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All posts for the month August, 2015

Last night I dreamed of butter

Published August 30, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Really, I dreamed that there was half a stick of butter tucked away in the back of my refrigerator.

Now, I haven’t been eating butter or margarine lately because I don’t want to waste the calories; I would rather use them on cookies or cake, you know, the important stuff.

For some reason the butter was of vital importance to me. (In the dream) Actor Boy and I are marathon watching the Walking Dead. We watched Fear the Walking Dead last week and have spent most of this week watching the series from the beginning.

We also went to see a play which was about the post apocalyptic society. The play proposed the idea that the bit of culture history and knowledge was based on the Simpson’s.

The gist of it is, by the time a century had passed, the Simpson’s had become an almost Shakespearean level of entertainment. I don’t want to infringe on the playwright’s intellectual property by saying too much about it, I just wanted to mention that it is similar to a concept I try to introduce to my students.

Culture simply means that which survives a society. What would we leave behind in the event of a mass disappearance? It’s all just stories anyway, that and the meanings we give to the words that survive.

And today all I have to say is: Butter.

Oh and there was a mutant conjoined twin cockroach racing around the kitchen the other night. I smote them (it) with some lemon fragranced poison.

 

 

It’s like this . . .

Published August 27, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

So in spite of being the HR trifecta (Disabed, Hispanic, Female) an having two Master’s Degrees, 16 years of teaching experience and full certification for Theatre and English/Langage Arts and Social Studies, I am still unemployed.

I’m not thrilled about it, but I’m not quite flop sweating yet.  Actor Boy is still here for a few days and he’s always a calmative.  I do have options that do not incude building a little fort under the nearest bridge and scrounging for cat food and Coke Zero. I do not want to explore those options yet.

Meanswhile the world still spins on and madness ensues.

I don’t even know where to start. There’s the whole Ashley Madison thing. Seriously people, as a cuckean (Female that has been cuckolded, because that does happen, you sexists) I think that every  revelation should come with a Minion Fart Gun Salute, because the whole thing stinks.

And we go on to the Jared from Subway being a pervert and possible pedophile. But today’s news includes someone finding a live maggot in their sandwich from Subway. Really? What else are they hiding?

And there was another shooting, this time on live television, causing Fox News to say something stupid. (What again? No, still.)

I’m wondering how much of this publicized madness is Wag the Dog because something truly heinous is happening, or does Donald Trump really think he can be presiden?

I think I’m going to watch the Walking Dead and maybe root for the zombies this time.

 

 

Kahn!!!!!!

Published August 21, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

My Amanda Friend told me that she believes in the impossible because she is friends with me, thus she has had a front row seat to the madness.

A professor of mine once said that patterns will become emergent once all of the right pieces are assembled. Real Life application for me: When I am with certain people, Amanda Friend, Actor Boy to name two , the truly bizarre happens.

Case in point: This afternoon. Actor Boy and I went for pancakes and coffee. We both have work to do this evening and neither of us is feeling 100% (He has a cold, and I think he shared it with me.)so we needed a sugar and caffeine boost. 

It was mid-afternoon so Ihop was fairly empty. We were seated at one of those tiny tables for two for some reason leaving me to have to wad up my giant purse behind me and Actor Boy to unfold his long limbs and wrap them around the table legs. 

Our server, Megan, approached our table (here approach means stumble over like a baby giraffe) preceded by the slight odor of alcohol.  Actor Boy didn’t notice the smell but he is a genial sort and he has a great smile so he flashed her one of those. She took our drink orders and meandered away. 

I stage whispered, “I think our server is drunk”. By this time Megan had come back with our coffee and mumbled something about the oddly shaped lemon hunks in our water glasses.  I said it was fine and she proceeded to pick a citrus whisker off of the side of one of the glasses and brush it away. 

We placed our orders. Actor Boy always gets the chicken and waffles and she proceeded to list the condiments she could set him up with; gravy, honey mustard, catsup, hot sauce . . . He told her catsup was fine. I was glad he stopped her before this turned into a Bubba shrimp litany.

After she brought our food, she lingered awhile then wandered away. I have no idea where the rest of Ihop’s A-team was, but the one other waitress kept trying to get her attention. At one point both waitresses began trying out a version of the Charleston (pull up the baby giraffe image again.)

That’s when things got weird. I was trying to enjoy the most delicious part of the pancake, the center gooey part where all of the syrup and butter have morphed into delightfulness, when Megan remarked loudly on the whiteness of Actor Boy’s teeth. She actually grabbed his face while she quizzed him  about the origin and reasoning behind the super white teeth. Somewhere in all of this she mentioned that she was back at work after two weeks off because she had been in an accident. Meanwhile, I am kicking Actor Boy under the table. During the kicking she began talking about her boyfriend having dark hair and how everyone on the planet has some Asian DNA. Then she went on to talk about a Documentary about how one third of the people on the planet are related in some way to Genghis Kahn. 

I actually heard about this, and before I could stop myself, I said, “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of that.”  Well, Actor Boy hadn’t  heard so she proceeded to loudly describe the salient points of Genghis’s wild ride through  the world.  She used some profanity, and gave a quick rundown on all of  the substances  to abuse at that time period and how Genghis forced himself on over 100 women a day (apparently one of the ancient substances was Viagra.)

Well, really, where could the conversation go after you’ve had a mini-lecture on ancient debauchery while you are trying to finish your breakfast food.  She followed us to the cashier, I have to say I was trying to save myself as Actor Boy answered her lingering questions.  One of which was, “Is she your girlfriend?” (We get that a lot.)   

Somehow Actor Boy did not succumb to her charms and we left.

I looked at him and said, “I’m glad you were here to witness that. No one would believe me.”

He answered, “Didn’t you just say you wanted something new to write about? “

But here’s why . .. .

Published August 19, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I passed my teacher’s certification test. I am officially certified. (Not certifiable, I’ve heard all of the bad jokes. )

So I am now waiting to hear about one of three jobs. I have a friend who knows literally everything that is happening in the theatre community right now and I have done everything but have former students slam the schools’ mailboxe with letters and postcards about how magical I am.

I  had a lot of anxiety about the test that I don’t think many people understood. I did pass and I was fairly certain I would but there was that outside chance that I wouldn’t.

Years ago when I had my final Neuro-Psych exam, my therapist said that although I was still fairly high functioning, I would most likely never be able be an official, bonafide teacher because I would never be able to pass a timed, standardized test. This was due to my processing disorder and he was legitimately trying to be helpful. So here I am 11 and a half years later, I survived an internship year, passed two content exams and the big teacher certification exam.

I think  I have sufficiently given a ” suck on that!” to the nay sayers.

I wrote this particular blog today in order to pump myself up. I’m feeling a bit wan and wee because there is absolutely noting I can do but wait for someone to hire me.

I hate this part.

Is Controlled Panic a thing?

Published August 17, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I am lamentatious that my cat will never know the joy of reaching into a heap of clean laundry and pulling out a perfectly matched pair of socks. I sang about the socks while sprinting around the room in hopes of sharing the joy with her, but she did not appreciate it.

Thus the tone is set for the day.

I got up about two hours earlier than usual because I’m trying to get back on a regular schedule. (I still don’t have a job, but I am so mired in delusion that I want to make an active contribution.) I don’t know where to start or where to begin on today’s activities. I certainly have plenty to do. The house is still in it’s ususal state; I still don’t give a teeny tiny little rats behind. (Although I have put out strategically placed bowls of borax in hopes of killing all of my insects and other forms of pestilence.  I have no idea if rodentia are at all affected by borax, but at least they will leave little footprints so I will know where they have been.)

I know I need to wade through the crap in my office because I will probably need to print out some things, and if I don’t get a job, I will need to freelance in order to eke by, so I will definitely need to do some actual work in there.

I need to take some stuff back to the library, I also need to pick up the refills of my extra potent anti-freak meds, because I suspect this week will be primed for freaking. I also need to walk my 10,000 steps. (For me, it’s to rebuild my stamina for racing around all day like a fiend, becasue that’s how I teach. There I go, actively deluding again.)

I’m just trying to control the panic; I don’t want to use it all up this early in the week.

Angst for the memories

Published August 16, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

This past week has been interesting. (Would I have any other kind?) My excellent friend Mr. S  let me know about a last minute job opening and I leapt right on it. Still haven’t heard. In other news, my temporary certification experies in ten days. I can simply apply for an extension to the tune of a mere 1000 dollars. I do have that saved up but I was planning to splurge on food and rent for me an my cat should a job not appear. Now to avoid this pricey extension, I can take the diablolical, so you think you can teach test. My certification prep program green-lit me for that a couple of weeks ago, but the state still didn’t show that I had it. I made two surprisingly stress free phone calls and discovered that I could take the next available test time and still squeak by and get my full certification. I took the test today (120 non-refundable dollars)  If I do not pass this test this go round, I have to do the extension (1000 remember?) plus another 120.  If I do pass this time, there are the fees associated with the getting the full certification including the fee to add the ELA endorsement for the second test I passed when I passed that theatre thing.

Much of this may be moot if I don’t have a job. I will, however have three new pieces of paper to keep the other credentials I have company until a job comes along.

In the midst of all of this peripheral freaking out, I also had test anxiety. I know anxiety is a very real thing to many people. My anxiety had nothign to do with the actual test. I know the material, even if the material has nothing to do with the test, it is the vernacular in which the test is handled.

My anxiety is cheifly centered around my brain’ ability to just flat decide it aint gonna do what I want it to do. And that terrifies me.  It all brings back the memories of standing on stage next to Merritt Glover, and opening my mouth to hear the character voice and then having something else entirely different come out. My look of surprise and mild concern was mirrored on her face. There was true fear in my heart because my brain was going in an entirely different direction that I couldn’t control.

After 12 years the fear is still there. It is especially right at the fore front when I am at the mercy of a diabolical test that has nothing to do with teaching but is the only thing standing between me and being a for real teacher.

After I finish ed, I went to the nearest mall and went for a long walk. On this walk I ran into one of my former student. She came up and hugged me and asked if I was going to be her teacher. I told her no, but that her new teacher, Mr. S. was great and that I would be able to find out how she was doing.  She asked if my colleague, CB was  coming back and I told her no. She hugged me and thanked me for being her teacher.

The Angst was worth the Memory.

still concerned, but amused

Published August 5, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Today has been surprisingly action packed, considering my general malaise. (Malaise is my default. It’s either malaise or panic, or panic and sedated.)

I am going to do story time this week at the Burleson Library.  I’ve done it before and I do think the universe has arranged this so I will leave the house and attempt to feed myself a time or two. (Why yes I still have plenty of other things to do like clean my filthy house or organize lesson plans or other productive things,  but I get started on one and start to curl up like a doodle bug for self protection. ) I do baby story time tomorrow, which I love because I get to sit on the carpet and make silly noises. Yes, I can do that at home, but i’s not nearly as satisfying.

I am amused by the whole prospect.  I have also given up any pretense of normality. I was having an actual conversation with the Mom and I said, “So I’m standing there with a t-shirt in one hand and a Platypus in the other. . . ” and it wasn’t a set up for a joke.

I have to go audition puppets for storytime. (Howard,  as the oldest, he’s 36, has right of first refusal but his eye pops out sometimes and that might distrub a baby. ) The puppets without pointy bits and are willing to get baby spit on them are ready to be seen.