Eat this, Mara.

Thanks to all the gift cards I got from the family over Christmas, I have a slew (I love that word) a slew of packages waiting to descend upon my door:

1) Espresso machine and coffee grinder
2) iSkin (for new iPod Touch)
3) earbuds and a new T-shirt
4) Review item the first
5) Review item the second (with which I will learn what makes Erotica "French" if it's written in English...)
6) DDR and dance pad
7) Milk steamer and chocolate syrup
8) Two movies
9) Assorted pyjamas

And then I have to go to Borders, Old Navy, and some other one I have forgotten to get movies, clothes, and cooking supplies.

...

Fuck. Time to go meditate for hours.

The woman from brunch apparently thinks I am "very rude."

I find two things amusing about this:
1) The irony, and
2) Fam saw the need to tell me so.

I knew there was a reason why I never go to brunch.

Just got back from eating out with Fam and some friends of hers. I knew it was going to be a long brunch when the following ensued:

"Where do you go to school?"
"The University of Puget Sound."
"Oh, university! What year are you?"
"I'm a graduate student."
*pause* "And what are you working toward?"
"A Master's in Education."
"Oh, my. You don't look at all old enough to be teaching!"

...

Odd. You looked old enough to have tact. Looks like we were both wrong.

I wish I could say that was the worst that happened. Unfortunately, this woman seemed to take an immediate dislike to me. We made it through dessert before things finally crumbled, but when she went off on a rant about how "today's kids don't care about anyone except themselves," I lost it.

Angry Old Bat: "When I was in school I got good grades because I wanted to make my mother happy! No one does that anymore."
Fam: "Lauren, what was your motivation for grades? Did you want to make me happy?"

They both turned to stare at me expectantly. Now, what I wanted to do was tell these idiotic women that when I did well it was taken for granted, so it wouldn't have mattered either way. Or I wanted to point out, yet again, that she was not my mother. (Sorry, mom's still responsible for more than half of my life, Fam. And she will be for another six years.)

Instead, I stare at them and say "I don't understand the question." Fam realizes it's a joke and laughs, but this woman loses it. We get into a discussion about me teaching, and Fam makes the mistake of saying I can teach with my tongue stud in.

"What sort of standard do you think you'll be setting for the students? Why can't your generation not conform?"
"How is a pierced tongue any different from pierced ears?"
"Because pierced tongues supposedly enhance ORAL SEX."
"Ma'm, I wouldn't know." *lies through teeth*
*sputters* "Well, I'm not talking about you! I'm just saying teachers with weird hair, or dreadlocks, they're setting a standard for kids! At the school I worked at, all the kids had to wear uniforms and the teacher shook their hands at the door in the morning! You probably think that's stupid, don't you?"
"No, actually, that's how it worked at my last placement."
"Oh..."
"I think you're making some very dangerous generalizations."

And then the check came.

This is what OCD looks like.

Damnit. Damnit.

I asked for the hardcover boxed set of the Harry Potter series. I had the link to Amazon and everything so there was no guesswork involved. I got the children's paperback set, which has books 1-6. The seventh paperback book does not come out until July, and so I am incapable of completing the set. But it's okay--since they're paperbacks, the rest of the series will have fallen apart by then. No, that went from OCD to ungrateful, and I am glad I have six *twitch* of the books.

I am going to go insane. >.<

asdfghjawudsalghbuh!

"Lauren, will you write MiniFam a letter from Santa?"
"Fam, I can't write."
"Oh."

The only thing that's missing is a new sketchbook and art pencils.

She's been calling everyone "the little people."

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Pre-flight jitters

Animals fed and watered? Yes.
Cages and litterboxes clean? Yes.
Trash ready to be taken out? Yes.
Packed? Yes.
Meds? Yes.
Chargers? Yes.
iPod? Yes.

On the verge of a nervous breakdown and about to cry? Oh God yes.

This is what conflict looks like.

I'm doing laundry and cleaning the house in preparation for me leaving at 3AM, and all I can really do is stare out the window and hope it snows more.

On the one hand, presents.

On the other hand, peace.

I am a bad person.

::EDIT::
I changed my mind. Fam has been calling since 5AM. I am not a bad person. I am a cranky, sleep-deprived person!

Interesting.

So I e-mailed my family and told them there's a chance I may not make it in for Christmas. Their reaction then was to tell me I was overreacting. "I've seen the news--you guys didn't get that much snow."

Well, today Aunt K's plane was cancelled. So they call again and say "hey, how are the roads? Do you think you'll make it in?"

When I honestly answer "I have no idea," I get two responses.

1. "You're being awfully pessimistic."
2. "But we got you presents!"

Neither of those seem quite right...

because I can can can

I promised Maddo I'd send her humorous vibes today while she was flying over the Pacific, so allow me to do so by posting an anecdote I've been meaning to put up here for a week--in Film Noir Style.

---

It's the worst kind of snow. Not good enough for snowballs, snowmen, forts. Little kids stay inside because it gets into their gloves and shoes and chills them to the bone. I've been in it all night, walking the beat, collar turned up against the biting wind. I'm wearing the pastel-plaid scarf she got me and trying not to think as I breathe through it to protect myself from the chill of the night. This isn't the hour, the weather, for nice people. It's a night for people who will do anything for money. I fit right in.

Footsteps crunch behind me. I turn, but the traitorous scarf blocks most of my view. Snow white hair is all I catch a glimpse of in the gloom. Some old man, on his way home for the night. Nothing to worry about. I'm about to walk on and try to find some shelter from the biting wind when the figure speaks.

"I recognize those pigtails." The voice is oddly jovial, but rich, like a Santa Claus that grew up smoking and drinking gin while his mom sang jazz tunes. Memories come flooding back. This is the voice that took my everything. This is the voice that haunts my mind every night as I lie in bed wrapped in tangled sheets and wonder why the hell I bother waking up to face another day.

"Evening, professor." I turn and step into the glow of the streetlight, pulling the scarf down so he can see my face. He's buttoning up his coat, probably on his way home to the wife and the grandkids. When I leave in two hours, the apartment I drive to will be dark and empty, except for the cat. But who needs a dame when you've got a needy puss?

"Staying warm?"
"Trying to, anyways."
He gives a merry chuckle that makes me want to haul off and sock him one. "I'm glad I ran into you. I've been meaning to pull you aside for a chat."

My spine stiffens, and I consider my options. Could probably lose him on the steps--he's got a good forty years on me, but in snow like this I'm just as likely to wipe out. The building I was heading to is at the top. No luck there. I'm trapped. I know what his words can do, and I know I can't withstand another onslaught. Not tonight. Not after everything else that's gone wrong. My skin's gone colder than the air surrounding us.

"What's going on?" I accept my defeat. He's around me four days a week, so it's bound to happen sometime.
"I wanted to tell you I'm proud of all the good work you've done since we talked last."
My breath freezes in the air between us like a ghost and I stand frozen, waiting for the catch.
"I'll never forget--you gave me some perspective, that's for sure." He finishes the top button and starts on his gloves. "I'll never forget our conversation about your attendance. I had no idea what you'd been going through. And student teaching is a challenge for everyone, but I think you can do it."

My mind races like a two-dollar whore who just spotted the rich guy in her strip club. First things first--common graces, gotta keep up the pretense of humanity when I can.
"Thanks, Prof."

He dons his hat in an absurdly old-man fashion--don't pretend like you don't know what I mean--and heads for his car. I pull my scarf back around my face and turn back to the steps, but they seem suddenly endless.

Eight weeks. I've plotted, planned, dreamed of proving him wrong for eight weeks. And now he's told me he's sorry, in his way, and I don't feel justified. I don't feel free. Wrongs have not been righted.

In a way, I am angrier than before. I reach into my pocket and fire up a cig, letting its smoke be bombarded by the huge, soft flakes surrounding me. My shrink thinks I've got anger problems. Wants me to sit on a cushion and face a wall thirty minutes a day and pretend I'm not thinking about revenge. But the apology isn't enough. He needs to feel like I feel.

He needs to lose what I lost. Then we'll be even.

Having a smoke seems suddenly pointless. I toss the cigarette butt into the snowbank to my left and trudge up the stairs, listening to the soft hiss of fire enveloped by ice. It falls silent as I reach the top.

---

1. Long coat with popped collar? check.
2. Whoreswhoreswhoreswhores? check.
3. Dames? check.
4. Cigarette? check.
5. Angst? doubleplus check.
6. Context? Fiiiiine.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have laundry to do.

It starts

By popular demand, pictures of my backyard in snow.


Day Four.


Day Six, just a little too blue.

Expect another tomorrow morning after it finishes dumping on us.

It's that time of the year again.

I hope this doesn't come off as bitter or self-serving, since I don't really mean it that way, but.

I'm really looking forward to the time in my life when I can spend Christmas with people I enjoy instead of being either alone or depressed for the entire thing.

But someone has to stay with the pets, so I guess it's all working out the way it's supposed to right now. I suppose the Christmas I am looking forward to happens at my house.

In which much stupidity occurs

Me: *reads book at work desk, out in the open, for anyone with eyes to see.*
Bossman Extreme: "You're quiet this morning."
Me: *engrossed* "Huh?"
Bossman Extreme: *repeats*
Me: "Oh. Am reading book."
Bossman Extreme: "Oh."

Time: *passes*

Me: *Still reading book. Still not ninjareading book.*
Big Boss: "You're awfully quiet this morning!"
Me: *teary* "Huh?"
Big Boss: *repeats*
Me: "Oh. Reading book."
Big Boss: "Want some coffee?"
Me: "At this point that would be counterproductive." (Bed in less than an hour woo!)
Big Boss: "Huh?"
Me: *book*
Big Boss: "Sure you don't want any coffee? You seem tired."
Me: "Nope, just full of book."

Time: *passes*

Me: *oh god his feet wtf no!*
Bosslady: "Wren, you're quiet this morning!"
Me: *icily* "That does happen on occasion."
Office: "..."
Me: *book*

*snigger*

So I've been feeding the ratties their antibiotics in a little bit of strawberry Ensure. Since the non-sick ones love it, too, after everyone is dosed I have been filling tiny souffle dishes with some Ensure and letting them go to town on it.

Now Benny, Lily, and Jae have no problems sharing a souffle cup among them, but Melvin and Percy always get into little shoving matches. I can usually break these up easily with my fingers, and they settle down and lap away like everyone else.

Except yesterday. Yesterday I looked away for one second, and hear a quiet *sploosh.*

Percy has dunked Melvin's face into the Ensure. He resurfaces with a little rattie wheeze. I don't start laughing until I realize that his whiskers are coated in so much ensure that they're sagging down by his toes. He backs up and starts grooming furiously, and Percy gets the cup to .

Poor Melvin. My little strawberry goo-coated baby.

Work: The Musical!

Wren: "Nine in the bed and the little one said"
Dispatcher: "Roll over, roll over!"
Both: "So they all rolled over and one fell out!"

*Goes on*

Both: "Three in the bed and the little one said!"
Wren: "Fuck ye-es, fuck ye-es!"
Dispatcher: *groan*
Tom: "What's fun for fourteen out of fifteen people?"
Wren: *snerk*
Tom: *singsong* GANGBANG!
Wren: "Oh, I was thinking bukkake.
Tom: "Eh, that's a lot more than fourteen."
Wren: "point."
Wren: "..."
Wren: "Fifty in the bed and the middle one said *gurgleflail*! *gurgleflail!*
Dispatcher: D:<

I am under orders to post this

I've been looking over appreciations and suggestions from my "microteaching" lesson about the eye colors. One of them, from my professor, says "be careful when you use the word parents. Some of your students may not have them!"

When I told this to Bossman Prime, he laughed so hard he choked and fell over on the desk.

I love a little perspective

I did an admit for an OT/PT student today. Nothing unusual, except he's blind.

I asked to see his ID, and he got out his wallet and handed me his card. I wasn't sure where the room was, and he walked me there. I've run into him before, and he's one of the nicest guys on the planet, but it was exceptionally good to run into him today.

I mean, hell. If a blind PT student can make it, so can a teacher with no hands, right? (Also it makes me think 1.5 times before I whine.)

It's like getting tea poured directly into my soul

Smartboards. Today in class I learned you don't need a pen to write on Smartboards. You can use your fingers.

Today in class I learned that for the first time in two years, I might have a chance at writing on something without being in horrible pain.

I almost cried.

Buh

So I taught a lesson on eye color to my peers today which I might like enough to turn into a powerpoint online and post it here. While I was doing it, I was giving my "students" specific time limits.

"You have exactly one minute. Go! Thirty seconds! Okay, stop!"

Afterward, Manfessor comments:

"You know Wren, I didn't see you as a task manager."
Me: "...what?"
Manfessor: "I didn't see you as someone who'd be so dead on with time and keeping people focused!"
Classmate: *stares at me, stares at Manfessor* "Hell, I did!" *walks out of class*

Checking in!

At Kiran is back online in the sense that I am looking at it again. Expect a new chapter by Monday.

Also, Twist Shimmy is still looking for more betas! Those edits start next week!

What did I just do?

Well, now that NaNo is over, I've had time to play The Sims 2 again. So what did I just do? Did I make all my NaNo characters into Sims and build them their own custom district? Yesidid.

If you're curious, here's Izzy:

(If you're wondering about the sparkles, they were caused by witches. I am one hundred percent serious.)

And here's Magda (red hair will be along shortly).

The fact that she's in her underwear studying cooking in the middle of the day is not what bothers me about this picture. Instead, what gets to me is the chef. He waltzed into their flat, walked up to her, and started ranting about Sue's Secret Kitchen. And what is she doing? Looking at his crotch and thinking about twinkies! D:<

---

Magda's club has to have a band. So, meet The Band family.


Singer of the Band.

I am uncomfortably attracted to her hair. She is, unsurprisingly, the most photogenic of the group, and as a result there are eight thousand screenshots of her at The Band's album.


Drummer of the Band.

Yes. Nothing screams "I am a douchebag" like those shades.


Bassist and Guitarist of the Band, respectively.
Do I sense a little puppy love from the goth for his cougar counterpart? (And isn't he too young for a nipple ring?)

Er, no. Apparently not. (on both counts.)


Definitely not.


Magda gave them all an interview which consisted of sitting on the sidewalk in front of their house and talking, blocking traffic and being barked at by itinerant dogs. How long did it take? Three days. It rained, hell, it hailed, and there were wolves, and still they sat there and chatted.


In case you were wondering, staring at that for three days of game time is boring. So I surfed the web instead.

You have been warned. And I strongly encourage you to head over and check out the entire album. Really.

Shameless Pimping (You know why I'm doing this)

Twist Shimmy is looking for brave people who want to beta the next draft of her 50,000 word erotica. For details, head over to her Elljay.

Pictures don't count.

I can't help it. They're too sparkly not to share! D:

---

Click through for more witchy piccies! (Warning: high sparkly content!)

Notice

Until after NaNoWriMo is over, stalk me on Twitter.

::EDIT::
If you're wondering why, here, have Exhibit A.

squeaker: ...ignore that random g.
squeaker: wt ever living f
Maddo: sl--g?
Maddo: aj
Maddo: sprru
Maddo: adsf;aljgd
Maddo: sorry
squeaker: O.O
squeaker: :D
squeaker: finally, someone who speaks the language

Ze words, they fail us. I don't want this to happen to my blog posts!

More E-mail Fun

From: Wren
To: Fam:

Subject: Christmas Day

Are we still doing breakfast? If so, I should bring some Fisher's scone mix. Washington is famous for these scones.

---

From: Fam
To: Lauren

Subject: Re: In which I prove I am a dumbass

Yes, please bring some. I love scones. I was thinking of doing a turkey and the whole thing for you and me and Claire. Would you rather ham?

---

No. No, I do not want ham. Why? Because not only have I not eaten ham for the past seven years, but I do not feel like spending my Christmas Night desperately hugging the toilet.

I love these people.

While at the National Science Teacher's Association convention:

*Room 204 has run out of chairs, but there is still half a lecture hall of space free. Some teachers begin sitting on the floor. Other, more enterprising individuals, invade the next room, where there is a plethora of chairs but a dearth of attendees. Soon, there is a steady stream of people looping from one room to the other, chairs in hand*

Woman with wild hair: "I feel like an ant."
Tall man: *stops cold* "You know, I was just thinking that!"
Me: "Yeah, me too."
*chorus of agreement from the crowd*
Woman with wild hair: *Laughs* "You can tell we're all science people!"
Me: "No we're not, we're leafcutter ants!"
*chorus of agreement from the crowd*
Mr K: "Wait, what's up?"

For reference, we're talking about these guys:

Please, please click this. If it is at all unclear to those uninitiated into my family, I am asking Unc, Fam, and [Wife] if "my little sisters" have a Christmas list so I can buy them something without using any precious brain cells in thought.

So why, why, WHY is Fam doing... that?

It seems oddly familiar.

And people wonder why I never want to go back to Saint Louis. That, whatever that is, is far worse in person.

Death is coming!

Goal: Stay up-to-date on NaNoWriMo
Goal: Attend NSTA conference Thurs-Sat.

Problem: Work tonight from 4-12
Problem: Leave for Portland Wednesday night
Problem: Need 30k words by tonight for NaNo
Problem: All of last night was spent fixing &^#*@! laptop.

Due: Semantic Web, Thursday
Due: Rubric for Performance Assessment, Thursday
Due: Performance Assessment Handout, Thursday
Due: Criterion Assessment Handout, Thursday
Due: Outline of state standards, Thursday
Due: Student Samples, Thursday
Due: Tensions Paper, Friday (Optional: Monday)
Due: Student Questionnaire, Friday

Solution: Call in sick to work. Turn all of assignments listed above in on Wednesday. If I am lucky, sleep.

Prognosis: Proper fucked

::EDIT:: Holy shit, would you look at that?

Dear laptop:

Look, I know you know how busy this week is gonna be, because I just got done inscribing a todo list into your worthless little fucking body. So really, what possessed you to eat half of the Ubuntu install and deprive me of my files?

Fucker. Now I get to spend the night backing shit up and rolling back to the last, exponentially more stable, distribution.

Couldn't this have waited until December?!

::EDIT SIX HOURS LATER::
Fixed.

To do BEFORE I become a teacher:

Buy pants that take fewer than five minutes to un-button, otherwise I am never going to the bathroom in between classes.

I wish I could blame the sprained wrist on this one, but it really seems to be the fault of me and my ZOMGobsession with tiny-fucking-button, tab-waisted pants

Failed Children's Shows

"Barf-eater the Asscat."

Do you see! Do you see what I have to put up with!

"Good lord, are they always like this?"

Note to Future Wren

In case I get bogged down by the details when I enter the workforce, here is a list of ten reasons why I am becoming a teacher:

1. Because when I was living in Hawaii and I needed someone to talk to, my guidance counselor made fun of me and asked "what, having a problem with your boyfriend?"
2. Because I know what it's like to be the kid who doesn't feel happy to go home when the bell rings at the end of the day.
3. Because if it hadn't been for two teachers in my high school, I never would've made it to college.
4. Because my freshman year Biology teacher ruined the subject for me.
5. Because it's the only way I have left to prove I love my mother.
6. Because one day I hope to be a good enough teacher to instill my enthusiasm into a new generation of people.
7. Because my life feels incomplete without homework.
8. Because the idea of having summer break for the rest of my life makes me feel like a little kid.
9. Because I want to make sure that my kids meet at least one adult during their time in school that will respect them as a human beings and not look down on them simply because of their youth.
10. Because the ever-present, ever-juvenile part of me desperately wants to prove the MAT program wrong.
    

Anyone have any champagne?

It has happened.

Percy, Melvin, Lilith, Jadis, and Benny have successfully spent the night in the same cage with no blood.

When I get home from classes, I get to set up the big cage.

That's right. I have them all down to one cage. An hour of my night, each night, has been freed.

\m/

Happy Obama Day!

I understand intellectually that what I witnessed last night was an historic event (The Daily Show made that clear). I feel a little silly doing this now, but I know that one day I am going to look back on my life and ask “what was I doing when Obama got elected?”

The answer is severalfold, really. I coined a new phrase (“Together People” for boyfriend and girlfriend). For a good chunk of it, I was covered in pomegranate juice (they're wiley little buggers, those pomegranates). I was also hanging out with some of my closest friends, huddled together on the couch and staring at the television in a quiet panic. Daryl was formulating his plan to move to Canada. We were discussing the chances of gay marriage being rebanned in California, the new Tacoma mass transit bill passing, and whether or not Washington would pass the assisted suicide bill. (I still need to find out. I hope they do.) On the TV, Colbert is becoming crankier and crankier as McCain fails to take the lead.

All of the sudden, the Daily Show ends with “Barack Obama has just been elected the next President of the United States.” My heart stops. We all stare in stunned silence.

“TURN TO MSN! FOX! ANYTHING!” Maddo's boy shrieks.

We do, and are greeted with silent newscasters, who are simply streaming feeds of Obama supporters celebrating all over the nation. I start crying right around the time we realize they are. Several other people in the room tear up, too. When the MSNBC anchors resume speaking, most of them are also in tears.

I can't really explain it. I really didn't think, until I saw McCain concede to Obama, that it was going to happen. I didn't think we had it in us. But we did. Yes we did! And I don't think that this is going to magically fix all of our problems with the environment, foreign relations, the economy, and the rampant racism that is still crippling us. But I do think it sends a message that we can change, and that apathy hasn't completely overwhelmed us. Until last night, I was convinced it had. Until last night, I had given up.

We've put this man on a pedestal and assigned him the task of reclaiming our faith in our government, and for that I am genuinely sorry, because I honestly don't believe one man can succeed with such a monumental mandate in four years. But I do believe that he will try. I trust him when he says he is going to try to be bipartisan, to bring us together again in a time when divisive tactics will only send us further down the drain. And I believe that the vast majority of the United States has chosen change. I have never seen an election be decided so quickly.

Now my only fear is that we have sentenced this man to death by handing him the reigns to such a divided nation. But this is a choice he made himself, and because of that I know he believes this is worth the risk. That we are worth the risk. And that is why I gave him my support despite my worry that my vote, in the end, will have killed a man.

Yes we did.

Oh. My. God.

I teach my first lesson tomorrow. As in, like, I have control of the class for the entire day, from start to finish.

This is funnier if you picture it in the 50s.

"What did you do at work today, honey?"
"Oh, I set the road on fire."

High and Low

At my new school, they start out every Friday with a "temperature check," and share with the class one "high" experience, and one "low" experience. I'm gonna try that out.

---

High
My new placement is amazing. My mentor teachers care and are taking an active role in our training. They want us to have an active place in the classroom, teach, attend staff meetings, the whole nine yards.

It's euphoric.

Low
Being yelled at for missing a class due to uncontrollable vomiting. (What was I supposed to do, bring a bucket?) I have to meet with two of my professors on Wednesday to "discuss my goals so they can help support my growth as a teacher." That line may be saccharine enough to rot teeth, but my personal favorite from the correspondence is the following:

"I understand that you have legitimate reasons for missing class; my concern is that you understand the professional expectations of schools. Missing four days in the first month and a half of the public school year would not be well received by a school principal. In all the schools I’ve worked in more than four absences in a school year was considered excessive."

That's right. I was just told that I am too sickly to teach. I love it! I can't be a zookeeper because my hands are too fucked up, but I can't do anything else, either, because I won't be able to hold down a job. Forget that two of those absences were for doctor's appointments that were scheduled eight months in advance and with the intention of making me healthy again! What am I supposed to do with my degree, then? They're insinuating I have three options:

1) Welfare
2) Kept woman
3) Rot

Fuck that. I am sick of fighting with people over this. My teachers keep forgetting I have a disability (after all, I don't "look" sick!), and I've had several assignments in class where I have been essentially useless and been give no other alternative to complete my task. This is just the icing on a very embittering cake. Reminding them doesn't seem to have changed a thing.

So what am I doing? It's time to go back on the warpath.

1) Contacting the campus disabilities office. She'll send out an e-mail politely reminding my professors that I am, despite my deceptive appearance, disabled.
2) If that does not work? Talk to the Ron Thom (President). He'll throw a royal fit over this. Last resort, since professors will likely become resentful.
3) Getting a referral so I can finally be officially diagnosed with fibro so I can legally claim disability. Also, hopefully this will lead to effective pain therapy so I can, oh, you know, use my fucking hands and left leg again.

What just happened?

The astute among you have realized this blog is being hosted on my server now. This affects nothing important, really, but expect a template overhaul.

Eventually.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go learn PHP.

[Filter]

Professor One to Professor Two: "So, you weren't an English Major, you were a Religion Major. How did you get into English?"
Me: "Public Schools."
Ad: "...*snerk* You're on point today..."
Professors: o.o; O.-;

I love him, kinda

Matt has been threatening for weeks to start controlling my iTunes remotely via his iPod touch, and I keep telling him that if he does I will kill him. Well, last night, he made good on his threat, but I'm still laughing too hard to make good on mine.

I brought a man home with me last night (gasp!) and we all hung out for a while and watched some X-Files. After that, said person and I adjourn to my room. I throw on a playlist and we crash on the bed and proceed to rip each other's clothes off (well, his anyway.)

All of the sudden, my computer switches from instrumental, psychedelic rock to Puddle of Mudd's "Control."

"That's a weird shift," he murmurs, nibbling my neck.

"Yeah, it is..." I say, and then the wheels start to turn. Slowly. (I was a little distracted.) A minute later, I have bolted off the bed and into the hall.

"MATT LONSDALE!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" he replies.

Is this me maturing?

I just decided it would be a bad idea to answer the question "what do you like best about this class?" with "It starts at 11AM" on a course evaluation.

If it were anonymous, tho? Oh boy.

This is your brain on grad school

A fake lesson plan's fake assessment that I have every intention of turning in tomorrow. Enjoy!

---

Unit Review: Now stop asking me what will be on the test.

The assessment will cover what we have learned in Unit 6 concerning friction. You will use the data collected during the three labs we performed to create a poster outlining your results for the class. As a reminder, here is a brief run-down of the labs performed along with the questions I want you to consider in your poster presentation:

LAB ONE: What is friction?

• In this lab we paired up and dragged each other over one of three assigned surfaces: tile, carpet, and grass. (Think about what the cardboard was used for—why didn't we just drag each other by the pants? Answers concerning laundry are NOT correct! Think about this as an experiment! What were we controlling for?)

• These data were then plugged into the work equation to see how our amount of work changed per surface.

LAB TWO: Adding simple machines

• Instead of the cardboard, we used skateboards on the same three surfaces and compared the work necessary to the results of the first lab. How much did the addition of a simple machine reduce the work done on each surface?

• What general conclusions can be drawn concerning friction (yes, this is general—that should make it easy for you to think up more than one!)

LAB THREE: Surface area and friction

• In this lab we changed the surface area of the cardboard and repeated the tests outlined in Lab One on our assigned surface.

• How did this affect the work done? When seen in the context of lab two, does this explain why skateboards are so useful for travel? Explain how, and describe two other simple vehicles this applies to. If you feel it doesn't, support your reasoning with data.

These presentations will be graded in pairs—this means you AND your partner will be receiving the same grade.

After the presentations, we will get together as a class and draw some conclusions based on the data we have collected. TAKE NOTES.

The formal write-up for this unit will be in the form of a mini lab paper. Since we've already tackled the introduction in Unit 5, we will be moving on to the experimental section. You will also be expected to include a results section where you formally present your data and explain its trends. We will take a trip to the computer lab and work in Excel to create the graphs and charts necessary, so none of this work will need to be done out of class. However, you WILL be expected to create figure legends and any necessary prose on your own time.

Any questions? See me. This is due in one week.

Oh, thank God.

This may be less of a disaster than I'd thought.

The worst thing anyone has ever said to me:

"I honestly think more people than you know like you. I mean, I liked you for a long time but couldn't say a damn thing because I had no confidence I could keep you interested. Your intelligence is more intimidating than your wit, though wit comes with the territory of being intelligent sometimes..."


I cannot explain how horrible this makes me feel.

Oh My God.

Don't worry, Joe Plumber. CANADIAN OIL IS FINE.

If we are placed together when we're assigned to new mentors, he is not going to survive

*Mr K has spent the morning yawning, rubbing at his face, making congested snorting noises, and scratching at his head*

Me: "You're grosser than usual today."
*Mr K removes his overshirt, exposing a wifebeater, and flops down onto the floor, perhaps intending to do pushups. I am attacked by a waft of near-tangible colognesmell as his overshirt hits the chair beside me*

Me: "WTF"
Matt: *shrug*
*I take Kainoa's wallet, which he has left on the table near my right elbow, and dig through it. Two IDs and some cash. After a moment's thought, I start throwing dollar bills at him. He looks up, bemused, and then of course gets thrilled that I am treating him like a stripper.*

Hot Girl on Other Side of Classroom: *grinning* "Can we go upstairs? Wren is throwing money over there and it is really distracting me."
Me: "Sorry!" *Hurls Mr. K's wallet after the money, hitting him smack in the ear. He realizes it was his own money and crumples.*

*Later, in next class*

Mr. K: *Sits down next to me* "Blah blah blah blah?"
Me: "Sorry, what?"
Mr. K: "Blah blah blah blah?"
Me: "K, it's loud in here. What was that?"
Mr. K: ""Blah blah--"
Me: "I lied. I don't care."
Mr. K: ... ...
Mr. K: "YOU ARE HEINOUS."
Me: "Good word!"
Mr. K: "I have never been dissed as hard as you dissed me just then. I cannot believe I just repeated myself back to you three times!"
Me: "Never? Oh, K. You are in for a lot of emotional pain if you keep sitting next to me."
Mr K: "Dude, I sit down next to you willingly every day. I find your spot!"
Me: "Trust me, I know."

More notes to future Wren:

If you pick a fight with one of your students, she is exponentially less likely to attend class the next day.

Hmmm. I'll head into class in ten minutes.

But they do for other people.

When I am in class and have allergies, no one says "gesundheit" when I sneeze.

That's it. I quit!

I just watched the WrenSim buy a stripper pole from a vampire.

I need a "well, duh!" tag

I was going to update the FFQ formula with "if he forces you to hold hands for several minutes and only stops when a mutual friend threatens to kick him in the balls..."

...but then I realized that would be moronic.

The ends totes justify the means

New goal: Marry Feeney so that I can force him to perform The Bendy Dance(tm) in front of the entire wedding party.

This is what I do in Grad School

Teacher asked me to make a custom cover for my reflection journal, since mine is a binder and everyone else's is a carefully decorated purple-covered affair. (All flaunting that they can write by hand...)

I obliged.

Really, I wanted it to be THIS.

I didn't do it because I actually like her. <---FILTER IN ACTION.

(In completely unrelated news, it may be bedtime.)

Very few people seem to believe me when I tell them I am going to go cry in a corner.

All right, it is time to do something I haven't done in several months (at least, as far as I can tell). I need to rant. Consider this your warning if you are one of those who reads this for the funny and not for the drama. I take no offense, since I generally write this for the funny. Drama posts are not fun to compose, believe me. But I'll do us both a favor and intersperse some pictures.

As you all know by now, my favorite rat died on Sunday. (I'm sorry, Jae, but he was.)

Not only that, but he is now in the freezer beside ST, whom we have not yet been able to find time to bury. Granted, several of us are full-time students with part-time jobs, others of us have full-time jobs and live several cities away, or were out of town for the entirety of the summer. So this isn't something born from laziness, but it still makes me feel like a terrible mom. Which means that now every time I open the freezer all I can think about is how much it still hurts that ST is dead, and how hard it was for me to hold Basil in my hands and do everything I could to keep him warm and comfortable while he died. Frame of reference, folks-- it took 45 minutes.

But time doesn't slow down, does it? None of my teachers care that I was crying too hard to do my homework that night. He was just a rat. It doesn't matter that he was the sweetest rat on the planet, or that he was still a baby, because he is a rodent, and thus too small to be worked up about.

Fuck that. He was a pet. I may not cry when one of my fish die, but I know people that have, and I have been able to understand why they were upset. I'm sick of people looking at me like I'm a freak when I tell them I'm depressed because my rat had a stroke.

But you know what? I'm an adult now, right, so life has been going on despite all this. Or would have been had I been able to sleep at all this week. Sunday night I drugged myself up on insomnia medication so that I could get up Monday and do my homework. Unfortunately, that didn't work on Monday night. Or Tuesday night. So I have had to go through my final week of observations at my middle school and my normal classes with a severely sleep-deprived, grieving brain. But last night I slept. And this morning I thought to myself "hey, the week is finally shaping up."

I was wrong. Today started out well, especially because I have new hair and treated myself to a manicure last night in the hopes that it would make me feel better. I put on my most ridiculous shirt that makes me feel like a pirate, sensible heels, and went in for my last day of observation, finally prepared to say goodbye to my students. Our teacher had a surprise for us; he let us go out with a bang. We got to teach his first two classes.

A short break here for photos of new hair and ridiculous shirt:

Because this expression and this shirt were meant for one another.
(Are you happy now, Kate? :D)

3/4 profile, with drama cranked to 11. Oh yeah. (I have a nose meant for 20s cinema.)


And the back. Rowr!

Sadly, the red highlights don't show up so well in the dark. I'll get another round of photos for you when it is sunny and I haven't been crying. A short anecdote about the shirt: I bought it because the ruffles are a) fucking awesome, and b) they cover the cleavage button-bend I tend to get in button-downs. But! It is now on the no-list, because Felipe and Terrin spent the entire hour with their eyes glued to my chest. Those ruffles have a panel behind them, but apparently they can't tell, so the shirt was promising cleavage they knew it was there somewhere. Oh well. At least they were paying attention and asking a lot of questions during group work. (-.-)

Okay. Back to DRAMA. Teaching the class was the highlight of my day. Everyone listened, everyone paid attention, we got to joke around, and I learned a great deal from them. I'd like to think that some of them are even going to miss me. I head off to class on the tailcoats of a teaching high, actually feeling relatively perky.

Then class ruined everything. The same nine students always meet four times a week to rehash the same problems over and over again, but no progress is ever made. At this point I can sit down with the topic before class, decide which points would be made by what students, guess which students will talk the most, which will get angry first, and which will bore me until my eyes cross. And I am never wrong. But today, they were doing it with a lesson plan that four science students had to think up and present together. One of us is a chemist, two of us are biologists, and the fourth one is an idiotic frat boy whom I've referred to here as Mr. K. Can you see how hard it was to 1) agree on anything, and 2) agree on their comments? FOUR TEACHERS SHOULD NOT TEACH.

To make matters worse, Mr. K decided to end the day by grabbing my face in his hands, leaning in, and licking my cheek.

He licked. My cheek. In front of the entire class.

Then the annoying girl who I caught gossiping about me in the bathroom looks over and shouts "oh my God, are you two making out?"

Yes. Now allow me to demonstrate what it looks like when my elbow makes out with his kidneys.

So I go home, intending to take care of the rats, eat a little lunch, and work on some way to improve my mood. I know! I'll finish off the chicken korma, have some tea, and work out for an hour to blow off some steam.

Cue uncle. Now, I asked for his help back in June because I knew that he would be able to find me an attorney to help represent me regarding the stupid girl who hit me and the idiotic cop who wrote me the ticket for it. I have been sending him reminder e-mails, and I assumed that he was actually working on it. To his credit, he was, but he forgot to the most important part: tell me to e-mail the attorney two weeks ago.

My court date is in four days. Unless the course of the world changes drastically over the weekend, it looks like I'm going to be representing myself. And the way I feel emotionally right now, that means I will walk up, look the judge in the eyes, and burst into tears. How convincing.

Now, I've been alive long enough and been blogging long enough to realize that my life goes in horrible circles. Everything goes right, and then everything goes wrong. I am clearly currently stuck in the downward portion of a cycle. That's fine. I know my life, and I know things are going to start going eerily right again eventually. And, had I managed to stick to my medication schedule, I would probably be strong enough emotionally to handle all the badness now. But I'm an idiot who hasn't been taking the right dosage for two weeks now.

So! If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a lie down.

>.<

I am really going to miss my kids.

My claws are coming back

*Teacher takes a copy of a chapter and lays it about the perimeter of a room. Sciency kids cluster around and start inspecting the layout of the book*

Me: "I'll start down here if Mr. K will scoot a little."
Mr K: *runs into me with his shoulder*
Me: "I will elbow you in the kidney, so help me."
Mr K: "Make me pee blood?"
Me: "It will be a growing experience."
Mr K: "A groin experience. Pardon the pun."

*pause*
Me: "That's not a pun."
Mr K: "No! See, it's wordplay. "Elbow you in the kidney, growing experience, but it's a groin experience, too. Growing, groin? See?"
Me: "I love how you just repeated back to me everything we just said. The instant replay is amazing, but that's still not a pun."
Mr K: "Wow."
Me: "Wow?"
Mr K: "I'm not talking to you anymore." *takes a few steps away*
Me: "Finally."

My little baby Basil just had a stroke. I'm keeping him warm, but I don't think he will last the night.

::EDIT::
He's gone.

Dear American Readers:

October 4 is the last day to register to vote.

Please, please, please, for the love of this country's potential future, register.

Getting the IUD was still worse

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been lied to.

Just two weeks ago, I was told the procedure I underwent today would be "quick and painless." That I would "be out the door in ten minutes, and probably pain free! Most people feel better instantly!"

Well, shock of shocks. I feel instantly worse. Let me tell you why.

There was a needle. Two, really. The first was a tiny little thing they used to inject anesthetic. The second was a two-and-a-half inch long affair that they worked into me gradually with evil little stabbing motions. Here, for reference, let's look at something two inches long, shall we?

I started feeling pain when the damn thing had made it 1/5 of the way into my abdomen, and spent the rest of the time seeing stars and wondering just what the fuck the local anesthetic was for. Meanwhile, the nurse is trying to get me to hold her hand, and the doctor keeps calling me "a real warrior." I look at them both and go "Don't worry, I've had weirder medical procedures done. Let's talk about the time they cut my lip away from my skull..."

Afterward, they take my blood pressure and tell me it is "slightly elevated." You don't say.

Then, the doctor looks at me and says perkily "So! What's your pain at now?"
"Seven!" I reply in equally perky fashion.
He appears taken aback. "Really?"
"Oh yes."

When I came in, pre-needle, it was a six. Now, as I am sitting here writing, we have approached the realm of eight.

The nurse's last words as I left the office? "This is just a diagnostic procedure, really. If it doesn't work, we'll learn something!"

No. If it doesn't work, I'm going to teach you two about Occam's Razor. I have a minimum of four other trigger points, all of which I told you about on the paperwork. So, naturally, the pain in my stomach is caused by a pinched nerve. It all makes sense! :D

Fuckers.

Now if you'll excuse me, my nerves and I are going to go have a lie-down.

Why I Don't Think I Can Be a Teacher:

This is Zombies Kid. When he gave me this assignment back, I wanted to cry. He's the class troublemaker out of boredom. He's very smart, very talented, and very impatient. His books of choice are chock full of political and social commentary, and he draws in his sketchbook in his free time. He also acts out to get attention, which does not work well with his teacher. Take the example that earned him his name:

They were compiling a list on the board of types of natural disasters, and ZK suggested "zombies." Teacher gives him the Teacher Look(tm) and says "we're limiting this list to real disasters."
"The revolution is coming!" ZK shrieks in reply. And because he did not get the acknowledgment he wanted, he continued to disrupt the class for the rest of the hour with ever-increasingly silly ideas ("rain of vampiric kittens" is my personal favorite).

I ended up bringing this scenario to my seminar class, and was asked the question "how would you have handled it?" Naturally, being who I am, I had a response ready.

"In all honesty? I would have answered him seriously. 'Now, while I agree that the Zombie Threat is real, ZK, all lore indicates that zombies are a man-made threat, and thus should not be included on our Natural Catastrophes chart. But! If any of you want to be prepared, I suggest reading the following books and webcomics!' *write list up*"

After my class finished giggling at me, they all concluded that ZK would have been more likely to settle down, and thus my small tangent would have kept the class on-task better later as a result.

Obviously, I adore ZK. So it breaks my heart to see how upset he is that the school is going downhill thanks to the horrors wrought upon it by the NCLB. We were half-expecting him to answer our interview question with a sketch of the teacher drowning in a pool of his own blood and zombie parts, or not to take us seriously at all, so the fact he was honest made me even more depressed.

Hah.

Mr. K: "Hey Wren, can you work my Thursday swing for me?"
Matt: "He has a date to go see Phantom."
Mr. K: "I am willing to trade sexual favors."
Me: *thumbs up* "Excellent. But, that seems like a bad idea if you're going on a date, K."
Mr. K: *face falls* "Oh, right. That's a good point."
Mr. K: "I'll let you know if I make it to second base."
Me: "You do that."