Oh, yeah....
the catcher on the post below was the operative word "try."
Try to strip? Hmmm....
Oh, by the way...this was posted in the "lessons and tutoring" area, NOT any other area into which I do NOT venture, thank you very much! Some of the "lessons" and "tutoring" being offered is highly questionable in nature...but makes me think....man, I should either change career paths or up my rates!
>>wink wink>>
sábado, 13 de octubre de 2007
try to strip?
Craigslist is becoming more than a source of income and advertising for me, it is more and more a great source of endless entertainment. The latest:
guy will pay 140 to try and strip for ladies in virginia (northern va)
Needless to say, this posting has now been removed.
...and I thought I would actually have to *work* for a living...dude, what a market! (oh, that makes me sound so, like, sixteen...)
guy will pay 140 to try and strip for ladies in virginia (northern va)
Needless to say, this posting has now been removed.
...and I thought I would actually have to *work* for a living...dude, what a market! (oh, that makes me sound so, like, sixteen...)
viernes, 12 de octubre de 2007
existing again
I have felt anonymous all week. An interesting statement, considering all of the week's events but I suppose, in the overwhelming wake of so many significant happenings, I am merely trying to find my specific place amid the locura.
Besides the accident. Besides the warning bell of head lice having severely hit a playmate's house and therefore having to wash THE ENTIRE HOUSE in a merely preventative measure...
okay, insert funny story here:
I got The Call on Tuesday afternoon right before I was leaving for a class. So as soon as the kids came home I checked The Young Prince's head and it was COVERED in dark brown spots. Without a further thought I marched them both straight to the bathroom, ordered them to strip all clothing IN THE BATHTUB and then, after the shampooing session was over, to come to me with the nit-comb and, outside, I would go through their hair.
La Princesita was first, and I couldn't believe it---there was absolutely nothing in her hair, on her scalp...nothing anywhere. So once I got The Young Prince out, I saw that neither was there anything in his hair or on his scalp. Strange, I thought. I didn't believe this could just "wash out" so easily. Then I stopped to think, and humbly came to the realization that I perhaps just had a really dirty kid.
Ugh. Great commentary on my parenting skills, right?
Well, the night before they had been in that accident, on the side of the road with lots of dirt and dust kicked up. And to the farm before then.
I called my friend, who said it sounded doubtful, especially in that the color is not dark-brown.
Great. So my kids are filthy. But at least, I think, we're in the clear..for now. I continued, nonetheless, to bag up plush toys and it will be like Christmas again in 30 days. It took three days to wash and dry everything I threw into the laundry room, and I have itched non-stop for days.
Okay...digressing to my week.
Three more outlets blew in the kitchen, to join the oven outlet we have the refrigerator outlet, the microwave outlet and the master telephone outlet. So the fridge and telephone are now hooked up on extension cords and, well, let's just say thank God I am the Crock-Pot Queen.
Mr. Electrician came out yesterday and at least had the decency not to charge me extra for the diagnostic, which will come out of the...are you ready?...$1,500.00 bill for a brand new subpanel and breakers for the kitchen and garden room. I know, we need it. But ...ouch.
That will be fixed next Wednesday. The roof will be worked on tomorrow. While I am working...someone is going to have to pay for all of this, after all!
So...
I went to the gym this morning. At the very end of my workout, I had seated myself atop my final machine to do leg curls and put the bar down atop my horribly bruised right knee (oh, another story...). I commented to the lady next to me, as she saw my reaction, "Just getting old." This opened the door to about an hour-long conversation in which we both met a new friend. She is a woman from El Salvador, married to a man from Massachusetts, an excellent hold on her English, and a mother of two. We ended up exchanging names and numbers.
I showered at the gym, then ran to the market to grab a few things before picking up Young Prince at preschool. At the cashier, I was greeted, she inquired about my children, and we had a lovely chat. I left almost bouncing out of the store back to my car. My heart felt light, my lips couldn't help but smile...
I have not ceased to exist!
Today is a good day. It is Friday--that helps. I am not doing one load of laundry today. My patience level is sky-high. It is windy--I could easily go out and dance around in the falling leaves, twirling my Little House on the Prairie skirt out wide...my heart feels as light as a child's.
Besides the accident. Besides the warning bell of head lice having severely hit a playmate's house and therefore having to wash THE ENTIRE HOUSE in a merely preventative measure...
okay, insert funny story here:
I got The Call on Tuesday afternoon right before I was leaving for a class. So as soon as the kids came home I checked The Young Prince's head and it was COVERED in dark brown spots. Without a further thought I marched them both straight to the bathroom, ordered them to strip all clothing IN THE BATHTUB and then, after the shampooing session was over, to come to me with the nit-comb and, outside, I would go through their hair.
La Princesita was first, and I couldn't believe it---there was absolutely nothing in her hair, on her scalp...nothing anywhere. So once I got The Young Prince out, I saw that neither was there anything in his hair or on his scalp. Strange, I thought. I didn't believe this could just "wash out" so easily. Then I stopped to think, and humbly came to the realization that I perhaps just had a really dirty kid.
Ugh. Great commentary on my parenting skills, right?
Well, the night before they had been in that accident, on the side of the road with lots of dirt and dust kicked up. And to the farm before then.
I called my friend, who said it sounded doubtful, especially in that the color is not dark-brown.
Great. So my kids are filthy. But at least, I think, we're in the clear..for now. I continued, nonetheless, to bag up plush toys and it will be like Christmas again in 30 days. It took three days to wash and dry everything I threw into the laundry room, and I have itched non-stop for days.
Okay...digressing to my week.
Three more outlets blew in the kitchen, to join the oven outlet we have the refrigerator outlet, the microwave outlet and the master telephone outlet. So the fridge and telephone are now hooked up on extension cords and, well, let's just say thank God I am the Crock-Pot Queen.
Mr. Electrician came out yesterday and at least had the decency not to charge me extra for the diagnostic, which will come out of the...are you ready?...$1,500.00 bill for a brand new subpanel and breakers for the kitchen and garden room. I know, we need it. But ...ouch.
That will be fixed next Wednesday. The roof will be worked on tomorrow. While I am working...someone is going to have to pay for all of this, after all!
So...
I went to the gym this morning. At the very end of my workout, I had seated myself atop my final machine to do leg curls and put the bar down atop my horribly bruised right knee (oh, another story...). I commented to the lady next to me, as she saw my reaction, "Just getting old." This opened the door to about an hour-long conversation in which we both met a new friend. She is a woman from El Salvador, married to a man from Massachusetts, an excellent hold on her English, and a mother of two. We ended up exchanging names and numbers.
I showered at the gym, then ran to the market to grab a few things before picking up Young Prince at preschool. At the cashier, I was greeted, she inquired about my children, and we had a lovely chat. I left almost bouncing out of the store back to my car. My heart felt light, my lips couldn't help but smile...
I have not ceased to exist!
Today is a good day. It is Friday--that helps. I am not doing one load of laundry today. My patience level is sky-high. It is windy--I could easily go out and dance around in the falling leaves, twirling my Little House on the Prairie skirt out wide...my heart feels as light as a child's.
miércoles, 10 de octubre de 2007
a blur
The week passed so rapidly that I feel I can hardly see straight. The Monday off always throws my entire being into confusion for a week, feeling a day behind that in which I am supposed to be existing.
It is now 2:00 a.m. Sigh. 3rd sleepless night in a row. It has been a stressful week on many levels. I wish I could compartmentalize everything that occurs in my life, allowing at the end of the day all the little Drawers of Events to close as my eyelids drop...but oh, that would be way too convenient now, wouldn't it?
*--------------*
My eldest started Kindergarten this year. She is adjusting well, making new friends and really reading with enthusiasm and true enjoyment. My youngest thrives in his new Preschool class three mornings a week. It provides him with just enough time to be away from Mama Llama to still appreciate her when she comes to get him at noon. I am so proud of my babies.
*--------------*
I was told to watch out not to get suckered into volunteering for too much at school, as so many opportunities would be pushed toward me. I have naturally always been a leader but prefer to do so in a quiet manner (except while teaching...HA!) and, upon noticing that the school needs a Recycling Coordinator, I jumped at the chance. Honestly I thought this would involve going a couple times a week and doing some "dirty work" by collecting the bottles and cans that are collected in the teacher's lounge or the front office and somehow arranging for them to be included on Thursday morning recycling rounds in this town. I have been given quite an education in PTA protocol, however; this effort has involved the school board, the Town Council, the various levels of school administration and the custodial staff--and I am to work to coordinate the various parts in order to initiate a not-yet-existing program.
I feel strongly about recycling, so in my opinion this is a worthwhile investment of time and energy, and is "behind-the-scenes" enough for me. This Friday will be the Grand Initiation of the recycling program, at the school's annual "Sock Hop" which I will (gulp) attend with one, if not both, of my little monkeys. I guess we shall see what becomes of this, and what exactly I will have to do. The PTA president is an amazing lady--it seems she really has everything all in place, all necessary and important parties notified and involved accordingly, and I merely work under her direction. I suppose that is good now; being such a newbie to the school and the system as a whole, I have a lot to learn, not only about protocol but also about the simple things like, say, who exactly is the vice-principal.
*----------------*
The wind is blowing fiercely tonight. The weather is changing. I, the Human Barometer, can feel each gust in my sinuses. Fall is finally descending upon us, and with a sudden blast that has us tumbling from 90º temperatures on Tuesday to what are supposed to be in the 60s today. Time to put away the shorts once and for all. I am definitely going to be wearing a sweater today. And perhaps long underwear.
It is now 2:00 a.m. Sigh. 3rd sleepless night in a row. It has been a stressful week on many levels. I wish I could compartmentalize everything that occurs in my life, allowing at the end of the day all the little Drawers of Events to close as my eyelids drop...but oh, that would be way too convenient now, wouldn't it?
*--------------*
My eldest started Kindergarten this year. She is adjusting well, making new friends and really reading with enthusiasm and true enjoyment. My youngest thrives in his new Preschool class three mornings a week. It provides him with just enough time to be away from Mama Llama to still appreciate her when she comes to get him at noon. I am so proud of my babies.
*--------------*
I was told to watch out not to get suckered into volunteering for too much at school, as so many opportunities would be pushed toward me. I have naturally always been a leader but prefer to do so in a quiet manner (except while teaching...HA!) and, upon noticing that the school needs a Recycling Coordinator, I jumped at the chance. Honestly I thought this would involve going a couple times a week and doing some "dirty work" by collecting the bottles and cans that are collected in the teacher's lounge or the front office and somehow arranging for them to be included on Thursday morning recycling rounds in this town. I have been given quite an education in PTA protocol, however; this effort has involved the school board, the Town Council, the various levels of school administration and the custodial staff--and I am to work to coordinate the various parts in order to initiate a not-yet-existing program.
I feel strongly about recycling, so in my opinion this is a worthwhile investment of time and energy, and is "behind-the-scenes" enough for me. This Friday will be the Grand Initiation of the recycling program, at the school's annual "Sock Hop" which I will (gulp) attend with one, if not both, of my little monkeys. I guess we shall see what becomes of this, and what exactly I will have to do. The PTA president is an amazing lady--it seems she really has everything all in place, all necessary and important parties notified and involved accordingly, and I merely work under her direction. I suppose that is good now; being such a newbie to the school and the system as a whole, I have a lot to learn, not only about protocol but also about the simple things like, say, who exactly is the vice-principal.
*----------------*
The wind is blowing fiercely tonight. The weather is changing. I, the Human Barometer, can feel each gust in my sinuses. Fall is finally descending upon us, and with a sudden blast that has us tumbling from 90º temperatures on Tuesday to what are supposed to be in the 60s today. Time to put away the shorts once and for all. I am definitely going to be wearing a sweater today. And perhaps long underwear.
martes, 9 de octubre de 2007
another accident
I heard only the first words on the voice mail and broke into a cold sweat.
"There's been an accident."
I didn't listen any more but to get details of where they were. I didn't even grab my purse, and I left my front door wide open. 'Come, get everything you want. My babies have just been in an accident and I am going to them. That's all that matters right now,' I wanted to shout as I ran down the stairs, somehow not falling on something.
I had been with a student and thus turned off the telephone and the answering machine, out of respect for my student's time and our lesson.
As I sped up the streets two miles to where Hunter Mill and Lawyers intersect, my mind was racing with images of our accident a year and a half ago flooding my mind. The one in which we should have died, but our secure Outback did its job, valiantly giving its life to save ours, the carseats likewise restraining our children so that, even upside down, they were kept in their seats and did not sustain even a scratch.
I approached the intersection and waved to the police officer directing traffic. Stretching my neck out of the car, I yelled, "I'm their mother!"
I was trembling like a leaf. In the middle of the intersection was a car overturned. I hoped it wasn't our truck.
I got around the corner, parked on the side of the road, put on my hazards, and dashed across the stopped traffic. The truck was there, door crashed off, my babies just fine. They ran to me and told me all about it. My husband had to stay with the truck to find out about towing and said he would catch a cab home.
The drive home was endless, mainly due to the winding-road detours we had to take. My mind worked incessantly to figure out how this could have happened. I later got the scoop, although it is still difficult to picture:
They were the first car in a line of cars at the left turn light, which was red. Right lane traffic to go straight, however, was going on a green light. An 18 year old girl, evidently very distracted, came up the crest of the hill at such an angle that she somehow did not realize she was heading right for the row of cars along her left, stopped in the turn lane. She hit our truck on the passenger side, and with such a velocity that it made her flip. She had to be cut out of the vehicle, and she suffered a concussion. It is a 35 mph speed limit on that road; to have flipped like that she must have been accelerating much past that.
La Princesita has spoken of both accidents last night and today. The Young Prince seems to have forgotten it happened. This is the second big accident they have both been in, and I was never in one until I was 34 years old. I feel horrible for them. It is my job to ensure their safety--but how is that possible when you can't trust others?
"There's been an accident."
I didn't listen any more but to get details of where they were. I didn't even grab my purse, and I left my front door wide open. 'Come, get everything you want. My babies have just been in an accident and I am going to them. That's all that matters right now,' I wanted to shout as I ran down the stairs, somehow not falling on something.
I had been with a student and thus turned off the telephone and the answering machine, out of respect for my student's time and our lesson.
As I sped up the streets two miles to where Hunter Mill and Lawyers intersect, my mind was racing with images of our accident a year and a half ago flooding my mind. The one in which we should have died, but our secure Outback did its job, valiantly giving its life to save ours, the carseats likewise restraining our children so that, even upside down, they were kept in their seats and did not sustain even a scratch.
I approached the intersection and waved to the police officer directing traffic. Stretching my neck out of the car, I yelled, "I'm their mother!"
I was trembling like a leaf. In the middle of the intersection was a car overturned. I hoped it wasn't our truck.
I got around the corner, parked on the side of the road, put on my hazards, and dashed across the stopped traffic. The truck was there, door crashed off, my babies just fine. They ran to me and told me all about it. My husband had to stay with the truck to find out about towing and said he would catch a cab home.
The drive home was endless, mainly due to the winding-road detours we had to take. My mind worked incessantly to figure out how this could have happened. I later got the scoop, although it is still difficult to picture:
They were the first car in a line of cars at the left turn light, which was red. Right lane traffic to go straight, however, was going on a green light. An 18 year old girl, evidently very distracted, came up the crest of the hill at such an angle that she somehow did not realize she was heading right for the row of cars along her left, stopped in the turn lane. She hit our truck on the passenger side, and with such a velocity that it made her flip. She had to be cut out of the vehicle, and she suffered a concussion. It is a 35 mph speed limit on that road; to have flipped like that she must have been accelerating much past that.
La Princesita has spoken of both accidents last night and today. The Young Prince seems to have forgotten it happened. This is the second big accident they have both been in, and I was never in one until I was 34 years old. I feel horrible for them. It is my job to ensure their safety--but how is that possible when you can't trust others?
sábado, 6 de octubre de 2007
bragging rights
I finished my first publication!
Ok, so it's not my first. I have published in the academic world on the analysis of the text of a 15th century young Spanish girl's tragedia and appeared in various conglomerative books that illustrate teaching ideas for the foreign language classroom for the lazy or idea-less teachers who need a boost...not that they would ever end up looking for spicy new ideas in one of those manuals, anyway.
I didn't even publish a la Kinkos. I did it at home.
Bound it and everything, all by myself. Of course, I found I put the three appendix pages in the wrong place. Damn. I knew something would happen.
But it can fly...they are, after all, following the first chapter...? jajaja
It looks good. Does that count for anything?
My new class starts on Tuesday. I am thrilled. My own textbook has been a dream of mine for almost as long as I have been teaching, and I feel like celebrating the first round finished.
Yippee for me.
Ok, so it's not my first. I have published in the academic world on the analysis of the text of a 15th century young Spanish girl's tragedia and appeared in various conglomerative books that illustrate teaching ideas for the foreign language classroom for the lazy or idea-less teachers who need a boost...not that they would ever end up looking for spicy new ideas in one of those manuals, anyway.
I didn't even publish a la Kinkos. I did it at home.
Bound it and everything, all by myself. Of course, I found I put the three appendix pages in the wrong place. Damn. I knew something would happen.
But it can fly...they are, after all, following the first chapter...? jajaja
It looks good. Does that count for anything?
My new class starts on Tuesday. I am thrilled. My own textbook has been a dream of mine for almost as long as I have been teaching, and I feel like celebrating the first round finished.
Yippee for me.
jueves, 4 de octubre de 2007
island dreams, revisited
I seem to be in a bit of wanderlust mode lately. Or perhaps in a deep longing for what has been, for that which was, for the moments-voyages-epochs during which I grasped Life by the horns and let it take me for the ride that I now only recall through dream sequence reruns.
Last night's adventure took me back to the Galápagos Islands, my "personal paradise" of 15 years ago that has yet to be equalled in any of my travels. In my dream, I was there with my father, my mother, and my children--an interesting mix of people considering my father was no longer alive when my eldest was born. Together we waited for the morning garua to burn off, inhaled the fresh ocean air, observed the amazing animal life there is to behold, and made contact with a local I had met in my previous voyage to the Islands for a more personal tour through the eyes of a Galápagos native--a tour I was blessed to have received at the time of my travels there.
In my 1992 stay on the archipelago my friend gave me a book titled "My Father's Island" written by Johanna Angermeyer. It gives an extremely personal account of one family's habitation of the Galápagos Islands. The characters in the autobiographical novel are all real and people (or ancestors thereof) that my friend knows personally; all galapagueños are related if not by blood, through the pure experience of living in what had been, at one point, one of the last places on Earth whose natural beauty had been unmarred by human existence.
One of my high schoolers is currently working on an oral presentation for her Spanish class regarding problems in Latin America--a rather broad topic. After brainstorming with her some possible ideas, she decided to investigate further the topic of the Galápagos Islands and the destruction of the islands due to heavy increases in tourism, population growth, the introduction of non-native species to the Islands and the effects of El Niño on the flora and fauna. On my part, I have tried to communicate with my contact, who lives in Puerto Ayora on the island of Santa Cruz, for a native's perspective on this question.
My student and I spoke one day following our session, and I told her that for as much as I would love to return to the Islands, that perhaps my best gift to them would be to not return so as not to further contribute to their destruction. It is a moral dilemna; indeed, if I were to go to live and actually contribute to their preservation, the question would be different.
I will continue to dream, to visit my paradise in my mind. At times I feel like I live too much in the past. Why do we, then, create such marvelous memories only to be chastised or chastise those who constantly struggle against this longing to return?
Perhaps it is time to pick up this book and read it again.
Last night's adventure took me back to the Galápagos Islands, my "personal paradise" of 15 years ago that has yet to be equalled in any of my travels. In my dream, I was there with my father, my mother, and my children--an interesting mix of people considering my father was no longer alive when my eldest was born. Together we waited for the morning garua to burn off, inhaled the fresh ocean air, observed the amazing animal life there is to behold, and made contact with a local I had met in my previous voyage to the Islands for a more personal tour through the eyes of a Galápagos native--a tour I was blessed to have received at the time of my travels there.
In my 1992 stay on the archipelago my friend gave me a book titled "My Father's Island" written by Johanna Angermeyer. It gives an extremely personal account of one family's habitation of the Galápagos Islands. The characters in the autobiographical novel are all real and people (or ancestors thereof) that my friend knows personally; all galapagueños are related if not by blood, through the pure experience of living in what had been, at one point, one of the last places on Earth whose natural beauty had been unmarred by human existence.
One of my high schoolers is currently working on an oral presentation for her Spanish class regarding problems in Latin America--a rather broad topic. After brainstorming with her some possible ideas, she decided to investigate further the topic of the Galápagos Islands and the destruction of the islands due to heavy increases in tourism, population growth, the introduction of non-native species to the Islands and the effects of El Niño on the flora and fauna. On my part, I have tried to communicate with my contact, who lives in Puerto Ayora on the island of Santa Cruz, for a native's perspective on this question.
My student and I spoke one day following our session, and I told her that for as much as I would love to return to the Islands, that perhaps my best gift to them would be to not return so as not to further contribute to their destruction. It is a moral dilemna; indeed, if I were to go to live and actually contribute to their preservation, the question would be different.
I will continue to dream, to visit my paradise in my mind. At times I feel like I live too much in the past. Why do we, then, create such marvelous memories only to be chastised or chastise those who constantly struggle against this longing to return?
Perhaps it is time to pick up this book and read it again.
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