nanny-nanny boo boo!

It's a four-day weekend! Were I a real teacher, it would only be three-day, but since the unfortunate teachers have a day-long workship in the school cafeteria tomorrow, I don't have to go in.

I'll get mine, though, when I have to sit through 16 hours of teacher training classes over the weekend. Every few months, the students in my program from outer islands meet for the weekend, to give a human dimension to our mostly online courses. The most annoying thing about the weekend will be listening to twenty or so people mistakenly refer to Kailua-Kona as "Kona," and claim that the area I live in isn't Kona, and asking me how often I "drive into Kona." Argh.


Our fabulous, dish-washing, beer-supplying houseguest duo is back for their second honeymoon! Last night Ben fed them chicken fingers and we watched Wedding Crashers; we dispensed with any pretense to sophistication right off the bat. There's nowhere to go but up from here.

Happy Aloha Friday to all!

updates

Yeah, yeah, I'll get to my homework right after this. I realized I toss out groundbreaking pieces of news, like my plans to attend a class at the gym, and then never follow up. How are people supposed to follow my every move? Here are some updates:

My quest to become a sub: They wouldn't let me into the class, because there was an inexplicable cap of 15 people. I'm first on the list for the next session, but it will only be held if a minimum of 23 people sign up. This bitter irony is emblematic of all Hawaii state institutions.

Karaoke: Ben did a duet of "Love Shack" with one of our companions. I drank two Cape Cods and a few sips of Stella, and realized I am now a lame adult when I woke up with a splitting headache.

The 2-hour step workout: Yeah, I didn't go.

Napoleon Dynamite re-enactments: Last night we had some friends over and served them tater tots. They had never seen ND, so I got to act out the "Napoleon, gimme some of your tots!" scene for them and they thought it was fresh and original. I even happened to be wearing cargo-ish pants! Opportunities like this are few and far between.

Other topics requiring updates: I can't think of any more.

give me freedom!

Today I am seeing deeper into the root psychological cause of rebellion. I hate "assignments"! Tonight my "reading autobiography" is due for Adolescent Literature and Literacy. It's just a three-page essay on my favorite books and reading experiences. I could easily have written it as a blog entry, or in an email to Lucrecia. Heck, our discussion of You've Been Away All Summer would fill three pages. I could fill three pages just describing the books I remember from childhood: Fish Dangerous to Man. Last One In Is a Rotten Egg. The Old Man Who Couldn't Read. And those are just crappy books from my first grade classroom.

But because this is an assignment, and has requirements like double-spacing (ick, I detest double-spaced stuff) and proper citations of the books, it is tainted by duty. And it has become the Moby Dick of my weekend.

[side note: Does anyone remember a book that was all about "little" things, like, "A little Indian is a papoose. A cookie is a little cake." Maybe because this line redefined how I look at baked goods, the image of the cookie part has been haunting me for years. It's a little round cookie with a hole in the middle, on a baby blue background, and it's soooo cute. Thinking about it makes me long for a fine, crumbly sugar cookie. Anyone? Anyone? I would pay big money (like maybe $20) for this book.]

Now I understand those students who complain about everything they're asked to do. It sucks being forced to do something, especially when it's something you would have enjoyed had you done it willingly. Wait, this is why some people hate to work! It all makes sense to me now! I sense a new chapter of my life beginning: resentful adulthood.

I must just sit down and write the darned thing. If I don't finish it in time for dinner, I won't be able to watch the Emmys.

I shall not mention the gym

My childhood best friend, Lori, is in town, and tonight Ben and I are meeting her, her sister and some others at the bowling alley for karaoke. Lori lives on Oahu, and I haven't seen her since her wedding in June. We've gone to the BA before, with a couple who can actually sing. [Female member of the couple, if you don't mind me using your names, please give a shout out in the comments.] They sing a perfectly harmonized duet of "Faith," Ben growls out a Johnny Cash or Bob Dylan, and I sit back bemusedly with my Amstel Light passing judgment on it all.

The only other place I've ever "done" karaoke is at Ed's Leisure Bowl in Albuquerque. There I also passed judgment, but on a more motley crue. [Is the word "motley" spelled with an umlaut in real life? If not, why did the band add the stupid thing?] If I could have a video of one moment in my life, it would be of the bartender at Ed's doing a surprise number, that "Hero" song from Spiderman, from behind the bar. Wearing a headset. And polishing glasses as he sang. It was breathtaking. (I needed to take lots of breaths to keep up with my laughter.)

At this particular venue, you sing from your seat, unlike the scene at Ed's. There is also the added frisson of not knowing whether one of the patrons is the parent of a past or future student. This is why I don't sing. That, and how Ben compares my singing to such delights as the Wicked Witch and a cat dying. The words are shown over a backdrop of what I can only describe as soft-core '80s Hawaiian porn, that has no relation at all to whatever song is playing. Picture "Purple Rain" as a curly mulleted guy in a red tank top argues with his skanky girlfriend in a motel room, then goes surfing.

***

If my writing seems overly punctuated or stilted, it's because I spent 2nd period today (yeah, I think like that now) helping kids with a worksheet on parallel sentence structure. Problem is, the worksheet was poorly designed (I thought), evidenced in the fact that I couldn't tell what the right answer was half the time. It was yet another reminder that I am not prepared yet to teach. Which is why this job is perfect for me.

About a month ago, I had a nightmare that the chairperson of my certification program told me they had added a new requirement: I had to go back through high school. I think only sophomore and junior year, but still. So I went to class, and found that I had been cutting class all semester! And was impossibly behind! It was a horrible, panicked feeling.

I am basically living the nightmare. Only it's more like a weird dream, because I'm getting paid for each hour, I can skip class and not get in trouble (though I do worry every period I spend not with students, like, creating fake spreadsheets), and I don't have to actually do the assignments. But I have felt a few of the old high school feelings in the past two weeks: that my feet stink, that maybe I sat in chocolate and everyone's laughing as I walk through the hall, that I should have worn the other shirt because maybe the boys can see down it when I lean over their desks.

It's actually pretty fun. Today I was hanging out in the library at recess, and I heard a girl tell her guy friends, shakily strident, "High school is so lame because I already know all this stuff. I haven't gotten anything less than, like, an 85 percent since freshman year. It's like, 'fill in this worksheet' with crap I already know, god!"

Heh, heh, girl. Wait till you get to college. Better yet, I hope I get you next year, and make you study postmodernism. Never mind that it's probably out of fashion now. You will learn it, and you will struggle with it, just as I did with finding "themes," and then you will feel hopelessly inferior in college when it turns out no one really does that.

mussy slump

Returning to the working world sure knocked me for a loop. I always felt justified in taking a nap after a day of teaching, but after my new workday of 2 hours real work + 2 hours chatting with teachers + 1 hour doodling and pretending to read student data, I end up just as tired.

I'm getting into the routine, though, and working back toward my old level of self-discipline. This week, I only skipped the gym once to eat ice cream and watch TV. (The other 5 days I skipped were either to nap or run errands, a much better ratio of excuses than last week's.) Tomorrow will be the real test: I'm going to do a two-hour "Step Marathon." I haven't Stepped in over two years, so it could be ugly.

I don't know what the marathon is in support of. Ben mocked me, comparing it to "Running in place for cancer." Even worse, I think this is just a narcissistic calorie-burning extravaganza, an opportunity to show off your cardio capacity and sexy sportswear, hoping someone will ask you out for a wheatgrass smoothie afterwards. But back when I was addicted to exercise, I would have been at the front of this marathon, just behind the teacher, hoping she'd point me out as a model of perfect form.

So last night I did a whole lower-body routine of lunges, squats and leg presses, etc. before going to Body Combat, where we hold down invisible foes and punch them repeatedly in the face. At the end, I felt pumped up, buff, and powerful.....until I went to the locker room and couldn't untie my double-knotted shoelaces. That was a blow to the old ego.

it's a whole new world before 10 a.m.

I'm up before 7 for the first in months. Today begins my week from hell. Granted, it will only last for three days, and I named it thus because I have TWO things to do each day instead of zero. I really have no business calling it that, but I will. First, I'll start my new part-time teacher job (I've decided to go with that, its official title in the eyes of the Dept. of Ed, because it sounds a little better than "tutor," which evokes images of a spinster governess or virginal, consumptive Englishman). Then I'll pick up my auntie and rush down to the other high school (the one by the garbage dump) to make it to our first day of substitute teacher certification class. My aunt, who taught elementary school for 35 years before retiring and moving here to live with my grandma, has to take the same class as degenerates like me. That's messed up.

Anyway, the class will be 2 nights a week for the next 3 weeks, totalling 30 hours. I'm not dreading the class on its own merits; I actually do quite well in situations where I have to sit still for hours and pretend to pay attention to someone. Borne of a lifetime of going to church and two years in grad school when my mind was elsewhere. No, I'm incensed and resentful that I have to spend 30 prime-time TV, work out (and Workout) usable hours that I will not get paid for. Ugh. Isn't my sense of entitlement cute?

But after it's all done, I'll be qualified for my dream job of nervously placating ornery children! It's a good deal.

***

Here are some of the ways in which my new job is preferable to my old one:

1. I have to turn in my keys at the end of each day. This means that I couldn't return to school to do a little more work if I wanted to.

2. I am not responsible for the welfare of anyone but myself. That responsibility rests solely with the teacher whose room I am visiting, and whose clothes I will make fun of with doodles and notes with my pupil.

3. At 2:30, I will be elbowing those kids out of my way as I make a run for the parking lot.

4. It's now 7:15, and I am typing this instead of frantically grading essays, there is no dreadful churning in my stomach, and I'm not too nervous to enjoy a Missymussy breakfast burrito. (It's tiny and made with a whole wheat tortilla; I haven't totally abandoned my old ways since living with Ben.)

More later if I'm not utterly exhausted from this monumental day of exertion.

missymussy world tour 2006

Someone call the Anodyne staff and tell them they'll need to stock the vending machine for the first time in a year, because I'm coming back to Albuquerque!

No, I'm not moving there for a third time. But I will be there for ten whole, glorious, chile-filled days in October, neatly in time to coincide with my birthday, yippee! Here's the itinerary for those of you who want to plan a surprise party. Don't worry, I'll totally act surprised.

Sept. 29: I arrive at the Sunport
Oct. 2: Ben arrives

OCT. 7: MY BIRTHDAY

Oct. 8: I leave for HI
Oct. 12: Ben leaves for Philly

Crap. Only now do I realize that I leave the day after my birthday. Perhaps we should celebrate it a night early, you think?

Anyway, we are very excited. Ben hasn't been back to the mainland since he moved here. That wouldn't be such a big deal for me. Ha. I am going to be a circus attraction if it's less than 70 degrees, or if I have to drive on the freeway, where I'll be so intent on looking for people I know in passing cars that I'll cause a crash. That, or no one will understand what I mean when I flash my brights at them while slamming on my brakes in a merging lane. (Here, that means, "C'mon in, buddy!" I'll wait!") Basically, any public outing is a risk.

If you would like to pick me up at the airport around noon, I will buy you lunch and bring you a Hawaiian gift that I will carefully pack in my checked luggage so it's not confiscated. Not that it's going be a gel or liquid, but I've heard they're making people throw out their manapua at the Honolulu airport. Please email me for details.

why?

Tonight, while I was watching PBS with my mom (Andre Rieu conducting his orchestra before thousands of cheering white people in Holland), I had an inexplicable urge to watch an awards show. The Grammys, People's Choice Awards, CMAs - it wouldn't have mattered. This surely signals the implosion of my intellect, the coming apocalypse, or both.

back from Green Acres

We're back in our real house. From one pretend home to another. Last night as Ben and I unpacked our overnight bags (I have an awesome new one featuring Count from Sesame Street), we reminisced on the luxuries of the past week.


MM: I'm going to miss the dishwasher most of all. I've never realized how much of my life I spend washing dishes until now. That, and throwing things down the garbage disposal.

B, wistfully: My favorite was the ice water.



It's true, our lives have come down to this. Ben had been complaining that we were the boringest couple of all time, but I didn't believe him until now. Our grandest aspirations are to have an array of modern kitchen conveniences, especially a refrigerator with an ice and water dispenser. Ben claims he "can't make good ice water," but at the house-sitting house, he was magically transformed. We are both very well-hydrated.


***


I am now completely unemployed. My stint as an office lady, which was AWESOME, is over, and I don't have any word about the tutoring job. Today I'm going to Restaurants # 1 and 2 on my list to humbly apply for waitressing jobs. I think. I haven't quite got up the nerve to change out of my pajamas.

reader survey

Have you ever worked in a non-air conditioned office? Particularly one in a tropical climate, in August? It can be quite trying.

That's all I have for now. The heat is making it so all I think are boring thoughts.

Also, office work is kinda boring. Gosh, I bet that's the first time such an insight has ever been broadcast into cyberspace. What a revolution I have on my hands!

working vacation

A brief description of my daily schedule this week:

8:00 am: wake up to the gentle nuzzling of Nutmeg, a
yellow lab
8:30 am: watch Will & Grace while drinking coffee
9:00 am: read newspaper and write in journal while Ben
taunts me, "Ooh, I'm writing in my journal! Ben's so
dreamy!"
9:50 am: leave for work with Ben
10:00-4:00: fulfill my childhood dream of working in
an office (which I would indulge by "playing office"):
tippity-type, send important sounding memos, exert my
authority over the phone by placing people on hold at
random intervals
4:30: ride around the property with Ben on our John
Deere tractor, singing Green Acres song
5:00: begin preparing dinner
7:00: the battle with Ben for the remote control
begins
10:00: lounge in hot tub under the stars while gazing
out at the dark sea
11:00: read P.D. James in bed until I fall asleep and
have nightmares

Ain't it the life? This week we are housesitting for
Ben's office manager, and I also get to fill in for
her at the office! And I don't need to come in until
10 am!

Our new pretend home is on 13 acres overlooking City
of Refuge. I can almost hear the Hawaiian
kapu-breakers as they run for their lives. The owners
are trying to start a coffee farm, and have equipped
it with all the dude ranch essentials: giant gas
grill, lanai with retractable awning, a beautiful
outdoor shower made out of lava rock, and the hot tub.
I'm in for a rude awakening if--I mean when--I start
working at the school again. But for now, it sure is
fun. Tonight: steaks (for Ben), macaroni and cheese
(for me), and a new Workout. I can't go to the gym
because a) it's now 40 minutes from where we're living
and b) I have homework to do. I'll try to do a few
squats as I watch Jackie and her posse, while drinking
a nice Chenin Blanc.