderful benefits and salary and whatnot in exchange for my starting to get my emergency certification.  Had I taken them up on this, I would be a certified teacher.  (With my luck, though, Arkansas would be one of the states Illinois does not accept for certifications.)  Instead, I chose to chase dreams of working with international issues and ran off to DC to get out of Little Rock.  I don't regret this choice at all.  It's what brought me to my husband and I've had wonderful life experiences as a result of it.  But like with most of my choices, it's not without its repercussions.

So I have made this decision to go back to school and found out that the O'Fallon schools are really good.  Therefore everyone wants to work in the district.  

Understandable.  

I will not be given a class of my own until I have a certification.  

Okay.  

To get your certification, you basically have to get your master's.  

Whaaaaat??  

That's right.  Ms. Pixie is going back to school.  I always thought I'd get my master's...someday.  But I never wanted it to be in education.  I thought it would be in something like European history or international studies.  However, by doing this, I will get my master's and (hopefully) make more money once I have it completed.  Added to this is the prestige of having a master's.  Let's face it - it doesn't matter what your master's is in as long as you have one.  You could have a master's in cheese-making or animal husbandry or coffee-brewing and as long as it's from an accredited school and can be tied to your career field, no one gives a rat's patootie.  

There was a bit of freaking out and wondering, "How the hell am I going to get this done?!" and, "Dear God, why am I thinking of doing this?!"  I will have to take a class called "Philosophy of Education."  Does this mean I will learn in the way of Socrates?  I don't like philosophy, I prefer to deal with absolutes.  Theory doesn't really work when you have 28 kids who are squirmy because it's the last class of the day and they won't pay attention to the lesson on Accusative Case Verbs and can't even tell you what a predicate nominative or gerund is. 

Naturally when I find all this out, my husband is out of town.  Luckily Stacey1 was around and I could talk to her.  She went back to school a few years ago and told me that if she can pass statistics, anyone can.  She also gave me the lowdown and what to expect.  I felt much better.

A plus to getting my master's in Education?  I don't have to take the GRE.  (PRAISE JEEBUS!)  It seems I will be taking four standardized testes, though, along the way to get my certification.

For a state that seems to be hurting for teachers, they sure don't make it easy.

So I'm starting to feel better about this.  I will start up in the fall as soon as I apply and talk to someone at the local university.  I am getting focused and realizing that if I want to at least have a draft of My Great American Novel, I need to kick it in gear and get it done before the summer ends.  I am planning - huzzah!

How To Medicate a Cat With an Eye Issue

Exactly a week after Tux went to the vet for her cold (she was given tuna paste with vitamins because her immune system was run down), Nubbin needs to go to the vet for an eye issue.  She had been winky at us for a few days and wasn't getting any better, so we took her in.  She had some minor irritation to her conjunctiva (conjunctivus?) and needed something to soothe it.  The vet gave me some ointment to help.  The catch?  It has to go DIRECTLY ON HER EYEBALL.  

Fun Fact:  Cats have three eyelids!

So this is how Ms. Pixie dosed Nubbin the first time.

I told Moose Man what a big strong man he is and how I needed that brawn to hold down a teeny tiny kitty that weighs a mere 14 pounds.

Moose Man tried to pin her down by her head/neck.  This did not work, for a myriad of reasons.  It caused Moose Man to have flashbacks to his Survival Training where he had to kill a bunny for eatings.  Basically, the way Nubbin was moving was how the bunny moved right before it's neck snapped.  This caused Moose Man much stress.  

As a pickle on this crap sandwich, I would try to squeeze the ointment onto Nubbin's eyeball, but she'd move her head at the last minute, getting ointment everywhere but her eye.

So we regrouped and tried again.  Moose Man used more of his body to pin Nubbin's body down, so she was not pinned by her neck.  This worked better, but still not on her eye.  

Finally about two steps from tying her down like Gulliver from when he encountered the Lilliputians, we were able to pin her down and I got it on her eye orb.

In the process, she had clawed Moose Man's sweater and went through two layers of its sleeve and gashed his skin.  I ended up with stab wounds on my wrist, pinky, and knee.  Don't ask how that last one happened because I don't even know.

Five minutes after this ordeal and she ran away, Nubbin came back for attention.  She flopped at Moose Man's feet with a chirp.

However, Moose Man is now out of town for the next two days.  I was able to get the medicine close enough to Nubbin's eye this evening that it worked.  I didn't see her wiping it off, so that's a good thing.  Mamasan advised me to swaddle her in a blanket, or what Vet Lady calls a "kitty burrito."  I am pondering that for tomorrow.  I don't know if my tackling Nubbin when she's waking up from a nap will work.

I'll keep you posted.

How Not To Wash a Car

Greetings!  For those of you unaware, when Moose Man and I moved out here with our kitties from Hawaii, we needed a place to stay while our house was built.  Landlord and his wife (heretofore known as "Landlady") were more than generous in allowing to stay with them.  She was doing her six month stint in A Land Far, Far Away, so he was lonely and didn't cook for himself.  And that's where we stepped in to help.  In October Landlord left for his six month turn in A Land Far, Far Away and we watched over their house.

I had been driving Landlady's Volkswagen Beetle (it's known as Sunny because it's bright yellow; I lovingly refer to it as "Sunny D") and decided to wash it off before Landlady returned.

As it is January in the Midwest, it's a bit chilly out.  I had no idea where to go for washing a car that was a "we'll do it for you" sort of place, so I found a "do it yourself" car wash.  I should've known things would not go well when I had to knock on the office door and disrupted the manager's Chee-To Eating Time.

"Are the bays open?"

"Yep, yep," he said, licking the orange powder off his fingers.

"All right, then.  Thanks."  For what, I wasn't sure.

By the time I circled around to pull into a bay, there was already someone in the first/most-used bay.  The next one had rocks and dirt all on the floor, which I took as a bad sign.  Bay #3 had someone in it as well, so I opted for #4, which had crap all over the ground, but not as bad as #2. 

I went to the change machine which did not accept tens or twenties.  Luckily I had a few ones and a five.  (For those of you who know me, you know I seldom have cash on me, so this was a miracle.)  $7.50 in the machine later, and I was giving Sunny D a bath.  It came time to use the soap, and that's when things got a bit messy.

It was below freezing and I guess Bay #4 hadn't been used in a while.  The soap brush started sputtering and a trickle of slightly soapy water came out.  I scrubbed Sunny as best I could, but very few bug guts were coming off.  I used all my Pixie Power to scrub off the dirt and grime that had accumulated, but I might as well have been using spit.  

I had finally had enough and realized that it was not going well.  I decided the best thing I could do was to rinse off what little soap was on the car and get home.  I grabbed the power spray and lightly rinsed off the car.  A nice wind had been blowing and it was now blowing water and soap in a fine mist all over me.  In about five minutes' time, I was soaked.

Oh.  Something else I may have forgotten to mention:  As this was a car wash and it was below freezing, there was ample ice all over the floor.  As soon as I hit the pressure trigger to wash the car, I was zooming backwards across the ice like Oksana Baiul.  After twenty minutes of my ice capades, I'd had enough.

After all this, I decided I had earned myself lunch from St. Louis Bread Co. (Panera for those of you unfamiliar with the area).  I called Moose Man and told him what had happened.  In between guffaws, he told me of a place where it's a drive-through car wash and then they wipe it down for you and do a bit of detailing.  After that, Sunny looked great.

Saturday, Landlady came home.  We met her at the airport.  As she only met us once before and that was for an hour.  We knew she liked bunnies, so Moose Man decided to wear these obnoxious bunny ears on a headband that are accented with feathers.  They look like real ears. Moose Man is tall enough that the ears were about two inches from the ceiling.  We had her over for dinner two days later.  She said the car looked great.