Timing is Everything

Well, 10:10 PM; so my work day is over.

It was liberally sprinkled with hectic-ness this evening. (I'm a linguist, so I get to make up words whenever I want. It's a perk.) There was a moment in which I was filling in attendance rolls that Mark needed right away, and 1) a driver showed up to tell me he was delivering the giant Utah Partners for Health Mobile Clinic and he couldn't get into the packed parking lot. "Where do you want me to put the clinic, ma'am?" 2) The computer lab assistant sauntered in, plopped into a chair and began to describe the fatal error message she got when she tried to log students into Rosetta Stone. "Kate, I'm staring at you. I'm staring at you because we're having a really BIG problem." 3) Some people came to tell me that they wanted to sign up for the diabetes management class we're holding in March. I had to hold up fingers. "OK. You're problem number 1. You're problem number 2. You're problem number 3." Triage.

I'm used to this, but I must admit that my timing has been a bit off all day. Simon is not around, and I'm adjusting to the differences. I had the kids ready when it was time for Si to drive the chorus-mobile; but after I had taken care of all their needs and done my chores, I was pinched for running time. By the time I got to the rec, I was able to run for ten minutes; then it was time to go to my appointment with Dr. Derma, so he could admire my belly-splotches. I'll get used to the new routine eventually... except when I need a jar opened. Believe me, I'm not feeling at all sorry for myself.

Many things happened today that made me smile.

Hermila C. showed progress on her literacy post-test. She is in her late fifties and is non-literate in her native language because her parents didn't think she needed to learn to read. Last time she took it, she just stared at the test paper and couldn't do anything. This time she was able to write her name and address. That may not seem like much, but it's huge. Slowly, slowly.

I ate a spectacular apple for lunch. It reminded me of the ones we used to buy from Pieper's Orchard when I was a kid.

The rash on my belly is no big deal and will go away when my life calms down. Dr. Derma gave me some stuff to put on it as well. I only go to the Derma maybe once every five years, but I enjoy these visits. He owned the cabin next door when we lived at the old place, but it was his vacation place and he didn't get up there very much. We looked after it for him a little, and he would let us use it as a guest house when we had a lot of company. He told me today that I seem to look younger every year! I need to go to the Derma more often.

Sara and I had the following conversation at the store:
Sara: Mom, that lady just yelled at her son cuz he tried to buy a bread bowl.
Me: Why would he try to buy a bread bowl, and why would she care?
Sara: I don't know. But she told him to put it back. Then she turned to her friend and said, "I've heard they cause cancer."
Me: BREAD BOWLS cause cancer?!? What a load of malarkey!
Sara: Mom! Not BREAD bowl. RED bowl.
Me: She thinks red bowls cause cancer? Why would a red bowl be any different from any other color? That's crazy.
Sara: Mom! Red! Bull!

Raichle is back from her weekend retreat at Lava. She has a new attitude and an amethyst crystal. She is purged of her pain and no longer cares about her creep-ass boyfriend who dumped her after eight months. By e-mail. On Thanksgiving Day. She brought in this book titled, It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken. Hilarious! I was flipping through it and laughing my ass off. Did you know that you can buy custom ring tones at www.gregbehrendt.com. You can set them to ring when your ex calls, and a voice will proclaim:
1. "Really? You're gonna answer it? Is that what we're doing now? Backsliding? Really, we're just gonna toss our self-esteem out the window?" Or...
2. "Let it go to voice mail. Let it go to voice mail. You are too busy getting on with your life. Let it go to voice mail."
I love working with younger women.

Oh, and a new joke from my student Victor M. Don't get too excited. Victor is a kindly Peruvian gentleman in his late fifties. By day, a presser at a dry cleaner. By night, teller of some of the worst jokes ever thought of. Victor and I love each other. I always get lots of hugs and kisses; big, grippy handshakes. Victor is very hard of hearing and has ginormous hearing aids. When he laughs at his own jokes, the hearing aids squeal loudly. At any rate, this was the one he told me tonight.

OK, Teacher.
Act One: 50 Argentines in the moon. ("on the moon", says Kate)
Act Two: 100 Russians in the moon. ("on the moon", says Kate)
Act Three: 1,000 Germans....on... the moon. ("Good," says Kate)

Three acts. What is the name of the movie?

50 Argentines, 100 Russians, 1,000 Germans. "Full Moon".

Don't blame me.

SHAZAM!

Wow. OK, I'm back. Got my super-suit back from the cleaners. I know, I know... What happened to sad? It's very strange. I have no idea. I suspect it may come back later. But today? I blasted around the track on my run; I am totally organized; I am looking forward to my incredibly busy day.

I feel very calm, very positive. I am not mad at all. I don't get mad. But I am...focused.

Now, off to direct my formidable superpowers at my day. And just in case anyone thinks that I am efficiency personified, let me confess that I have forgotten my lunch and my supper. But I used to do that before I was a selfish, unlovable, bad woman, wife and mother. I have always been a lousy food-rememberer. There are some pseudo Oreos here, but they are beyond even what I can eat. Rancid filling. I looked for the expiration date out of curiosity. Can't find one, although the package does assert that these Austin-brand cookies have been around since 1932.

Blacklisted?

By Dish Network. No kidding.

It's true that Simon has had ups and downs with Dish Network. Sometimes we have a TV; sometimes we don't. For the first 14 years of our marriage, we were a TV-free family, and I liked it. But Simon wanted to watch the World Cup in 2006, so we got, not just TV, but Dish Network. I guess he no longer feared me wrath at that point.

We cancelled it after a few months and went back to not having TV. No, not because he rediscovered my wrath; we just kept forgetting to watch it. Now, it is time for the 2010 World Cup, and Simon is ready to move back to TV-land. He even bought a monstrosity of a big-screen for the rec room downstairs. Fine, whatever. I stay out of it.

If you are a Dish Network subscriber, perhaps you know: it's like checking in to the Hotel California. You can't NEVER leave. Si got peeved when they started making unauthorized charges to our credit card for services we had not requested. It took him weeks to cancel the account, then they tried to bill us for supposedly stealing a part of the thing-gummy that we sent back to them. Because it's what everyone covets: a small part of a thing-gummy.

Time has passed and Simon's anger has abated. But today, when he tried to resubscribe, the sales person stopped in the middle of signing him up and said that she needed to call a supervisor. This guy gets on the phone and says, "Uh-oh! Wow, we are having some sort of huge software problem here! We are going to have to totally reboot the system! Could we call you back in a moment?" Si said he would hold. After a while, they came back on and said that they were still experiencing some sort of technical difficulty that was too profound for him to hold through; they would need to call him back later. They never called back.

Tomorrow, I'm going to call Dish Network and see if I have better luck. Si is coaching me. "Be sure to tell them that we are divorced. 'THAT ASSHOLE! I'LL BET HE SAID THIS WAS HIS ADDRESS!'"

Blacklisted! If that doesn't work, I guess we'll be subscribing to DirecTV. I hope the two companies don't share their blacklists, or we'll be living in a hotel for the month of June.

What the Hell IS Chick-Lit?

I took the kids to see Alice in Wonderland yesterday. I figured that, since it has Johnny Depp in it, it must be pretty good. Uh-uh. I'm not a huge Alice fan anyway. I enjoyed the books in a superficial sort of way (more relaxing than Moby Dick, after all), despite the overwhelming whiff of opium that wafts out from between the pages of its plotless Victoriana. So why take a really weird story and make it even weirder? Sorry, Johnny. I slept through most of it. The kids woke me up in time for the final battle.

I was sleepy because I had barely been to bed all weekend. If you value your rest and think highly of your own self-discipline, do not start reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Simon was in Houston on business, so there was no one to stop me from staying up until 3:00 AM on Friday and 1:00 AM on Saturday, reading like a maniac. No wonder I was feeling a little bit dozy.

I know, I know, the whole country is reading The Help, so my raving will just be a tiny peep lost in the greater roar of admiration. I really enjoyed this book. I would like Simon to read it, so I can talk to someone about it in detail. He was hesitant.

"Well.....is it chick-lit?"
I have to think a little. "I don't know... Women sometimes get a little confused about the chick-lit phenomenon. How do I know if something is chick-lit?"
"Is it mainly about relationships between women?"
"I guess, although there's more to it than that. So, why do guys have a problem reading about relationships between women?"
(Watch this excellent save.) "Women are so complex! We could never hope to understand their relationships. We're simple creatures."

What constitutes chick-lit? Do chicks recognize it? Or to us, is it just lit?

Lava Lamp

Simon, the tight-lipped Brit whose pants are securely belted high up his waist has just used the word "erotic". And to think I was sitting here wondering what to blog about.

"I think we should take Nathan's lava lamp away from him and put it in our room."
"Why?"
"Well, I always thought they were kind of lame. But just now I was standing there watching it and I realized it is quite erotic."

I stared at him blankly for a heatbeat...two..three..

"You know...there's this sense of building tension, then release as the bubble breaks free and rises to the surface....."

Ladies, are we turned on yet?

With This Ring I Get Thee Off My Back

Yeah, Si replaced my wedding ring, which he lost the day I had surgery in March. In all honesty, I did not nag him for a new one. But since I was suggesting that he hand over one of his nipples in exchange, I think getting a new ring makes him feel safer.