Click here to enjoy a little tune while you read about the crazy in my world.
It's not all bad crazy; there's a lot of good fun crazy happening, too. But it all drains me eventually. Be aware though - I fully understand that my problems are minuscule not only in the grand scheme of things but also within my small circle of community. My two best friends (MamaMilton is one; the other won't even start a blog to vent on because she has so much juggling to do. In fact, she barely has time to read mine. *sniff*) have husbands who frequently travel, thereby doubling the workload at home; one fights a rotten recurring illness and the other has three kids (which is not, as math experts would have you believe, only one more; it is some kind of exponential increase). Essentially, I'm a whiny baby. Read on if that amuses you regardless.
Last Friday my blogless best friend & I headed (saying "raced" seems like we don't love our children) to a pub up the street for decompression. We looked for a seat at the bar since everyone knows that's the fastest means of getting a drink from the shelf to your throat. There were actually four stools vacant, but they were between individual men. Because apparently it's not okay to actually sit next to each other when you're men at a bar. Even if you are commenting on the baseball game or discussing the news or actually having a conversation with your friend. No, that would be weird; people might talk. We actually considered taking a stool from between two of the men and plopping it next to an empty one because WE aren't afraid to sit side by side, but we would have had to ask the guy with the newspaper to move over. Guy with the newspaper. At the bar.
We were offered a booth "toward the back" and even though it sounded like a punishment, we sat there. In our eagerness to order (this is a notoriously slow establishment - if you don't ask for something when you sit down, the waitstaff assumes you're only there for the atmosphere and ignores you until they hear you weeping from hunger), we jumped on the cocktail of the day. Peach iced tea, peach schnapps, sounds good, bring it on! No. But we were stuck, in our booth toward the back, alone until an errant waitperson got lost in our area and discovered us. The only surprising part of the evening was the fact that we actually paid at our table instead of having to walk up and bother the poor bartender for our tab, as usually happens when we've waited so long we're afraid the kids will have moved out by the time we get home. You, being a reasonable consumer, wonder why we return? Well, it's close, good food & drink (usually), and relatively inexpensive; instead of money, we pay in time from our lives.
Saturday is when the good crazy came in. My father-in-law graciously offered (with minimal prompting on our part) to have the kids stay the night at his house. My Man & I were all over date night - he knew exactly what shirt to wear and I didn't have to post a poll about my outfit; we were out the door in moments. In fact, we were only the second couple in the theater even after we spent ten minutes deliberating over food. And thank goodness we were so early - our meals took nearly half an hour to be ready, and that's not including the coffee drinks that were made while I waited at the counter. (Side note lest you are confused about the real live non-concession-counter foods: Cinetopia is the best ever for a decadent movie-going experience; it's almost worth a visit to our 'burb). But the food truly is worth the wait, and we were thoroughly entertained by The Bourne Ultimatum. And THEN. We went into Portland - yes, at TEN PM! I felt like a complete hellraiser; that's how old I've become. We visited our favorite bartender guy (who wasn't there when he told me he would be after the Fountains of Wayne concert, but we've forgiven him; "we" meaning "I" and no one really remembers or cares except me; I digress) at his new bar, Teardrop Lounge. It's super trendy & hip but in a way that makes me feel more cool, not less. The drinks are funky (ingredients like egg whites, falernum, Thai chiles) but I trust our guy - he once had me drink a shot of tequila, which I have sworn off since deciding it smelled like Fort Casey (concrete, dirt & urine), because he declared it was the best and I would change my mind. I didn't, but admitted it probably was better than concrete, dirt & urine. I think he finds my palate a challenge (I like to believe this rather than face the fact that he really thinks I'm a vulgar hack with no taste) - this weekend he mixed me a drink with gin (I have frequently made the stink face about that liquor) before I could protest and beg for vodka. And it was good. He was smug.
I kinda forgot most of what happened after we left Portland though I'm pretty sure it was more good crazy...So I'll just move quickly through Sunday - children who griped and groused during an entire church service even though there was the promise of hot dogs, chips, pop, and a bounce house afterward (that all seems very wrong now that I type it together). But the Seahawks and my Cowboys both won, plus I got most of our laundry finished, graded three English assignments AND planned two days of teaching. Woohoo!
Yesterday was pretty full of not-fun crazy. It started with me thinking my car had been stolen when I locked the front door and stepped out to an empty driveway. I forgot that my darling husband had cleared space in the garage! Thank Heaven, because I've still got that $#(*&$(*#)& speeding ticket to pay for.
And then later, standing directly at the shoulders of two students in the lab (not from my class) who pretended not to hear me when I asked "WHY ARE YOU WATCHING STREET FIGHT VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE?" Seriously. Then one finally answered, "Uhh. Because it's fun?" Wrong. Go away, my students need computers. It took most of my energy not to smack their young, wayward heads and shout "Morons!" I love my job I love my job.
Oh and I did believe, until I ripped open the package, I was going to stir fry some chicken to go with rice pilaf last night. But it was really pork, and I had a very brief panic attack because the rice pilaf was chicken flavored and I couldn't possibly put stir fried pork into it. Then I regained my sanity and just finished. It's my family's dinner, not a United Nations banquet. Even then I would probably just put in the pork and call it good. Thus I am not called upon for such tasks. Which is good, because I don't need international crazy on my plate, too.
Then I received messages from my beloved but beleaguered PTA board members about apparent gossip & sabotage at the elementary. For the love of...I deal with ridiculous behavior from my students all day; they are TEENAGERS. It makes me a little nutty, but I get it. Grown-up people, however, should not be talking behind others' backs about how fundraisers are going and who's going to do what when. Honestly. But if it means I get to hang out with my co-leader friends while drinking coffee and eating delicious pastries so we can hash out how to deal with this kind of lunacy, so be it. I'd rather hang out and just watch cute boys in a movie, but it'll do for now.
Today, a little more good crazy in that a student who had been pretty unresponsive was suddenly all about coming into the classroom (this had been a problem, yes) and even interacting and participating with others. Then some silly crazy when, after going over some practice math problems (don't ask), I told one class to figure out how old I was if I was born the year before the moonwalk and Woodstock. They got the year pretty quickly but then, I kid you not, couldn't come up with 39. All 22 students were shouting numbers, some quite earnestly, but none were correct. I felt that hysterical laughter building up. I dismissed them two minutes early.
Full moon tomorrow. I'm a little scared.
