PAVTAC week

Today I formally rededicate my blog, for five days, to the formal explaining of why the fictional organization PAVTAC (People Against Violence Toward Annoying Cats) is a necessary delusion around my house. If PAVTAC didn't stop me, I would throw my cat out the window.

Today's Cat-head story:

When I was 22 years old, I graduated from college and got a job. It wasn't a great one, but not long thereafter, I got a promotion (a promotion!) that required me to move from Charlotte, NC, to Raleigh, NC. Now, I hated Charlotte, North Carolina for a number of reasons, but one of the biggest was that at the time, I was a terrible snob* and there just weren't enough educated people (read: yankees) there for my liking. So the promotion was a great opportunity for me. I could move to a place with three universities within thirty miles of each other and live among other people who talked fast and understood that not talking in line at the grocery store is not rudeness, but a sign of respect for other peoples' time and precious energy. Yay!

My boss, however, knew only that my parents lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, and that by promoting me and moving me far far away from them, he was dealing me and my family a tough hand. (He had no idea how I felt about the redneckery of Charlotte). So in order to make this up to me, he went out to Big Al's (Crazy) Pet-o-rama and purchased a pure bred smoke persian cat, whose credentials read only that he had been sired by a cat named Dude and whelped by a cat named Maven. The papers said nothing else except for "This cat is Persian. Take him home. Please."

So my boss gave me the cat, and I was excited. Here was a dog that I would never have to walk! Here was a dog that could not bark! Here was a dog that would never smell like a dog!

I named him Itty Witty and then I got him food and a litter box. And we moved to Raleigh, NC, a place half run over with people from New Jersey. A bunch of my friends from college were in graduate school at UNC, so I had a handful of fast talking yankee friends to drink big blue cups of beer with, and all was well.

Except not so.

Itty Witty, now named Cat-head, was a pain in the ass. He would not be picked up, held, petted; indeed, he would not behave in any even slightly social way. In addition, he could not or would not eat anything that I fed him except canned tuna. Even this appeared to make him queasy. So I put him in my backpack (he bit me several times) and brought him to the vet. I left him there for the day, thinking when I returned, I would pay $50 or something and he would have a diagnosis: allergies, right?

When I returned for him at 4:30pm, the receptionist immediately paged the vet. All she said was "She's here." Hmmm, thought I. This must be had.

A few minutes later, the vet emerged wearing leather armor all the way up to his shoulders. He was also wearing a mask. He handed me my backpack, pulled down his mask, and said, "We need to have a talk."

What he told me is that my cat's personality was so foul, so violent, so anti-social, that if he had been born human, we might have been a candidate for one of those crenelated face masks a la Hannibal Lecter.

Yeah.

Then the vet recommended that the cat be de-clawed on all four feet AND that I consider having his teeth filed if he was ever going to be a threat to other people. Then he handed me a prescription for cat valium and a bag of food that cost more than a my fantasy running shoes. And I also got bill for $400. (It cost so much because he had to be tested for fifty or more maladies that might explain his poor behavior. None did. Plus he had injured four people - until the vet sedated him, which was $85 all by itself).

The new food cleared up Cat-head's food issues, but it didn't make him any happier. He uniformly hated me and everyone who ever entered my domicile. And yes, I later had reason to regret not having his teeth filed. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

*I now know better. I no longer dislike redneckery. Quite the opposite.

Sin of the Week, 5/18/08

I can't think of anything spectacular except for the that I skipped church because I got too busy with getting ready for the new semester to start. Oh, and I might also have been slightly heavy handed with the martini shaker, and I might have hated my cat a whole bunch, and I might have very briefly considered breaking into the Optician's Clinic and stealing contact lenses because my eyes have clearly (clearly!) not changed in the past year and I am out of contacts and tired of wearing my glasses and I don't want to pay $200 for an eye exam just to confirm that fact. Wait, that was more of a fantasy than a real intention, so it might be a simple case of repressed hostility directed at innocent eye-care practitioners. Hm.

See you tomorrow. (But only with my glasses on).

Middle

One of the main problems with doing so much work is that I have fantasies about freezing the clock - you know - making the world stop so I can run around and catch up. Then when the laundry is folded and put away and the dishes are done and my toenails are painted, I could unfreeze the clock and rejoin the rest of you, who never have these kinds of time management problems.

And this fantasy got me to thinking about time, about how well we use it and how much of it we (I) waste. I have wasted most of the past week recovering from my classes. And feeling guilty that I didn't do a better job at them, in general. And even with more time on my hands, I have been wanting desperately to freeze the clock again, just so I can breathe, sit still, do nothing.

Then I got to thinking some more. In some places, the time goes from one zone to the next - places where you could wake up at 8am and still get to work by 8am because you drive across the time zone line. Or the other way, where you could leave work at 5pm and be home by 4:30. That might be the ideal place for me to run my show. Indiana, right?

If you lived in one of these towns, would you want to live on the later side of line, so you could sleep in? Or would you want to live on the earlier side, so you could get home earlier? Would you still read my blog if you lost an hour because.... never mind. Just keep showing up and I promise that some day soon, I will have something interesting to say.

Happy Saturday.

I am (not) sexy

This morning at 6:00am, I got up and went to the bathroom. While there, I examined the cuffs of my new Windstopper fleece that I bought for the Kili trip.



I was feeling happy about the stitching and construction and other aspects of design such as the cute little tab in the back. Then I realized that I should not be able to see behind my own head and that I should not be wearing my new fleece jacket at all since I ordered this lovely new jacket only three days ago, so it has not yet arrived. Also, admiring its cuffs and tabs would be impossible for another reason: I would never wear a fleece jacket to bed. Want to know what Nina sleeps in? It's the second reason I am not sexy:




Anyway there I was, in mid-realization that I was not awake.. and that since I was dreaming about peeing, I might actually be, in real life, peeing.

So I hurled myself out of bed and onto the floor, where I examined my situation and all related clothing items for any evidence of a flood. There was none. But gosh I felt stupid and when I climbed back in bed, I said a short intercessory prayer (you know I don't do those anymore) that I could get back to sleep and NOT dream about peeing or having to pee. And you know what? I couldn't get back to sleep anyway and I spent the whole day, in my nightgown, working on my budget to see if there would be any slight possible way I could cut back on work in the fall. That's right: working on my budget, in my nightgown, with my hair up and my glasses on.

You know you want me.

Have a good weekend.

Collapse

I got done with classes on Tuesday and fell apart. Aside from eating cheese, watching Arrested Development and Reno 911, I have done nothing at all. Except sleeping. I did do a fair amount of that.

Today I got up (late, of course), made coffee, ate half a bagel, and surveyed the damage. My apartment looks like a homeless person has been squatting here for the last six months. So that you understand what my apartment normally looks like, take a look:



Perhaps let's not show you what my place looks like right now. Let's just not do that.

Oh, ok. Here is a close up of a tiny portion of the rug, pre-vacuum.



Yeah. I am gross.

So this afternoon I clean and do laundry and then head out for a meeting at 4:30. Then tomorrow, work out like a crazy person. Crazy. Person.

Have a Thursday.

Teeth

My dad had all his teeth removed today. Most people who do this are getting dentures because their teeth are old and cruddy. Not so in the case of my dad.

Oh wait.

Depending on your definition of old, he might be. He is 68. It is a miracle that he is still with us. The other part is that his teeth are cruddy, but it is not because he failed to brush and floss. Chemotherapy weakened the enamel on his teeth and they are (were) not performing. The last time I saw him (two weeks ago) his teeth were literally falling out over stressors no more serious than a nacho.

This is no way to live.

So my brave and humble dad told his dentists to give him biters that would actually work. Today, it happened. He has $30,000 worth of permanent new fake teeth. Is that dentures? I don't even frikkin' know. But I do know how I would feel if I had someone remove all my teeth with the "idea" that some new biters would be installed in their place. (Not happy, and a lot scared). My dad is the bravest and the loveliest guy who ever lived. I was about a year old when this picture was taken. He is every bit as handsome now as the day this was taken.





I'll be crying over here in the corner until tomorrow. With my cupcake. (Oh dammit I already ate it).

See you tomorrow.

Can I get an amen?

Behold, dear reader, the last cupcake:



Today is the last day of the organized paper cutting, thumb-screwing, grade bribing, soul-deflating semester. Today.

I liberated myself from my office at 3:05pm and went directly to Magnolia for the last cupcake I will see until August 27th, when I return home from Africa.

Anyone who would a daily email detailing my workouts, my diet (including a full break down of micro and macro nutrients), and my pain level can email me at readerwritesmith@gmail.com. I am determined to get back in shape. I am determined to summit. And if you want to know, I am willing to tell all... down to the last scrap of wheat germ.

I love you. And love is all that matters.

Gear check

Bibi spent $518.33.

Sri spent $477.75.

Nina spent $219.87.

Of course, Nina still has to buy $100 more worth of wind-stopper fleece and a few more layers of whatever, so in the end I will about catch up to Sri. Then we will be basically set for Kilimanjaro. Now all that remains to be done is work out like crazy people, which we did right after we spent all that money. Then we went out and did... guess what we did? Same thing we always do after we work out: had a few drinks. I guess it was different in that we played bar trivia in the meantime.

Guess whose real name is Juan Rodriguez?

(A-Rod).

See you tomorrow.

This week's crimes

1) I drank too much

2) I ate nachos

3) I spent an enormous amount of money on climbing gear

4) I ran into someone with my boob again

5) I flirted with a guy in a bar (see item 1)

6) I thought about making out with the guy in the bar (but did not)

7) I yelled at my cat (he bit me)

8) I lusted for chocolate (a clear sign of dementia)

9) I hated my students

10) I didn't call my step-mother today


Pray for me. Gracias.

Yesterday

I hate my job at Panic so much that it would be difficult to write about it in even a slightly amusing way. Some quotes from my students yesterday might explain it better.

"Since we are in law school, I thought I would write my paper on how to bribe people. You know, because that might be illegal. Oh, and I'll give you a case of Vitamin Water if you give me a C."

Reader, I do not work at a law school. No! Also, the Vitamin Water is delicious and that fool is still failing my class.


"I had to skip history class to meet with you because even though I knew you'd be here later, I didn't want to miss my place in line."

Reader, I emailed the history department head and explained that history absences are not to be excused, and definitely not due to a student having a meeting with me. My students then claimed that I 'told' on them.

"I don't understand why I have to do all this work for a B. I high school I didn't do anything and I got Bs. What do you think this is?"

... college.

"Miss, why do you have to be like that? I don't have time to write this paper over again and my mom will kill me if I don't get an A."

I am definitely not giving you and A and I hope your mom kills you and goes to jail and doesn't have any more babies.

It'll be over soon. One more week.

Pray for me.

Might as well

I was trying to send Bibi a text message and I had the shakes and hit the camera icon, and I might as well show you.



This is what three hours of bouldering look like.

75%

What's that, you say?

Is it the average grade of my spring semester students?

Sadly, no. That number falls somewhere around 63%.

But I am 75% done grading rewrites and calculating grades. Forgive me if I don't jump up and down and act all excited, but I am just too tired. I am going to the gym tonight and then I will deal with students all day tomorrow and then Friday will arrive and I will curl up into a little tiny ball and start rocking.

Oh and don't even get me started about the number of students who tried to turn in late papers yesterday. Eight. And so I had to so no, eight times, to people who would wish me to believe that because I like them more than everyone else, naturally I would make an exception.

Naturally, I did not because it is not in my nature to announce (in writing) a No Late Papers Ever policy - and then not enforce it.

I am not fun anymore, I know. But if you hang around long enough, maybe I will be again. Someday. Maybe even 75% fun.

Notify the authorities

I got up and ate breakfast today. Seriously, I did. Just like a normal person who doesn't have thousands of papers to grade. How did I accomplish this?

1) Yesterday, during a twenty minute paper grading break, I went to the grocery store.

2) This morning, when I woke up at 6:30 (a bit early for me) I did not go back to sleep.

3) Instead I woke up and made coffee. Oh my God.

4) Then I ate plain non-fat yogurt, a tablespoon of wheat germ, and five almonds.

I think this is what they call being a normal human being who puts needs of self before needs of miscreants who can't be bothered to spell their own names correctly.

Of course, the fifteen minutes that I took to do something for myself this morning will probably result in a day chock full of sneering miscreants, but I do not regret my choice. I feel sort of human. I like it.

Normal post up tomorrow. Unless I choose to neglect you by continuing my selfish trend of eating breakfast. Who knows?

Student email

This is why I regularly want to pitch myself out the window. Oh wait. This is why I regularly want to shove my students off of cliffs into a fiery abyss.

Professor,

Just wondering when the grades were going to be up , If a student doesn't pass your course and has to wait like I have all summer eng are full , getting grades in your course is like pulling teeth , this isn't the only course that I have taken but by far it is the most difficult to get my grades, Last time you emailed me you said Monday and here it is none of my grades are posted an I am off to work and wont have a chance to see them until tomorrow and hopefully can get an eng course so that my degree isn't delayed but just this course. The effort is on the students to pass but the teacher is expected to grade the papers in a timely manner.

XXX.

Here is what I wrote back. To XXX.



XXX,

You have not received feedback in a timely manner not because I have not been reading papers, but because you did not follow the directions and submit your papers in the right file type. All semester I received papers from you that I could not open. The course orientation and the contract you agreed to clearly state that all files are to be in .doc format, or I can’t read them. This requirement is in line with Sweet Little College policy as well. Please also note that most English teachers read ONE draft of a paper and the student has to live with the grade, whatever it is. I reread papers constantly to help students get better grades. As a result, I now have an entire semester’s worth of papers to grade in less than two weeks. Is it surprising that it would take me a little bit of time to accomplish that?

I am truly sorry that you are frustrated, but I am doing the best I can. Call me if you want to discuss this further.

Professor Nina



I might have been too nice. Or not. I have lost all perspective. What do you think?

Sin of the week, 5/4/08

The worst thing I did this week was be culturally insensitive and not care at all about it.


One of my students asked me what I was doing for summer vacation, and I mentioned that I was going to Africa.

"Oh, that's great," she replied. "You must be going over there to do relief work. What a great idea!"


"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I guess it's great. Yeah."

"So, what kind of work will you be doing? The math teacher is going to dig a well in a village in Kenya. It's so awesome!" she said.

"Oh," I said. "I, um, I am going to be bringing clothing* over there for, um, the mountain people in Tanzania."

"Clothing?" she said.

"Yeah. The don't have enough warm clothing up there."

"Africa is really hot, right?"

"Well yeah, but the mountains are colder. And stuff."


My student then figured out that I am just a smarmy American tourist with sporting ambitions and relatively little interest in the welfare of African people. And I felt shabby.


Shabby is what I am.

Get ready for Monday. It's on its way.

*We leave our gear behind when climbing in impoverished countries. The local guides can use it and we can get more at home. (But I am still shabby).