SUCH a Diva

Heyas,

So...good news? Marley is on a new diet that seems to be working extremely well for him. It's more nutritionally sound than the homemade food I had been giving him, much cheaper to make, and better for him long-term.

Bad news? It's comprised mainly of pasta and egg whites. This would not be a problem, except unlike his last recipe, I can't make a large pot ahead of time and scoop it out for him. Why?

Evidently my dog doesn't like the texture of cooked pasta that has then been allowed to sit. Granted, it's not the most pleasant stuff in the world, but my dog, my dog who I have never seen refuse anything food-related, refuses to eat this stuff UNLESS:

1. The pasta is freshly made
2. The eggs have been sauteed to a soft consistency...not too overcooked
3. the additives (bone powder, salt, salt substitute (yeah, I dunno), and choline) are thoroughly mixed in

As long as I do that stuff...he gobbles it like there's no tomorrow.

Diva.

Of course, I cater to this preference shamelessly. Seriously, I spend more time on my dog's meals than I spend on MINE. I mean, my dog eats better than I do sometimes. But I love him, so it's worth it.

Prom and Cheetos

So...

How creepy is Chester Cheetah these days?

Seriously...those new commercials with the weirdly unrealistic computer animated Cheetos spokes...cheetah where he's like conducting human experiments and rubbing flight attendants and whatnot? He kinda reminds me of those scary dudes you see on the street corner in the long trenchcoats, chainsmoking and staring at people in unnerving fashion. Like, it used to be, oh hello Chester, thank you I would LOVE some of your delicious (yet basically crunchy death in a bag) cheese-flavored product.

Now it's...oh, hello Chester. No, thank you, please keep your creepy, child-molesting-vibe self away from me. I have no interest in your product.

Or do I pay too much attention to these things?

In other news, I got to chaperone our school's senior prom this past weekend. Not as rollicking a party as some I've ever been to, but everyone seemed to have a good time and I only had to comfort one kid whose girlfriend broke up with him during the last dance. New personal best.

I also had one kid who was helping us set up before the dance run over to introduce his young cousin to me as one of the nicest teachers in the school, which is always gratifying. We talked for a bit, and I'm kind of bobbing along to the music while the DJ is setting up, and all of a sudden the kid looks at his cousin and gleefully proclaims: "See, I told you she was black! I mean, you bleached, Ms. E, but you black!"

Um....thank you? I guess? I can't say that's a compliment I've ever received from one of my students, but it was certainly heartwarming. I think.

Marley is doing much, much better. The lactulose is really helping, so hopefully that's got our problem licked. I'm sure I just jinxed the hell out of myself with that, but whatever. Hope springs eternal.

And I'm submitting my paperwork to get an account at my sperm bank! Yay! Tiny, rather insignificant step, but it's important to me. Imp-Watch twenty ten forges ahead. I'm going up to my sister's this weekend...I think I might approach her about helping me pick my swim team.

This whole process, though I know it'll be more than worth it, can seem rather cold and sterile when going it alone. I am really craving some emotional closeness in choosing my Imp's donor. And heck, it could be some fun bonding time for us. I've decided to try at least one cycle just at home, with no medical intervention. It (sort of) worked once before (heh, THAT was a fiasco of a summer...but I wouldn't trade Africa for anything) and by the time I try it I'll have been on a pretty potent herbal fertility regimen for close to six months. And as I'll be 29 with no real fertility issues, I think I have a decent enough chance of conceiving just doing at home inseminations to justify at least a try. Truth is, I hate the idea of going into a doctor's office and having it done that way. I mean, I'll do it if I have to (I want my Spring baby, and damn it, I don't want to wait another year!), but I would really like at least some aspect of my Imp's conception to be private.

I think this whole process would be a WHOLE lot easier if I was just a loose woman. Yeesh.

So Frickin' TIRED of My Profession Being Maligned...

Heyas,

So, full disclosure here...

I'm a Democrat. And more or less a liberal (though my philosophies lean more towards the Libertarian school of thought--government should be responsible for our national defense, our infrastructure, keeping the economy healthy, and stay the hell out of our personal lives). It pisses me off that two people I consider brothers in all but blood can't get married in most states because they fell in love with someone who has the same plumbing as they do and are essentially second class citizens in the eyes of the government. I voted for Obama and though he hasn't delivered on everything he promised me by a long shot, I'm gonna give him another year before I lose faith and I still think we're a lot better off than we would be with McCain and the Queen of the Alaskan Frontier doing the driving. I don't think that global warming is quite the immediate crisis Al Gore (who I also voted for) depicted, but I do believe with all my heart that we are having a terrible effect on our environment and we need to work now to protect it and yes, that means sacrificing some comforts and profits. I believe that the Great Designer of our lives and Universe doesn't give a flip what name we call it or how (or even IF) we worship it so long as we do our best to be good people and live good lives.

Am I a bleeding heart liberal? Not quite, but okay, pretty damn close.

And I am a teacher.

A MIDDLE SCHOOL teacher.

A MIDLE SCHOOL teacher of ENGLISH.

I get up every day and stand in front of 60 plus 12-15 year olds for seven hours and for nine months try to teach them how to read, write, analyze text, punctuate their sentences properly, and create smooth transitions in a five paragraph essay. Beyond that, I try to teach them to love literature, how to understand it, how to apply its lessons to their lives. I try to teach them responsibility, respect, self-worth, tolerance. I have to teach them to fight with their words, not with their fists, and how to stand up for themselves, but not go looking for fights. I have to teach them that what their friends are all doing is not necessarily what's best for THEM.

I have sat with children, CHILDREN, and held their hand while they waited for pregnancy test results, I have calmly promised an eleven-year-old girl that if her mother's boyfriend (who had started molesting her) wanted to get to her, he'd have to go through me first, all the while praying that her biological father could make it to the school before her mother did so I wouldn't have to test that promise against custodial laws and the Las Vegas police. I have been thrown up on, peed on, bled on, and pooped on. I have had a gun brought into my classroom, taken knives off students three times, I have had a desk thrown at me. I have waded into fights between boys twice as big as me (and I am not a small woman), waded into fights between girls twice as mean as me (and I can be a bitch, when I choose). I have been kicked, punched, elbowed, and had my eye blackened.

Any given day I am called on to be mentor, teacher, surrogate mother, friend, psychologist, nurse. I keep extra cash in my car in case lunch money and bus fares are forgotten. I quite often spend my one planning period counseling, tutoring, subbing, monitoring, chaperoning, WHATEVER, even though that's the only free period I have and the only time I have to eat lunch. I get paid for a work day that lasts from 7:30 to 3:30, five days a week. Factor in lesson planning, parent contacts, grading, record keeping, copy-making, and I put in an eighty hour work week, easy. More if we're doing projects.

I am expected to keep my license current with research, continuing education, summer classes, and am expected to advance my degree...all at my own expense, with little to no reimbursement and during my "free" summers.

During the course of the school year, I can expect to have my heart broken countless times by the situations my students come from, grit my teeth through frustration of Herculean proportions, and have at least one day where I have to lock my classroom door, put my head on my desk, and just CRY. I can also expect to receive countless hugs, a ton of artwork scrawled out on looseleaf paper (usually some theme of "Ms. E Rocks!" I am proud to say), and the knowledge that I help children to believe in themselves, and am often one of the few people in their lives who believes in THEM.

I do all this for a pittance of a salary that qualifies me for welfare in several states.

And I am bloody SICK of people harping about lazy, evil, liberal activist teachers who don't really care about their students.

Are there some bad apples in my profession? Of course. Same as there are in any profession. Are we all like that? HELL no.

Stop the Ride, I Want Off

Heyas,

So, I'm having a bad time with Marley right now. Tuesday night he started seizing and he's had a grand mal seizure at least every eight hours since. I've spent the past two nights jerking awake at the slightest noise or movement from him (and twice I jerked awake just in time to move him to the floor from my bed to avoid him peeing all over my bedspread when he loses bladder control) and I had to call off school today because I'd literally only gotten about four hours of sleep in a forty eight hour period and just being that tired and stressed out made me sick. Marley's last seizure was at about nine this morning, and he seems to be a little more alert now, so I'm hoping that he's finally coming out of the spell, but damn.

Seizures are the worst visible symptom of Marley's liver condition. It happens when he gets too much protein in his system and ammonia builds up to toxic levels in his bloodstream. Problem is, I have no idea what triggered these seizures. He got into some cat food at my mother's place over the weekend, but I didn't think he'd gotten enough to throw him into seizures, and he seemed fine on Monday. He's been eating only rice and vegetables for the past few days to try and not overtax his system, and my mom got me some lactulose from our vet that I'll pick up tomorrow, which should help bind up toxins in his system and help him pass them quicker, but I don't know if that'll work.

I'm having to face the real possibility of having to put my boy down. If I can't get these seizures under control...that's no way for him to live. And they're only a visible symptom of a very, very serious internal issue. Liver failure is a slow, painful way to die and I can't do that to him. I knew going into this that hsi long-term prognosis was not good. This condition he has takes a lot of very careful care and dogs with it don't tend to live that long. Large breed dogs with this condition have an even shorter prognosis. But I thought I'd get more than a year and a half.

I don't know, hopefully the lactulose and going back to a very strictly low protein diet will get this under control, but I'm trying to be hopeful and at the same time prep myself for the worst. I've never had to let an animal go. We've had family pets that we've had to put down, but I've never been the one to make the decision, and the ones we had to do that for were "family" pets that my sisters were more invested in than I was. This is MY baby. So, hope for the best, prepare for the worst...that's my motto in life, apparently.

It's been a really nasty couple of weeks. One of my dear friends and I are going through a really rough patch (or at least, I am on my end...I don't know if he's noticed yet). Basically, my friend has had some really hard hands dealt to him this year. I'm in no way making light of the tough choices and situations he's having to deal with. And in a lot of ways, I'm one of the few outlets and support networks he has, so I expect to share the worst of the load with him, and listen to him and try to help him deal with things...but he's not dealing. For the past few weeks, our conversations have consisted of him detailing over and over again how hard his life is right now and how unhappy and depressed he is, and him asking over and over how can he change it, how can he be happy again...and then refusing to take the actual necessary steps.

A family member he lives with has some serious depression issues. He literally lives in fear that he'll come home and find this person has killed themselves. But he won't get the person to sign themselves into a mental health facility (or do it for them) because he'd feel like he let them down by taking them out of their home, and he should be able to help them deal with the depression.

He's having money issues...he lives in a place that he can't really afford the rent on, he's drowning in student loan debt, and his car has needed major repairs this month. But he won't move to a more affordable place because he doesn't like change, won't stop spending a hundred dollars or more a week on takeout because he doesn't like to cook, and won't get rid of the car and take public transport because he doesn't like being around so many people.

He has weight issues. He spends money on a gym membership and then comes home and orders pizza and chinese takeout and ice cream (yes, actually pays to have ice cream delivered), because he needs the comfort food because he's so self-conscious about the weight.

He called me up the other day crying, literally sobbing because he heard a song on the radio that reminded him of his fifteen year old dog that he finally had to have put down a year ago. And I sympathize...I do. If and when I have to let Marley go, I will be an inconsolable wreck. But a year down the line?

It just seems like one vicious circle after another. And it's exhausting trying to be constantly supportive and sympathetic to someone who seems determined to just spin their wheels. Lately I feel like he doesn't want to make any changes...he just wants people to commiserate with how much his life sucks, and then when things don't change or get worse, he can sit back and not take any responsibility for it, because his life is so hard. And I just want to shake him and scream, "You're an adult! No one is going to fix things for you, you have to fix it for yourself."

I mean...I do a lot of venting here. I try to be funny about it, but a lot of my posts are pity parties, and I own that. But writing is my catharsis and helps me drain out all the anger and frustration and resentment so that I can GO DEAL WITH MY PROBLEMS CALMLY AND CONSTRUCTIVELY. I don't whine like this in real life. This is my safe place to just throw a little tantrum in safe anonymity that won't hurt anyone so that I can go be a grownup elsewhere.

*deep breath*

On a positive note...

Dear Universe,

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, PLEASE let Tammy and Mark have their happy ending next week (and then an even happier ending in nine months). Just, seriously, they deserve it more than just about anyone else in the whole world at this point. I don't even really know them, and I'm not close to Tammy like some of her other blog-stalkers, but I want this for her every bit as much as I want to finally hold my Imp in my arms.

Yours truly,
Elfgirl

iPhones Are Amazing

That's all.



Literally, I just wanted to post about how amazing my new iPhone is. I think it's quite possibly the coolest thing I have ever owned in my life. I've literally just been playing with it for two straight days, downloading apps and using it to surf the web. There doesn't appear to be anything it can't do.



And you know, that's exactly how most post-robotic-apocalypse sci-fi novels and movies start out, but I don't even care. My iPhone can take over the world any time it wants!

The Downside of Early Spring

Particularly when one lives in a state that tends to have snowy winters is

All

The Frickin'

MUD!

Seriously, between late February and mid-April, most of the ground in my immediate surroundings attains the consistency of a wet sponge. The bottoms of my jeans are perpeturally damp and dirty and Marley (a very, very blonde-verging-on-white Labra-Horse) needs near constant hosing down.

Still, being rather a homebody, the traditional spring mudfest is rarely that big a deal to me. And then weekends like this past happen to me. Don't get me wrong, it was fun and all...but I ended up with mud in places where mud ought not to be, I'm STILL doing the laundry, and I had to give a couple of camp counselors a subtle dressing down.

Yes, this Elf went camping.

I HATE camping.

I mean, I acknowledge that it's a great family-building activity, and the outdoors are something that people really should experience. Just--I don't like experiencing them PERSONALLY. I think my aversion has something to do with the last time I went camping. It was a week-long Ren Faire (Rennaissance Festival, for the unfamiliar), it rained like a son of a gun, the only bathrooms available were solar showers and port-o-johns and there was an outbreak of food poisoning.

But that's a tale for another time.

So Elf, one might say, if you hate camping so much how did you end up spending the first three days of your spring break camping in the middle of Mud Central and subtly dressing down camp counselors?

And to one I might reply: I have absolutely no idea.

Well, scratch that, I know how I ended up doing all that. Basically, my school was running an SAT Prep camp this weekend. It was open to juniors and it was just a last-ditch run through of test strategies, practice tests, etc, with some fun activities mixed in. We went to a YMCA campground, stayed in cabins, the whole nine yards.

This would've been wonderful and totally something I was not interested in doing ('cause I really, REALLY hate camping), but when I agreed to do the advertising flyers for it...yeah, my assistant principal thought I was agreeing to TEACH at it.

*sigh*

I'm not even going to get into how that misunderstanding came about. Any road, so, three days before we let out for spring break, my assistant principal comes to me and asks if I need anything for the camp.

And I'm all, "Do what now?"

And he gets this comical look of horror on his face, words get exchanged, and I end up agreeing to do it 'cause it's really too late for them to get anyone else, and I DO quite like most of the kids who are going. And he even agrees to let me bring Marley, as arranging boarding for a dog with Marley's unique health needs is not something that can be done spur of the moment.

That was pretty fun, by the way. Marley had a blast running all over the place and playing with the kids, and he was a big hit with pretty much everyone. Even a couple of kids who said they were afraid of dogs were utterly charmed by him. I think it's 'cause he's a big sweetie, and actually a pretty laid back dog once he's run some energy out. The last day, I even brought him into class with me.

Granted, I had a moment where I thought I was gonna have to strangle someone. Evidently, when Mr. S told me I could bring my dog, he didn't clear it with the camp. So I get out on check-in day with my Labra-Horse and the camp guy's all "Uh...what's that dog doing here?"

Fortunately, this Elf thinks quickly on her feet. "This is Marley...he's kind of a class project. Teaches inner-city kids about compassion and empathy. He goes where I go. Have you heard of Therapy Dogs?"

Total bullshit, but I've found that if you say something with perfect confidence and authority, people will rarely question you. And hey, technically nothing I said was a lie. For that weekend, Marley WAS kind of a class project. The kids totally shared responsibility for taking him out for potty breaks and playtime when I was otherwise occupied, he DID teach them empathy and compassion when I explained his health problems and why it was important for them to be gentle with him and not give him people food, and he DID go where I went. And I only ASKED if the guy had heard of Therapy dogs, I never said Marley WAS one.

Yeah, I'm really counting on the fact that I voluntarily teach middle school to keep me out of hell.

So, the weekend turned out to be pretty fun. The kids were pretty good (though it quickly became obvious that I was the voice of authority there. Five chaperones, one of whom was the assistant principal, and I was the only one keeping any kind of order. I had to enforce curfew by myself, make the kids clean up after activities by myself, and I was the only one inspecting cabins before we left...two groups of kids were going to try and leave their cabins in utter shambles! I was a little irritated by that) and we got a lot done. Marley was beside himself with joy at all the room to run around and new people to play with. Most of my kids adored him and would fight over who got to play with him, walk him, and feed him.

The only real black mark on the weekend came from the camp counselors who came by in the afternoons to do team building activities with the kids. Now, in their defense, my kids were pretty obviously a very different clientele than the camp usually got. And obviously, these guys were used to dealing with kids much younger (and frankly, much more respectful) than my kids. But the first activity day was a disaster. They dragged us out to this big field (and yeah, that mud I mentioned? I almost lost a shoe. Several times) where my kids were promptly horrified by how dirty their shoes were getting, and things went downhill from there. (That's a cultural thing that it takes a while to get used to...my kids, their prized possessions are their shoes. Two rules in dealing with my kids...never, ever insult anyone's mama, and never mess with someone's shoes). And then we get to the activity...and it's pretty elementary stuff. Maybe on a nicer day the kids would've gotten into it, but they were pretty lackluster in their response.

And the counselors? Got really pissy about it.

I'm sorry, but that's rule one in dealing with kids...sometimes your plans aren't gonna go the way you want, the kids aren't gonna react the way you want, and you gotta be flexible. Your team-building activity isn't going well? Figure out a new way to approach it, don't force the issue and make everyone miserable.

But yeah, the counselors forced the issue and plowed ahead with games no one was interested in and were really too juvenile for high school juniors to get into. And when my kids get bored, they get hard to control and it was just one vicious circle. I tried to step in and stir up some enthusiasm, but the counselors very obviously didn't like me trying to take over and the kids picked up on it (and enough of them liked me enough that perceived rudeness towards me put the counselors even further down on their shit-list and...yeah. Bad things).

But then the counselors started making these--comments. Really, really unprofessional comments and rude observations about my kids, and the way they were dressed, and their ability levels and I just saw red.

You don't insult my kids in my hearing and get away with it.

The counselors hadn't realized I was standing close enough to hear them, and it was kind of darkly amusing to see two of them jump slightly when I sidled up and cleared my throat. And I didn't yell at them or insult them or anything (that would have been unprofessional of ME, and I wasn't about to give my kids a show like that), but I very politely informed them that my kids didn't have the opportunity to do things like this that often and they needed to take that into account before they started getting huffy at my kids.

And let me state, I do teach in a school that primarily serves socially and economically disadvantaged African American students. My babies come from some hard situations. I don't use that as an excuse for them, I don't believe that they are any less capable, or should be treated differently because of their backgrounds...but it does need to be taken into account when planning these kinds of things. When I plan lessons, I keep in mind that a lot of background experiences that I'd take for granted in a different school need to be explained or shown, so that my kids can reach their fullest potential. Planning activities for a bunch of inner-city high school students the way you would plan for a bunch of private-school elementary students and then getting pissed when they didn't react the way a bunch of private school elementary students would was just irresponsible and somewhat insensitive.

And insulting my kids just pissed me off.

Other than that, though, pretty successful weekend.

And yeah, Marley had a blast.

But GOD, the mud was nasty!

I wonder if this kind of stuff would've happened had I named him Tarot...

Heyas,





So...for the first time in my adult life, I have hung curtains. Not that that's of any particular import. They're just off-white sailcloth, the first pair that came to hand for under twenty bucks, and I didn't even bother to iron them.





I guess, if you wanna get technical about it, I didn't actually bother to hang them, either. I remembered too late that I don't have a tape measure, a power drill, or a level, and damned if I'm gonna stand on a chair for half an hour with a screw driver and try to "guesstimate" if the brackets are level or not. So, I just rested the curtain rod in the empty brackets where the blinds that came with the apartment used to be.





Used to be, you ask?





Well, that would be because Marley tore down the blinds while I was at school today.





Literally, tore them down. Giant set of blinds, like four and a half feet wide (I have one big picture window in the living room of my apartment), totally ruined.





*sigh*





AND he managed to scare the crap out of me. I pulled into my parking space today (whilst on the phone with my dad) and suddenly realized that my blinds were hanging crazily, half off the window. Naturally, since Marley spends the day in a big honkin' crate, my immediate thought was that someone had bsted out the window and vandalized/burglarized my apartment. So I let out this gasp of horror, scream "I've got to go!" into my phone and hang up on my dad (probably giving him a heart attack in the process). I get out of the car, and notice to things.





One, the window is not, in fact, busted out. Therefore, whatever tore the blinds down has to be inside.





Two, there is a very familiar white and tan face staring out the window at me, bouncing happily in my armchair.





It also finally occured to me that I have nothing in my apartment worth stealing, but that's beside the point.





So yeah, Marley busted out of his kennel today and at some point ripped my blinds down. I have no idea how long he was out...or even how he GOT out. The kennel was still locked from the outside, and all the parts were intact. I have one of those wire collapsible kennels, so I suspect he SOMEHOW worked a side loose, got out, and it snapped back into place once he was through. But DAY-um.





It could've been worse. The blinds are annoying, but honestly, not that hard to replace. He didn't mess up anything else (which shocks the hell out of me...Marley has some separation anxiety issues and can be rather destructive when he's alone), or pee in the house that I've been able to find. He didn't even get into the trash. So, upshot, depending on how long he was out, I might actually be able to start leaving him out for small stretches of time when I'm gone (I hate locking him up in that kennel when I leave, and he's not fond of it either).





And I also have curtains.





But yeah, like I said...sometimes I wonder if I jinxed the hell out of us when I named him Marley. I mean, would stuff like this happen if I'd named him something else?

Or this?

Yes, that's my baby.

That's the tiny, little puppy whose pictures you can find elsewhere on this blog.

And yes, that's one of my bras around his neck.

How did he get one of my bras around his neck? I have no idea.

Okay...NOW we're amused

So....

One of the truly awesome things about being a teacher?

You occasionally get things like THIS across your desk:

Writing prompt:
Pretend you are on TV pitching your new product to a television audience. It can be any product you want (you can make up your own, or talk about something that already exists), but you must use your PERSUASIVE writing skills to convince people to buy your product. Please include details describing your product, at least three reasons why your product is something people should buy, and a conclusion. Bonus points if your product is zombie repellant.

*coughs*

Yes, I really was offering bonus points if the students wrote a cohesive response involving zombie spray. Sometimes I have to make my own fun.

Any road, I got this gem from one of my boys.

Hi! I'm _______________ and I'm here to talk to you about Rabies-Away. Rabies is a scary disease and no one wants to suffer from rabies. My product uses cutting-edge technology to kill all the rabies around your house. Just pour Rabies-Away on your lawn and you will never have to worry about rabies. Just imagine, do you want a big shot if you have rabies? No! here are three reasons why you should buy Rabies-Away. Reason one...rabies is a big problem in our state and my product protets you from it. Reason two...it is very reasonably priced. reason three...it is easy to use to keep rabies away from your house. So buy some Rabies-Away!!

Now, go back and read that response, but this time substitute the way the student ACTUALLY spelled "rabies":

Rabbis.

I about died laughing.

After the students had left, of course...this was actually really good writing for this student.

We are STILL not amused (and now we're even more pissed off)

And still talking in the royal "we" apparently. *sigh*

Okay, so, first things first, apparently our health insurance is supposed to be reinstated today, tomorrow at the latest. We have still not been offered an explanation as to WHY it lapsed in the first place, but at least the problem is being resolved. And apparently our principal was utterly mortified that this had happened and very apologetic, etc, etc, etc.

But here's where we get to the 'pissed off' part of tonight's entertainment.

'Cause this is the second time this year that it's happened. The first time, only a couple people knew about it, and for whatever reason, didn't tell the rest of us. Spectacular, eh?

And now I can't help wondering if the mortification and embarrassment was because such a big ball was dropped or because this time the problem was common knowledge. I swear, the more I look at some of the practices at this school, the shadier they seem...which worries me. A lot.

For instance, we are required to clock in and clock out every day (which I have never done before in my career and I've been teaching for nearly a decade). This would not bother me so much, except I found out the other day that the reason we clock in and clock out is that they are going to deduct pay from us at the end of the year for any time that we clocked in late.

Which, given that teachers are salaried employees and not hourly is...well, it's pretty frickin' illegal.

Not to mention the fact that NO ONE TOLD US THIS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR.

Nor is there any mention of being paid overtime for the hours that we put in after our contracted hours. I quite regularly leave school half an hour to forty five minutes after my day officially ends...and that's not even counting all the work I put in at home. I'm a teacher...factor in grading, calling parents, lesson planning, etc, and I pull an eighty-odd hour work week, easy.

I sure as hell ain't getting PAID for an eighty-odd hour work week.

And here's the thing...I honestly wouldn't mind most of it (the whole pay deduction thing, yeah, sorry, it's in violation of federal law, can't argue with that). We're a small school, and sometimes you just gotta take one for the team. I am the woman who used to climb a rickety aluminum ladder to the roof of her first school every time it rained in order to drag tarps over the holes we had in the roof right over the library (we couldn't afford a new roof, didn't have a maintenance guy, and I lived right across the street from the building...I was on my principal's speed dial. And he let me write my own performance reviews in exchange :) ). No, what I don't appreciate is being kept in the dark about things, and this whole feeling of underhandedness.

That's not what teaching is about.

What's worse is, I'm not sure most of the staff realize how badly they're being screwed over. I hadn't realized this earlier, but with a couple of staff leaving in the past month, I'm now the only teacher at this school who has more than two years experience. I'm the only teacher who's taught in other states, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's taught outside of charter schools. Which means that I might be the only one in position to actually blow the whistle on stuff like this.

Which could put me in a VERY bad position when I go looking for a new teaching job this year.

'Cause yeah, I love these kids...but I can't keep working in the conditions at this school. Not if they're going to lie to me, cheat me, and jeopardize one of the few decent benefits. Holy shit, I can't risk getting pregnant while I'm at a school where the health insurance fizzles off and on like a faulty light switch. Uh-uh, no way, not gonna happen.

But how smart is it to make waves that big when prospective employers are gonna be calling these guys for references? Some of the administration, I honestly don't know if I would put it past them to blacklist me as some kind of revenge (which would also be illegal as my performance reviews are fine...but yeah, in this economy, I'm not sure that's a fight I need to be starting).

I just...seriously, I know I joke about my life being a soap opera and all...but who has shit like this happen to them?!?!?!?!

We are NOT Amused....

So...

My school has apparently let our health insurance lapse.

We have evidently been without health coverage since February 1st.

We are still having deductions made from our paychecks every two weeks to pay for health insurance.

We were only made aware of the fact that our health insurance is no longer valid when one of our teachers tried to go to the doctor today and was informed there was a problem with her insurance card.

I am rather incandescently furious.

It's one thing to sometimes ask your staff to do duties outside their contract...frankly, we're a small school, and sometimes you just have to take one for the team. I don't particularly mind that. But one of our teachers just had a baby a couple months ago. Most of them have kids, and I know of at least two who are the ones their family gets insurance through. This isn't funny, and I am pissed as HELL that administration has apparently been keeping this from us.

Obviously, we're gonna ahve to wait 'til Monday to see what anyone has to say for themselves...but this is bloody ridiculous.

Winter's Last Hurrah and Playing With "Mar-lio"

Heyas,



Am currently collapsed on my armchair, sucking down water like it's going out of style and debating on whether it's worth the pain of getting out of said armchair to crawl to the shower for some blessed relief of hot water pounding down on my muscles.


Jillian Michaels is the spawn of Satan. I'm sure of it.


But I can't complain, because she's actually working for me.


But damn, I HURT (the good kind of hurt, though...not the 'oh, I'm injuring myself here' kind of hurt, so yay!).


Had a fun time of it this weekend...and by fun, I mean a spate of adreneline-fueled panic wherein I spent at least twenty minutes literally just breathing out "OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod,gonnadiegonnadiegonnadiegonnadie,ohshit,ohshit,ohshit,ohshit" and clenching my teeth together so tightly that my jaw ached for an hour after it was all done.


I tend to throw Marley in the car and go down to my mother's house for the weekends...it's fun, and it's been several years since I could DO that, so I'm taking advantage these days. Unfortunately, when I did that this Friday, it was during what was apparently Old Man Winter's death rattle. Everything started out fine...it was spitting some snow as we pulled out of my apartment complex, but nothing major.


And then we get about half an hour down the highway, and DAY-UM! Snow is pouring out of the sky, covering the roads, and piling up quicker than the snowplows can deal with. The lines on the road vanish, traffic slows down to a crawl and I almost slid off the road four times in a ten minute period. At one point, I was driving down an incline and I felt the tires literally leave the road, and realized that my car was SLIDING down the incline on top of the ice and snow that had collected on the road.


That, incidentally, was the start of the "Oh God, gonna die, oh shit!" mantra that filled my car for a good long while afterwards. Marley, bless him, seemed to realize that Mama needed to concentrate and obligingly laid down in the back rather than popping up in my rearview mirror every thirty seconds like he usually does. So yeah, not fun.

Fortunately, my father and stepmother live in the city about halfway between me and my mother. I was gonna try to make it all the way to Mom's, but the snow very quickly put paid to that plan...ended up calling Dad and asking if I could crash at his place. I mean, I SAY I "asked" but only 'cause it's polite to do so...no way they were gonna send me on my way, or anything. Turned out to be a rather fun time, 'cause they had my nephew (stepsister's kid) for the evening.

I haven't had much of a chance to bond with him, as I lived in another state for the first two years of his life, and I'm not especially close to my stepsisters anyway (no animosity...just I don't have a lot in common with them, and our paths only cross at family functions). Frankly, the kid's always been a little wary of me. Getting to play with him one on one (my dad and stepmother had had him all day and were all to happy to turn over entertainment duties) was nice, and by the end of the night he was laughing and carrying on and calling me "Aunt Neek" (which is closer to my name than either of my sisters managed when they were his age).

And I got some reassurance about Marley's ability to deal with children. I think I MAY have mentioned this once or twice, but Marley's pretty big. And still in that puppy stage where he's got mad energy, and none of his limbs seem to quite work together, so he's a bit of a clumsy oaf (but he's my clumsy oaf, and I love him). I worry about how he's gonna handle the Imp (if all goes well, he'll be about two and a half when the Imp gets here)...and he didn't acquit himself well upon the start of the evening. As soon as he got through the door and saw nephew, he lunged at the kid and scared the crap out of him.

Marley just wanted to sniff, I'd like to clarify. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body, I don't worry about him biting anyone...but, yeah, he's a Labra-Horse and he has no idea how big and strong he really is.

Nephew was understandably leery of Marley (who outweighs nephew by about forty pounds and is several inches taller, besides) the rest of the night, but Marley entertained himself by wrestling and playing with my stepmother's dog (some little terrier mix). Eventually, nephew seemed more fascinated than scared (especially when he saw me doing Marley's hand signals for sit, lie down, etc. There's something frickin' hilarious about a tiny little two year old making a hand signal and going "Sit! 'Tay!"). Aaaany road, nephew finally gets his courage up the next morning, and while Marley was again playing with stepmother's dog, nephew runs over and pats Marley (a bit enthusiastically...I heard the thump from across the room) on the backside before either myself or my stepmother could intervene. Marley, startled out of his game, WHIRLS around, and makes like he's gonna pounce on nephew.

And again, NOT in a vicious way. He never growled, or raised his hackles, or showed his teeth, or laid his ears back...trust me, I know what an "angry" dog who's about to attack looks like. Marley wanted to play and thought nephew had asked to join in the fun.

But yeah, there's that whole "outweighs nephew by forty pounds and is several inches taller, besides" to consider.

So, with visions of Marley happily, casually, CONCUSSING my nephew dancing through my head, I holler out, "Marley GENTLE!" (his command I use when he gets a little too enthusiastic taking stuff I offer him out of my hand). And Marley glances over at me, cocks his head, and his whole demeanor suddenly changes. He drops his head a little, a stands perfectly still while my nephew 'pats' him on the shoulder and face. Then he very gently butted his head up against nephew's chest (which nephew thought was HILARIOUS), and went back to his wrestling game with the other dog.

And nephew decided right then and there that Marley was the best thing ever, and didn't leave him alone for the rest of the time we were there. He started calling him "Mar-lio" and at one point, grabbed the end of Marley's leash (I'd left it on in case I had to suddenly grab Marley and haul him back from something) and started running around the living room, yelling out: "I walk Mar-lio! I walk Mar-lio!" And proceeded to drag Marley all over the house (with me following and discreetly holding the leash down by Marley's collar...my dog was being a gem, but we're still working on leash etiquette). It was pretty frickin' adorable.

And very nice for me to see Marley play so gently and patiently with a kid he's not really had a lot of exposure to. Marley's gonna be a fabulous dog for the Imp when he/she is old enough to run and romp and play...but I really worry about how Marley will react to a small, screaming bundle that suddenly takes up all my attention and time.

I'm encouraged by his interactions with newphew, though.

Tertiary note to everything: Am I the only one who gets creeped the hell out by the new salsa commercial with the little fairy girl with the freakin' blades in her fan who runs around slicing up innocent vegetables?

Seriously, that little smirk at the end, and the way she just whips out the SHINY FAN OF DEATH???

Just How My Mind Works...

So...I am pretty much permanently attached to my laptop. I watch a lot of my TV on it, I web browse with it, I use it to plan all my lessons, it contains most of my social life, and I use it to watch all my DVD's.

I love my laptop.

Unfortunately, Marley loved my laptop too when he was a wee small puppy (Hah! Oh, those were the days!)...more specifically, he loved the laptop cord. Yes, my laptop cord has been held together by electrical tape and habit since about two weeks after I brought Marley into my house...teething puppies know no mercy.

Or pain, apparently, as the cord was not always unplugged when Marley was chewing on it.

But I digress.

Sadly, electrical tape and habit can only last so long, and the power cord on my laptop has at last given up the ghost. And so...I find myself without a laptop. The battery is for shit at this point, and having just spent $350 dollars on a new motherboard for the latop, I can't afford a new cord as well. Why, you ask?

'CAUSE THE CORD COSTS ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS.

A CORD. A laptop CORD!

I need it, but I cannot justify spending a little over a quarter of my monthly income on my laptop this month. I'll just have to wait until my tax return comes in. But in the meantime, I am in a bit of a pickle. I've been doing Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred workout DVD (and let me tell you, never mind the shady lawsuits or the fact that this chick looks and sounds like she spends all day every day thinking about all the people she wants to kill and how she wants to do it...I'm a believer. Two weeks and my pants are already WAY looser, I have a crap-ton more energy, and I just feel GOOD)...and without a laptop, I have no DVD player.

Now, obviously, I have computer access. My mother let me bring my grandma's old desktop computer to my apartment to use while my laptop was being worked on. Problem is, this thing has none of my customary bells and whistles installed. Including a DVD player.

And I haven't had an actual DVD player in years. Seriously, I do everything on my laptop, why would I need one?

So now, I can't do my workout, 'cause I haven't memorized the moves or anything...and while I COULD just make up my own, or go jogging or somethi---

No, never mind, I can't even finish that sentence.

Any road, suffice it to say I'm a creature of habit, and when I find something I like (well, okay, 'like' is perhaps too strong a word. I DREAD those twenty minutes where I'm gonna have to workout with Jillian, and spend those twenty minutes panting, groaning, screaming, and growling out lots of things along the lines of: FUCK YOU, Jillian Michaels!!!!! Huh, and again, that didn't sound that dirty in my head) I want to stick to it.

So, I decide to go buy a DVD player. 'Cause it's not like I'll NEVER use it, and they're pretty damn cheap these days, so it'll cost less than replacing the power cord anyway. And I find one at KMart for, like, twenty bucks.

Yeah, I kind of forgot about that whole "you get what you pay for" thing. This player is a piece of crap. The remote it came with doesn't work, and the little "forward" and "back" buttons on it don't work, so while I can play a DVD up to the menu screen, I cannot advance the screen to the "Play Movie" option...and the "Play Workout" option on my DVD is the SECOND option.

So, I can watch all the "Biggest Loser" commercials on the DVD...but can't actually play my workout.

No problem, says this Elf. And I high me hence to the ninth circle of Hell, also known as WalMart. And buy a universal remote (for seven bucks, so still cheaper than buying a cord).

Clever, no?

Well...no, it's not. 'Cause my piece of crap DVD player is such a cheap piece of crap that the remote doesn't have a code for it. So my universal remote works fine on my TV and my cable box...but will not work on the DVD player I bought it for.

Which I think defies the very definition of "universal," but that's just me.

So, after two trips to two of the places that I hate most on this Earth, $27 dollars spent (plus tax), 45 minutes of wrangling cords and hookups and scrolling through code libraries only to discover that my brand isn't even listed...

I sit back with a baleful glare, only to literally jerk to attention seconds later as I have the latest in a long line of "well DUH" moments.

And then I went and downloaded a free VLC media player in five minutes, uninstalled all the stupid advertising hangers-on, and happily plop my work out DVD in.

Literally. Genetically. Incapable. Of Doing ANYTHING. The Easy Way.

Nothing much else going on...came home today and had to spend the better part of an hour cleaning out Marley's kennel. Marley does not do well when left to his own devices for large amounts of time. It's weird...he's perfectly happy to go and sleep on my bed while I'm in the living room for hours on end, but if I leave the house without him he will go CRAZY. Unfortunately, this means I can't trust him out in the house while I'm gone during the day, so he spends his days in a truly giant crate.

That he's almost outgrown. *sigh*

Any road, a downside of this is that I sometimes come home to truly spectacular messes. I don't think Marley is what you'd call "crate-dirty"...he clearly doesn't like to mess in his crate, and it's not a daily occurance. But part and parcel of his health issues are that he needs to drink lots more water than a "normal" dog to help flush out his system (like, I literally leave a MIXING bowl of water out for him and have to refill it at least twice a day), which means that even though I let him out in the mornings, he can't really be expected to 'hold it' for the eight or nine hours I'm gone during the day. He usually does, but two or three times a week, he just can't. Another issue is the fact that the food I feed him leaves his stools rather loose.

This is good because again, gets his system cleared out of excess protein faster.

This is terrible, because sometimes, he just can't hold it.

Oh good LORD, I hate coming home to find dog crap smeared over half the bottom of the cage (interestingly, Marley tends to use the blankets I pad the kennel with to cover the mess, so I rarely come home to HIM covered in dog crap). Today was an, "I'm sorry Mom, but I just couldn't hold it!" day. So, I had to awkwardly maneuver the dog-crap covered kennel bottom (it's a slide-out plastic tray for 'easy cleaning') into the shower, soak off the dried dog crap, scrape off the "rehydrated" dog crap, scrub everything down with Resolve Pet Stain formula, drag the kennel tray out to the living room to let it dry, go over the tan carpet with a fine-toothed comb for any "pieces" that might have gotten dislodged, and then go and sanitize my shower.

Plus side, the bath tub has rarely been this clean.

Down side, 409 cleaner and dog crap is NOT an attractive scent.

And I don't know why I described all that...just like to share the misery, I guess.

Marley's lucky he's cute! ;)

Dude, It Doesn't Make Me THAT Happy In My Pants

Compelling entry title, no?

Just...am I hallucinating or are food commercials becoming, like, hypersexualized. I'm not talking about the whole Quizno's campaign with the 70's porn-star-voiced toaster oven telling the Quizno's guy to "put it in me"...that's intentional parody (and frickin' hilarious I might add).

No, I'm talking about the chick in the new York Peppermint Patty commercial, with like the extreme closeups of her gasping and writhing and goose-pimpling as she slowly devours the patty. I've had a few York Peppermint Patties in my time...I've never gotten off on a single one.

What? That chick TOTALLY looks like she's having an orgasm. Tell me I'm wrong.

Or how about the little Dannon yogurt cups...the one with the girl walking down the dairy aisle, and she just HAS to have a yogurt cup, so she opens one, sticks it on her face, and sucks the contents out hands-free, then delicately dabs at the little droplets at the corner of her mouth.

Hmmm, let's see...what image is that supposed to conjure? Those sort of things just "blow" my mind, y'know?

And don't get me started on the Dove chocolate commercials. All it needs is a "bow-chica-wow-wow" soundtrack.

And here's the thing...I like food. I understand that food can be a very sensual experience, something that hits you on all levels. I understand that sex sells, and part of advertising is to get your target audience to associate your product with pleasure, thus making your target audience more likely to purchase your product in pursuit of said pleasure.

But do you have to hit your target audience over the head with an anvil to get that association going?

Doesn't anyone practice the art of being subtle anymore?

Any road...

The Snowpocalypse seems to be over for the moment. Everything is reaching that crushingly depressing shade of dirty-slushy-gray-brown-black that I absolutely hate and the sidewalks are finally visible again. While I can on some level appreciate that it's easier to get around now...everything looks so darn UGLY when large amounts of snow start melting. It kind of makes me sad in a way that heavy gray skies, white-out conditions, and freezing rain just doesn't.

Had a few more days off of school, and then a professional day where I had to drive up to Columbus and spend the day sitting in a tiny room, in uncomfortable seats, being essentially taught a methods course. I have nothing against profesional development. I quite enjoy finding out what new and interesting things are going on in education. Problem is, my school's parent company continually hires speakers and presenters who are, like, three years behind the times. Positive Behavior Support? *sigh* Went to that training and have been implementing its strategies in my classrooms since 2005. Technology In The Classroom? While I appreciate how enthusiastic the lady was about a classroom webpage...um, each of my students has a class blog, we regularly do webquests, and I've arranged a real-time unit exchange over Skype with my old students in North Carolina. Um...classroom technology is kind of my bitch. I love that we have professional development days...but can't we please get some of the newer material in?

I did get to hang out with my sister and her fiance' over the weekend, though, so that was fun. Went up to c's place the night before the development day (Marley has to come with me on these sojourns up to the state capital, so we always go up and stay at my sister's apartment) and just hung out. decided to stay another night after the development day and went to see Shutter Island. Not a bad movie...I saw the "twist" coming about halfway through, but all in all, it was a decent film.

And "Clash of the Titans" looks freaking AWESOME!!! It's going to be a horrible movie that not even Liam Neeson will be able to save, and the special effects are going to completely dominate it, but I'm going on opening night, and it's going to be INCREDIBLE!!!!

What? Flashy popcorn flicks have their place. They're fun. Not every film has to be a ponderous Oscar-worthy intellectual epic. Witness my addiction to Sherlock Holmes.

Not much else going on. It looks like I'm gonna get a decent amount back on my taxes, which should fund this summer's Imp-related activities. I decided to go with Midwest sperm bank after all, and am currently narrowing donor choices down. I also think I'm going to do a "natural" IUI cycle...no meds or anything, but better chances than an at-home insemination. So yeah, Imp Watch 2010 rolls on. Huzzah, huzzah.

Things this Elf is looking forward to: Clash of the Titans, hehe
Things currently annoying the crap out of her: the neighbor who has been playing his stereo juuuust loud enough for the bass to bleed through the walls for THREE FRICKIN' HOURS!!!!
Pretty boy of the moment: Leonardo DiCaprio is certainly no harship to look at for two hours.

Entertaining Oneself During the Snowpocalypse

So yeah...Old Man Winter has made his presence felt with a vengeance in my little neck of the woods. In the past twenty four hours we've gotten darn near a foot of snow...on top of the snow that hadn't really melted from the last big storm, leaving us with drifts up to three and a half or four feet in some places. Poor Marley is belly deep in it when I take him out to do his business (and remember...this is my Labra-Horse whose back is even with the bottom of my hip these days).

Speaking of Marley...he's going through another growth spurt. God help me. He's at the top end of the weight range most apartments allow for large breed animals (the ones that allow large breed animals to begin with) already. And holy crap, I don't know what I'll do if he gets any taller. I already feel horrible for making him live in our little one bedroom apartment. He needs more space, but this is the best I can do at the moment. Hopefully, next year I'll be able to buy or rent a house. Probably rent. I don't know if having a baby in the same year as buying a house is the smartest thing to do, and frankly, I want the baby more than I want to be able to paint my walls whatever color I want.

But yeah, off school again today--though I'm pretty sure we'll go in tomorrow unless everything freezes tonight.

It's already been pretty exciting. Marley got into a box of butter I'd left out on the counter to soften while I was in the shower and ate all four sticks. And the wax wrappers. And most of the box. Fortunately, there's not a lot of protein in butter, so I wasn't worried about him seizing again, but I had visions of the wax paper getting all twisted up in his intestines and causing a blockage, so I decided to make him throw it up.

Yes, I'm old hat at making my dog vomit. I have to be very, very careful about what he ingests due to his health issues, but my Mom has four cats at her place currently and Marley has a taste for cat food and the survival instincts of a suicidally depressed lemming. He gets into things he shouldn't a LOT.

On the plus side, I'm absolutely certain that having a toddler around will be a breeze after dealing with Marley.

Any road, I didn't have any peroxide in the house (interesting side note, if you ever need to make a dog vomit, a little oral syringe of plain old hydrogen peroxide will do the trick in like three minutes.) and the snow plows hadn't been through yet so I couldn't get out to go get some...so I ended up having to pour, like, five tablespoons of salt down Marley's gullet.

I think he thinks I'm very angry with him right now. Poor baby.

I've never used the salt method before, so I had no idea how long it would take. Come to find out, it takes quite a bit longer than peroxide 'cause he didn't vomit for almost an hour. And of course, by then I'd stopped watching so close to be able to get him outside to do it, so I came out of the kitchen to find a GIANT puddle of melted butter, wax paper bits, bile, and dog food on the floor.

God, it smelled disgusting. And it took me three rolls of paper towels to get it all up. Marley never does anything by haves, that's for sure.

Have I mentioned before that something like 90% of the dogs that have Marley's particular health issue are toy breeds? Like, Yorkies and shit?

And now my apartment smells of slightly soured dairy product. It's gross.

Nothing else going on. My stepsister is pregnant with her second child, which is both nice and somewhat depressing. Nice because I lived in another state when her first was born, so I've not really been able to bond with the kid, and so I'm looking forward to being more of an aunt and depressing 'cause...well.

Just a few more months, though, and I can go for the Imp. And this time, I'm going until he or she is here. No more distractions or waiting. So yeah.

Whoa...Be Careful What You Wish For

So yeah...my one fervent wish for the past five years or so (well, all right, besides the Imp) has been for a really good, hard, long (yikes, that didn't sound that dirty in my head!) Ohio winter. The kind with tons of snow and heavy, overcast days, and tons of snow, and bitter cold air, and did I mention the tons of snow?

Hey, I did two years in a desert and then three years in the South. I missed snow. And for whatever reason, S.A.D. is a total crock for me. I love heavy, dark, winter days. Especially if there's snow.

Well, I'm getting my wish now. Like what I suspect is most of the Midwest by this point...I'm snowed in. For real, this time.

I also think I might have threatened my principal this morning, but I'm a little fuzzy on that. Eh, he called to activate the phone tree to call off school at, like, 4:30 this morning...I may or may not have snarled something into the phone to the effect of, "Something damn well better be on fire!" when I answered. Probably did...I'm not lucky enough to have dreamed that. Oh well.

So yeah, started snowing about 2 am when Marley demanded a potty break, and now we're utterly buried with no sign of it abating. The snowfall from this weekend hasn't melted much, so it's about knee deep in some places. Awesome.

What is less awesome is the way the apartment complex's snowplow keeps winging around our parking lot like it's the freakin' Indy 500. Dude took out one of the speed bumps last week (like seriously, scraped the thing right up! It's sticking out of one of the giant piles near the dumpsters that will be there 'til April this year). I swear, if he hits my car I'm gonna punch him in the balls. True story.

Any road, yeah, snowed in...and I just realized that I'm out of garlic crackers, so of course now I'm having mad cravings for them. But driving up to the grocery in this is a wee bit risky, even for my usual devil may care attitude.

But damn, I really want crackers now.

In other news, I'm making some preliminary searches on possible donors at the banks I'm considering. Upon further research, I found one in California that looks promising (Not THE California bank, but something called the California Fertility Center). They seem to have pretty decent reviews and their sperm is somewhat less expensive than Midwest. I want to talk to a few more people who have used them before I make a final decision, but I haven't thus far seen anything that raises a red flag.

Huh...and by the loud bang that just echoed through the parking lot, I think the snowplow just took out the other speed bump.

Any road, searching for a donor is an interesting process for a single woman. I don't have a partner I'm trying to match, so what I want is completely arbitrary, for the most part. I mean, I look at family health history first and foremost...heart disease and diabetes run pretty heavily through my family, so I want donors that don't have those particular curses (not that there's any real guarantee that the donors are being truthful on the form...most of 'em seem to be average college guys. I don't remember those as being a particularly trustworthy breed.)

Beyond that, it's a matter of deciding whether I want to match my own looks to up the chances of my child looking like me and mine (which I think would be somewhat less complicated than having a baby that doesn't look like ANYONE in my family) and going or something completely different. I think I want a donor with blue or green eyes. Don't care so much about hair as my wildly thick curls are a pretty dominant trait in my clan. But then it's like...do I want someone tall? What kind of frame should I pick? do I want someone who seems smart, or should I trust that my very education-oriented background will top out there?

And then I get a little creeped out by the fact that I'm considering these things like I'm picking half my child's genetic makeup like I'm at a drive-through.

"Yes, I'd like the Wester European deluxe...extra height, and hold the freckles, please!"

I also felt like kind of a freak 'cause one guy piqued my interest just 'cause he listed "Shaun of the Dead" as his favorite movie.

I mean, I don't know if anyone's noticed...but I'm somewhat cavalier in nature. With few exceptions, there's just not much that happens that my approach isn't "roll with the punches, no need to make a fuss"

But I feel like I SHOULD be making a fuss over the Imp's potential biology. I'm not even touching the whole open donor vs. anonymous donor. I'm going for anonymous...Imp, you might be angry at me for it later, but the fact is there's no guarantee with that stuff anyway. Some college freshman who says, "yeah, sure I'll meet the kid when they're 18" when HE'S 18 might feel very differently when he's 36, married, and with three kids he's actually had a hand in raising. He might be an utter loser. He might be a damn criminal. In weighing a theoretical need to "know where you came from" against a theoretical disappointment of that magnitude...I'm making the unilateral decision to just not even open the door to that. Besides...knowing what I do of our family, the way your going to be raised, and the people you're going to be raised around, I don't think it'll be a problem.

I'm also making a unilateral decision to circumcise if you're a boy...just so you know. AND use disposable diapers.

Things this Elf is looking forward to: The snowplows getting the hell out of the parking lot, 'cause they're really making me nervous.
Things currently annoying the crap out of her: the lack of garlic crackers in the house.
Pretty boy of the moment: Marley...'cause he's just soooo cute all sprawled out on the carpet!

Random Thinking Is Random

So, I'm currently snowed in at my apartment...well, not technically, as the snow plows have done a rather admirable job of clearing the parking lot and while the road is still covered with a layer of snow and ice, driving is actually not too bad.

However, going out would necessitate me going out and clearing my car of about eight inches of snow with my bare hands and a towel as I do not own a broom or an ice-scraper and only have one pair of gloves that I'm NOT going to get soaked 'cause I need them when I walk Marley.

Also, I walked Marley this morning before the snow plows had gone through (hey, YOU try being cooped up in a one-bedroom with a stir-crazy 75 pound LabraHorse and see how long it takes you to give in to puppy-eyes-telepathy asking for a walk) and consequently, my jeans are soaked through from the calf down.

And no, I don't own an ice scraper 'cause I've only recently moved from a southern state where snow is a rarity...I'm just too lazy to go buy one. Same on the broom...why bother? My Dirt Devil works just fine in the kitchen.

Any road, I'm snowed in...truly a gloriously spectacular storm last night...we got nearly a foot of snow in a six hour period. It's awesome. Everything is gorgeous and crisp and white and the snow hasn't eroded to that disgusting brown-grey slush that just makes you miserable and achy everytime you look at it. Fresh, sparkling snowfall? Makes me happier than just about anything else.

And there's nothing to do but watch TV and play on the internet (really, I have tests to grade, laundry to do, and my bath tub desperately needs to be scrubbed out...but c'mon! Evidently, my school district doesn't close for anything less than a level four snow emergency, so I'm unlikely to get days off this winter...I'm damn well gonna take a snow day and just lounge in my pj's, nosh on the pineapple in my 'fridge I really have to eat before it spoils, and veg out.)

Unfortunately, Saturday television is really quite pathetic. There's a MonsterQuest marathon on the History channel...but as much as I love paranormal and cryptozoology-based reality television (dude, Ghost Hunters is SO much better than the friggin' televised prostitution and physical torture marketed under the guise of dating shows and such. Though I will admit that watching Toddlers and Tiaras gives me a certain amount of comfort in my future parenting abilities...no matter how much I suck, I'll never be as crazy as some of those stage moms. Yeesh) MonsterQuest sucks. At least Ghost Hunters often comes up with interesting and unexplainable phenomenon (and even when they don't, I can watch Tango for an hour...definitely wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers). MonsterQuest is an hour of badly CGI-ed recreations of cryptozoological creatures and ominous narrative that always, always, ALWAYS ends in: "in the end, the expedition is unable to capture any new evidence of -insert random mythological beast here--The team returns home...empty-handed." Dun-dun-DUUUUUUUUN! Like I didn't see that one coming a mile off.

Though in all fairness, I should note, I have not yet turned the MonsterQuest marathon OFF yet.

Even my beloved Food Network has failed me, filling their Saturday lineup with all the crap cooking shows that can't make it in primetime. Yeah, I'm talking to YOU Five-Ingredient-Fix girl. Seriously, you have the personality impact of a wet dishrag and you keep looking at the wrong camera for your full-on, "now I'm personally talking to the audience" shots.

Even Barefoot Contessa annoyed me today. I normally like the Barefoot Contessa. Food's a little on the high-end side for my budget, but it looks delicious, and the recipes are relatively simple. I would totally make Ina my go-to cookbook for special occasions. But she's soooooooo frickin' pretentious! And then tries to pretend that she's not. Like today, there was this whole big long segment where she's standing in the giant front yard of her house in the Hamptons with a pile of freshly-cut tulips that would go for $150 in a florist's and a set of glass containers the size of a flour cannister, a Pringles can, and a friggin' BEER KEG and she's all "*groan* One of the hardest things for me is finding the right vase for my flower arrangments...it's sooo hard to judge sometimes, so I just have to try different ones until I find the one that fits." And then it's wow, let's see...no, I can't fit $150 worth of tulips in a pringles can...and wow! They just fall right over in the GLASS BEER KEG. See? I make silly mistakes too! Oh, there we go...the last one is just right! Whew, what a relief!

Bitch, please.

You live in the Hamptons, you take holiday jaunts to France whenever it strikes your fancy, and you prounounce vase as "vahz" with a straight face. Stop trying to relate to me, just show me how to make your fancy food so I can impress my friends and relatives the two times a year I can afford your ingredients.

I genuinely do like that show, and she seems like a lovely lady...those staged bits where everyone tries to convince the viewer that people prancing around there weekend Hampton homes with honest-to-God pastel sweaters tied around their shoulders are Just Like Everyone Else just annoy the piss out of me.

So yeah, not much going on here.

Still debating whether I want to try and move again next year, and if I do, whether I want to try and move in with my kid sister and take care of her a bit. Jury's still out on that. She's making some progress...evidently the nursing school thing is sticking, for now. I still don't think she has the temperment to make it as a nurse, but nothing would please me more than to be underestimating her. I'm genuinely not trying to be insulting to my sister, here. There are just some jobs that you have to have a calling for. I certainly couldn't be a nurse! My sister who IS a nurse couldn't fathom being a teacher. So if our youngest sister can make a go of it, good for her, and I will be so proud of her and so happy for her...but I just genuinely don't think she's cut out for the work and the more unpleasant aspects of the job. She could certainly do something people-oriented. Kid's got more social grace in her little finger than I've got in my whole body. I just don't see her cleaning up vomit and blood and poop and being happy with it.

And then there's the whole empathy thing. Put it like this...couple weeks ago, we went out shopping for my middle sister's wedding dress. I was there, my stepsisters were there, our mother and stepmother were there. My mom HATES my stepmother (fair enough as she is the woman Dad cheated on her with and left her for) and she still managed to put it aside long enough to be a part of something so important to C. Youngest sister, on the other hand, begged off, saying that she had a test that morning and then work. As we're trying to get her to be more focused on school, we reluctantly accepted the excuse.

Turns out, youngest sister just didn't want to get up early enough to get to the appointment at the dress boutique. She's a frickin' bridesmaid in the wedding. And it's OUR SISTER. Call me crazy, but I was not impressed.

So yeah, thinking long and hard about entangling myself in youngest sister's problems to the extent of living with her. It has the potential to be thoroughly unpleasant and stressful (things I don't need if I'm going to be trying to get pregnant this year)...but at the same time I feel that NOT doing it when I have the potential to help her get back on track would be incredibly selfish and wrong of me. And then I go back to the fact that my sister's a grown woman who has repeatedly lied to my face about very important matters for going on two years now, thrown my attempts at understanding back at me, and just in general shown not a whit of regard for anyone in our family. Do I really want to potentially put aspects of my life on hold for someone who doesn't seem to WANT help?

I dunno...I suppose the answer will come to me eventually.

On to more pleasant matters....Imp Watch, Twenty Ten.

Has a nice ring to it, eh?

So, I'm readjusting plans now that my friend J has backed out. Back to sperm banks. I've pretty much resolved to go with Midwest, but am researching other options. At the moment, I'm concentrating on just getting myself as healthy as possible...eating ridiculous amounts of fruit and vegetables, whole-fat dairy (which evidently is good for fertility, if not your waistline), and whole grains. Dieting is going pretty well. Didn't bother calorie counting during the holidays (what's the point? The best you can do for a diet during the holidays in my house is try not to overeat the awesome yummy stuff), but am back on track now. I'm also back on my herbal regimen of Evening Primrose Oil and have started an herbal supplement called Fertilaid. Was a little leery of it at first, as I don't like processed herbals as a general rule, but this stuff came with good reviews and there's nothing in it that will actually hurt me...so figured it was worth a shot. I haven't had much luck with Vitex (chaste tree) in the past, but I rather think that's because Vitex can take a few months to work properly in some people and I didn't start it early enough to take an adjustment period into account.

Oh, and I'm trying Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred as an exercise regimen.

Holy SHIT, that's the most unpleasant 20 minutes of my day, hands down. It's HARD. But, I need to get some more weight off, and the woman definitely produces results. Haven't been doing it enough to tell, yet, but if nothing else, I'm definitely going to be stronger by the time my 30 days are up.

So, Imp Watch schedule is looking like this:

February, March, April--main focus on losing weight and getting healthier
May/June--final decision on sperm bank, submit paperwork and order donor
Late July/August--attempt for the Imp, woohoo!

I'm debating on doing IUI rather than at-home ICI...I mean, there's nothing wrong with my fertility, and according to my OB-GYN, there's no reason I shouldn't be able to conceive...but IUI has a slightly better success rate, and while I like the idea of at least SOME intimacy and privacy in the conception of my Imp...*sigh* I just want him/her here. I dunno, I'll decide that closer to this spring. But it's food for thought.

Things this elf is looking forward to: More snow! :)
Things currently annoying the crap out of her: Eh, see above.
Pretty boy of the moment: Um, yeah, seriously, Jude Law has eaten my brain at this point.

Seriously, Universe? SERIOUSLY?

I'm not entirely certain, and definitely need more research, but empirical evidence seems to suggest:

I spent at least a few former lives getting my kicks by strangling kittens and in front of wheelchair-bound children while simultaneously spitting on the American flag, frying up California Condor egg omlettes and possibly sporting a Nazi tattoo.

Or seven.

Far-fetched? Perhaps, but it's the only explanation I can come up with as to why Fate keeps kicking me in the stomach. I'm usually a fairly ardent supporter of the idea that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and things happen for a reason and yadda yadda yadda...but geez-oh-pete, can I have a little breathing room please?

So, my friend J, who agreed to be my known donor for the Imp, has bailed on me.

Sunday night, no less, after last Friday...which was pretty much one of the most soul-destroying days I've ever experienced as a teacher. So, I'm bracing myself to charge right back into the fray that is my school and J messages me up with: "we need to talk."

And, you know? I asked him to be my donor 7 months ago. Went over every detail of it with him, what would be required, how we would do it, what to expect and what sort of agreement as to his part in the Imp's life we would have. And literally, every time I talk to him, I'm like: "PLEASE do not answer me until you are 100% sure. Our relationship will not change if you say no, I will not be angry or upset with you if you say no...but I need you to be absolutely sure before you give me an answer." And after about five months of talking and considering, he says yes. Utterly, completely yes. "Are you SURE?" says I. "Do you understand what this will entail, and why your part will be, and are you okay with it?" Yes, says he. "Take another month or so to really consider it...take a look at this Known Donor questionnaire, take a look at this contract and REALLY be sure," says I.

See where this is going?

So, yeah, the 'we need to talk' turns into he's not emotionally ready to do this, and maybe if I ask him in a year, etc. etc. etc.

Oh, and apparently, he only said yes as a reflex, 'cause a couple of friends of his utterly cut him out of their lives right after he met me (five years ago) and he was afraid I'd do the same if he said no.

And let me say right here, that I'm not upset that he said no. I told him from the start that I wouldn't be, and I meant that. I'm not stupid...getting into a known donor situation with a donor who's not 100% on board with the idea and in agreement with the way things will be is a recipe for disaster. Better he tell me this now, rather than start to have second thoughts when I'm waiting to ovulate or, God forbid, when I'm pregnant. I'm okay with him saying no.

I'm not sure I'm okay with him saying no after I've spent months BEGGING him not to give me an answer unless it's a final one, and flat out telling him that I'd rather he say no or ask for more time to think, because it would kill me if he said yes and then changed his mind. If that makes sense.

I'm also really pissed that he compared me to those other friends who ditched him. Like, that's all the respect you have for me and my investment in our relationship after five years? To say that you're afraid to say something that'll upset me 'cause you think I'll do the same thing? We live on opposite sides of the country...if I didn't want him in my life, it'd be pretty damn easy to ditch him, and it's quite difficult to maintain the closeness we have.

I'm not real happy that the day after he told me this, he greets me with an abortion joke, either.

Just, I dunno. I know that this is literally NOTHING compared to what other women go through to have their babies. I feel really selfish and whiny when I read some of the other blogs I go to. But, we can't help what we feel.

And right now, I feel like throwing a tantrum worthy of a five year old at the way the Universe keeps throwing monkey wrenches into my plans here.

But I'm trying to keep my self-pity to my blog, here, instead of making my family and friends deal with my angst. It's just soooo frustrating. So I guess now I go back to the sperm banks. Midwest is who I was going with before, so I think I'll stick with them. I'd intended to do at-home insemination, but at this point, I'm wondering if I might as well just go for broke with doctor's IUI.

Random acts of bloggish levity:

How awesome does Iron Man 2 look? I love RDJ...man's frickin' brilliant. And I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

I was gonna make a joke about these childhood beauty pageants....but seems like shooting fish in a barrel. No sport to it. God, Imp, if you decide to be a girl PLEASE do not be into that crap. Like, for reals. Mommy couldn't take it.

Again, because I know she drops by here sometimes...Tammy, your comments always brighten my day and make me feel so much better, and I continue to be amazed at the generosity of your spirit. I am sooooooooooo happy that things are looking like they're going to be going your way and that you're soon going to have your FET. If anyone ever deserved a happy ending, it's you and I am praying so, so hard that things work out this time.

Counteracting the Poison

'Cause yseterday just made me so angry.

Dear Universe,

Thank you for all the good things I have in my life right now. Thank you for the three boys that stopped the inane cheering during that fight in my room yesterday and dove in to restrain the two fighters while screaming, "man, get off my teacher!" after they saw the one hit me.

Thank you for last weekend, and the opportunity to hang out with my kid sister while she picked out her gorgeous wedding dress. Thank you for giving her a perfect mate in my future-brother-in-law.

Thank you for my grandfather's recent report of good health and for letting me have my two remaining grandparents in my life a little longer.

Thank you for the boy at the end of such a nasty day yesterday, who came to ask me such a minor thing as using my computer to look up a bus route for a friend of his in the high school, and his exclamation of "See, I told you, Ms. E's the best person on this hallway, man. She always has your back!" Such things are just what I need after days like that.

Thank you for my beautiful boy, Marley, and his unrestrained enthusiasm every time he sees me. Nothing quite like walking into an apartment and being greeted like you've returned from the dead.

Thank you for finally, finally seeing fit to give Tammy W. some real hope that she'll have her peanut in her arms soon, and thank you for her husband's recoveries and continued strength. Theirs is one story that truly deserves a happy ending and I'm glad it looks like they're gonna get it.

Thank you for my Mom. No elaboration necessary, just thank you for my awesome mother.

And silly as it sounds, thank you for decent Chinese food just a couple blocks away.

Some days it just doesn't pay to chew through the restraints

Heyas,

So, I'm not feeling particularly clever or sarcastic today...just bloody fucking tired. Today, two of my boys got into a fight in my classroom. full on kicking, punching, choking, trying to KILL each other. And I go and try to break it up, get between them and separate them, and the kid I'm holding back suddenly turns around and fucking punches me in the stomach to get me to let go so he can go back at the other kid. Punches me. Deliberately. Hard enough that I couldn't breathe properly for about five minutes after the fight ended and the offenders were sent to the office.

And then you know what? The office fucking sends the kid BACK to my classroom, unescorted, to get his things so he can go home for his three day suspension.

Three. Fucking. Days. He HIT me and they give him what is essentially a paid three day vacation.

And then, in the next period, I hear yelling in the hallway during class...so I go out to see what's going on and it's two more of my kids (didn't have me that period) going at it, yelling at each other and cussing. So I clear the hall and write them up for detention and all of a sudden, several of my students come up and tell me that the girl who was yelling has a knife in her bag.

And I know the girl...she's not a bad kid. She has a hideous home life and she makes bad choices, but she's not a bad kid. But I can't ignore that possibility, so I have to pass the information on to the office.

And they search her bag and find a knife. So she's expelled.

And here's the thing that gets me. The boy who punched me, I'm sorry to say, is going to be dead or in jail by the time he's twenty, unless there's some kind of miracle worked in his life. He does not care about anyone or anything. He was *grinning* at me while another teacher hauled him out of my room. He knew exactly what he had done and that he had hurt me and he was PROUD of it.

There have been exactly five kids in seven years of teaching that I have looked at and said, this is just a bad kid. Five. This one is going to be the sixth, I'm pretty sure. I can't help him...whatever he needs to get his life on track, I don't have it. And he got a three day suspension for deliberately striking me.

The girl? I'm not defending her having a weapon in school. There was no excuse for it. But I know that girl. She wouldn't have used it on anyone. It was there for show, or because she wanted to look tough, or even because she had it in her bag for some stupid reason and forgot to take it out. She wouldn't have hurt anyone with it. She is a child that can be helped. I was one of the teachers she tried for, came to for help, talked to, and TRUSTED. I could have helped her, I WAS helping her overcome the bad things in her life...and she's getting expelled. She'll probably be tossed into an even more hardcore school than ours and fall through the cracks.

And I had to be the one to report it and start the ball rolling. So, I get the sociopath who struck me back in my classroom in three days and that poor girl gets tossed aside into the cesspool that is "the system" in my city.

There are days when I absolutely fucking HATE my job.

And the Downside of Returning to My Home State....

Is the fact that it has been something like five years since I had to drive in any serious snow.

And wow...I remember now how much fun it's NOT. Seriously. I've had fun--it was nothing like that. Not even a major snow, either...barely three inches. *sigh* Gone are the days when I charged merrily through winding country roads covered with ice in my trusty '72 Dodge (great car--in horrible shape by the time she got to me, but a trusty engine and if I had ever gotten into a tangle with a Honda, the Honda was going DOWN!!!), unconcerned with my ability to stay safely on the road.

Granted, I nearly slid off the road into a fifty foot ravine that one time, but I avoided it.

Point is, we have our first serious snowfall and not only does my school district not call off or call a delay (when EVERYONE else in the county was either on a delay or closed altogether I might add), but I'm stuck out in one of the neighborhoods where the main roads are clear, but everything else is treacherous.

I have to drive over a lot of "everything else" to get to school. I think I left permanent finger-tip impressions in the steering wheel.

Driving over icy, snow covered roads? SO not like riding a bicycle, at least for this Elf. Quite the nerve-wracking trip.

Apart from the snow, 'tis been a harrowing few days. My heating sort-of went out (I say sort of, because the heat worked just fine...just the regulator broke. So, I could run the heat full blast until the apartment got to oven-like temperatures and then turn it off until it got too cold, then start the process over again. Not a big deal during the evening, but after I actually went to bed, it was bloody annoying!) and more importantly, my poor Marley had a couple of his seizures.

I've mentioned Marley's bum liver before. Basically, his liver doesn't filter his blood properly and so when he gets large amounts of protein in his diet, toxins build up in his system to the point where he has full-on grand mal seizures that seem to last forever (in actuality, only a minute or two...but damn it scares me). Any road, I'm careful about his diet, but while I was home with my mother and her husband, Mom and I went out to see a movie, leaving Marley and our family dog in the care of my stepfather.

And I say this with all kindness, but my stepfather, although a very nice guy, is not the most observant person in the world. And my Marley is MUCH taller and more limber than our old Golden Retriever and so, while my stepfather was watching the news, Marley snuck into the kitchen and managed to get into the retriever's kibble.

And the cat food.

Which is basically pure protein, you understand.

He felt terrible about it when he heard me come in and start cussing a blue streak andrealized what had happened, and I tried not to be angry over what was an honest mistake...but at the same time, it's not like that stuff just gives Marley the runs. It could KILL him if he got enough of it over a short enough period of time. And I had been going to put Marley in his crate while we were out so stepfather wouldn't have to worry about watching my special-needs dog (which I'll admit, can be quite trying sometimes), but he insisted that he'd rather have Marley out so my baby could run and play with the other animals, and he promised he'd watch Marley extra-close. And he didn't.

So yeah, little pissed about that.

Was even more pissed when the night after, when Marley and I had gone home, I get woken up in the wee small hours of the morning by my 75 pound dog seizing in the bed with me. In a way, I'm DAMN lucky the heat was wonky, 'cause I had turned it off before I went to bed, and the apartment had cooled sufficiently that I had burrowed under my comforter rather than resting my arms on top of it as I usually do. 'Cause Marley's jaw locked and he sank his teeth right into where my arm was. As it is, the comforter was thick enough that I just got a couple of bruises. If he'd gotten flesh, I've no doubt that I'd have at least needed stitches.

Horrible as the seizures are, I've at least gotten used to dealing with them, so I recovered from the surprise of being woken in such a way quickly...but he had a total of three seizures over the course of two hours (the first two being so close together that I didn't have time to move him from the bed, and of course, he loses bowel and bladder control during them. That was fun.).

The third seizure was at about three in the morning, and then I spent the rest of the night snapping to look at him everytime he moved or breathed loudly, so needless to say, I was wrecked when I had to get up for school at six. Marley, though, recovered fairly quickly after the third and was pretty much back to normal by the time I had to leave. He's doing fine now, but I'm switching him abck to his vegetable-based home made diet for a few days just to be sure.

Oy.

So, one would think that after those events, life would just settle down for a bit, yeah?

*falls over laughing*

Oh no, you know how things work for this Elf.

This morning, my door stopped working.

Yes, you read that correctly. My door stopped working.

My door. My front door.

Stopped.

Working.

I wake up, I take Marley out for his morning pee, I take him back in, I check my email. With about ten minutes before I leave, I go to turn the car on to defrost it, turn the knob....

And nothing happens. The door will not open. It's not that the deadbolt is thrown...the door simply will not open. The handle turns, but it will not let me out. And I get this crazy idea that maybe condensation or something has frozen the door shut ('cause it's damn cold outside, and what? Like I know how stuff like that works?!) and so I start pulling in earnest, trying to force the door. And nothing happens.

I'm trapped in my apartment.

Talk about being beside myself with WTF?!?!?!?! Who the hell gets stuck in an apartment because the door breaks?

I do, apparently.

So yeah, I'm standing there contemplating the horror of having to call into work and be like "My door's broken, I can't get out, so I'm gonna be late" when my more sensible side sighs heavily and is all, "You know what you gotta do, right?"

So yeah, long story short, I had to kick out the screen in my bedroom (literally kick it out, 'cause that bastard was bolted to the frame!) and crawl through the window to get to work today.

And maintenance had to crawl through the front window to get in to fix my broken door.

And SERIOUSLY!!!!! Who has stuff like this happen to them?!?!?!

Things this Elf is looking forward to: this upcoming snowstorm, if it gets me off school tomorrow :)
Things currently annoying the crap out of her: take your pick. Still pretty incredulously pissed about the door.
Pretty boy of the moment: Eh, still stuck on Jude Law as Watson...I need to go see that film again.

Epic New Year's FAIL that's kinda not

Heyas,

Let me preface this by stating, in case I have not before--I honestly don't remember, that I am not yet even thirty. Granted, at twenty eight, I'm way closer to thirty than twenty...but still, I'm in my twenties at least for another one and a half years or so.

So, according to my sisters, there is dreadful, epic, dsigraceful New Year's fail in the fact that I spent New Year's Eve at my mother's, curled up on a twin mattress with Marley, watching the Twilight Zone marathon.

Incidentally? Sharing a twin mattress with Marley is no easy feat. He only weighs about 75 pounds (I say "only" 'cause my old vet warned me he might possibly go to 85 or 90 when he was full grown), but he's over five feet tall when he puts his paws on one's shoulders and gets on his hind feet.

Any road, no drinking, no partying, just me and my dog and some cherry Dr. Pepper and Rod Serling.

And it was pretty effin' brilliant.

'Cept when those Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercials kept coming on. Gah! It makes me want to run down to the pound and adopt every single freakin' furry there. Wow.

Ahem.

So yeah, another year bites the dust and Twenty Ten rolls around. May the best that we've seen be the worst that we see.

Incidentally, how much of a sci-fi geek does it make me that I love how futuristic "Twenty Ten" sounds over "Two Thousand and Ten"? Granted, the fact that I basically sat through at least 18 hours of a 46 hour Twilight Zone marathon should probably put paid to any lingering doubts that I am a science-fiction freak.

Not much else going on. I went to see Sherlock Holmes on Christmas and was utterly enchanted. And not just by Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law (though admittedly, they make for very fine eye candy). I see where a lot of the complaints I've read from fans of the original stories come from, but quite honestly, I'll forgive Guy Ritchie his flair for the overly dramatic (and damned annoying love of the damned annoying suuuuuuupppppeerrrrrr sloooooooooooooooow motion action) because he gave me a supremely competent and slightly badass Watson.

Ever read any of the original Sherlock Holmes novels and short stories? They're excellent (some of the VERY little Victorian literature I avidly enjoy) and there have been decent film and television adaptations, but over the years Watson just became a PARODY on the screen.

Yeah, I'm lookin' at YOU, Nigel Bruce *spits*

Ahem.

Any road, Watson-of-the-Books is a staunch ex-Army surgeon, an excellent shot, and while not as brilliant as Holmes, certainly no dullard. He's my favorite character in the stories.

Watson-of-the-Screen? *facepalm* There have been good protrayals, but over the years, the character tended to get slotted into the "bumbling sidekick" role...little more than comic relief, and so thick as to make you sit there and be like, "THIS is who the most brilliant detective in the world hangs out with? I think not!"

Jude Law's Watson?

Oh. Hell. YEAH!

Now THAT is how I always pictured the good Doctor.

And yes, the fact that Jude Law is ridiculously pretty is probably responsible for about 45% of that oh-hell-yeah.

All right, 50%.

65% at the outside.

I highly reccommend the film, and plan to see it multiple times more as soon as I get back to a city with a decent theater.

'Cause yeah, the theater in my mother's town? Probably hasn't seen a vacuum since the Nixon administration.

Things this Elf is looking forward to: Life in general...2010 is gonna be a good year
Things currently annoying the crap out of her: her darling cat, who is suddenly ALWAYS on the wrong side of a closed door and very vocal about it
Pretty Boy of the moment: Ummmm...did the above post not answer that?