It Takes All Types

I'd apologize for not posting in forever, but that's nothing new.  Since moving to Atlanta, I've been hit with several waves of depression.  I'm still unemployed, despite the number of resumes and applications I've distributed.  I've even started applying to restaurants and retail positions, but with two college degrees, I'm so vastly overqualified that they're not interested.  And most restaurants in the area are looking for people with 3-5 years experience as a waiter.

It's not that gloomy, as I did just get hired as a tutor, but it'll probably only be for about 5 hours a week.

So I've spent the last three months cross-stitching, surfing the web, and watching Netflix.  Things have been going well for Hubby, but without any income on my end to offset the increase in the cost of living, our living situation can best be described as 'stressed'.  Largely because we can't afford to go out, and there are few excuses for either of us to ever leave the house.

Which actually segues quite nicely (for once) into today's topic.  Typically, I go out and do the grocery shopping, but a few times Hubby has taken the lead.  And every time, he comes home with the same comment: "I saw sooo many gay people at the store".  Which always surprises me.  Not because there aren't gay people.  We live about 2 miles east of downtown Atlanta, and about 2 miles west of Decatur.  Decatur is the 6th gayest city in the country based on census data, Druid Hills (about 2 miles north of us) is the 14th, Scottdale (about 4 miles east) is 21st, North Decatur is 24th, and Atlanta itself is 31st.  By comparison, Miami Beach, a veritable gay mecca, is 33rd.  The compilation I was using ignored any city less than 5,000 people, so Provincetown, Massachusetts - probably the gayest city in America - is not counted.

It's not that he says it that surprises me, but the way.  I keep trying to tell him that they can't make him gay, but he just brushes it off.  (I should stipulate that Hubby doesn't have a problem with gay people, just to make that clear, although the fact that he's married to a man might also make the same point).

I was thinking about that today, as I was approached by a bum outside of a gas station.  So far, I've only encountered two types of bums: the nice kind and the annoying kind.

The nice kind come up to you and just engage in light conversation.  They don't ask for money, although they might ask for a cigarette or for you to pour some soda in their drink container.  They'll mention that they haven't eaten in x number of days, but then move right along.  I actually enjoy the 2 minute conversations, and have even given a few a dollar or so.

Then you get the other kind.  At least around us, they don't ask for money explicitly.  In fact, they typically want you to go in to a store and buy something for me.  One asked me to go across the street and buy diapers for her baby because she didn't have the money to take the bus to the mall.  I didn't see the connection, nor did I buy her diapers.  She was hanging out in front of a gas station in 102° weather, so I did buy her a Gatorade.  Really it was just to get her to shut up and find someone else.

Overall, we are loving the diversity and opportunities that living in a major city provides us, just wish that we could take advantage of these opportunities.  However, Gay Pride is coming up in a few weeks, and Piedmont Park will be even more overrun with those of the homosexual persuasion than usual.  I'm looking forward to it.  And it's free.

Out of the Frying Pan...

Ok.  It's official.  Well not really.  We haven't signed anything.  Or even seen the contract yet.  But it's supposed to be coming by the end of this week.  Granted it was supposed to arrive by the Friday two weeks ago.  But Hubby's advisor hasa very good idea what's in the contract (he was obviously in on the negotiations) and has passed on what we need to know.  There is still the possibility that the written contract will be different, but we are at 99.9% certainty.

I've lived in a major metropolitan area.  I've lived in a town with an amazing university that's part of the ACC athletic conference.  I've lived near large popular museums and amusement parks.  I've lived near some amazing and some mediocre professional teams...mostly mediocre.  And I've gotten to see and swim with sharks.  And I like to drink Coke. Now I get to do all at once. Well not simultaniously...although.... *enters catatonic euphoric state imagining the possibilities*

Ok, I'm back...now where was I....oh yeah, baiting you along...back to that.

This potential move has been very hush-hush for a multitude of reasons.  Hubby's advisor at the university is abandoning ship for a different one, potentially leaving starving grad students in a lurch.  We were horrifically burned by the city-that-shall-not-be-named (it rhymes with malmamurque) after I posted extensively about relocating there.  I was not originally planning on leaving all my (5) die-hard followers in the lurch for months - I was originally told 4-8 weeks.  Four months ago.  In fact my brother and sister-in-law (yay, I get to write that instead of fiancé!!) were apparently talking about us the other day and came to the conclusion that it must have fallen through, due to the lack of announcements from us.

I hate Pepsi.  Like HATE. Maybe it's the whole Joan Crawford thing...still don't get the draw of Mommy Dearest.  And I love Coke.  I've always lived in 'coke towns' before moving to central PA, where everything is all pepsi, all the time.  Probably because Aquafina gets a lot of it's water from the Spring in Bellefonte.  Check your bottles, if you have any.  They might very well say "Bellefonte, PA" or "Milesburg, PA".  I'm really not sure where I was going with this other than to continue to distract from my main point.

I've been bitching about the weather and heat here in PA, which is nothing compared to what we will have to endure in our new locale.  And my new-and-improved sinuses will get a workout with allergens (which are relatively mild here).

Anyways, here it is.  You may have already figured it out.  We're moving to Atlanta.  Yes, I've been bitching about the heat, and I'm going to be moving to Atlanta.  Hubby will be working for a major university there.  And both of us are forbidden from calling it 'Tech'.  It's a two-year post-doctoral position, so we might only be there for two years, but we are thinking about it as a permanent relocation.  Largely because it will allow me to lay some roots as a teacher.

Speaking of that, I've already submitted my application for a Georgia teaching license.  Over the course of the next several days I will be looking at specific school districts and begin to make contacts for jobs.

I don't know exactly when Hubby will start working down there, but he has yet to defend his doctoral-level research.  However, it appears as though we are in for a whirlwind move.  As in we may be there Permanently in about 2 months.  We. Not I.  Originally the plan (assuming Hubby got the position) was for me to move down during the summer so that I could begin to teach while he finished up his work here. However, as of 2pm today, I was informed that we would be moving down together.

We have already begun to go through all of our accumulated crap, separating out the clothes that no longer fit/aren't worn/are hideously ugly.  If you live in central PA, you may have an opportunity to load up on goodies that we no longer want/don't want to have to move. (not the clothes.  We'll donate those.)

Obviously, there's still more to come....I'll keep you updated, I swear!

UPDATED: I just realized that this is full of weird capitalizations and some of the sentences don't make any sense. Maybe I'll come back to it and fix it when I'm no longer feeling a buzz from the champagne, but I doubt it.  Pizza and Champagne: Celebration of Champions.

UPDATE 2: I have absolutely no idea why it's acting funky with comments.  The fields required to post a comment aren't even showing up for me.  Feel free to send them via facebook, twitter, email, or any other contact method (if you know them already)

The Bureaucratic Nightmare That Is My Life

As most of my readers know, I've had to put on hold my dreams and ambitions for now and suck it up and return to the wonderful world of retail.  With two college degrees.  I don't blame Hubby at all.  Ok, well maybe a little, but it's really not his fault. And I know that.  Rationally.

The real blame can be directed at the professor at my college who oversaw my student teaching.  During that period, I reported directly to two people: my cooperating teacher, with whom I had to get approval for all lesson plans and he pretty much shaped me into the teacher that I will become when I have a classroom of my own,  and my university supervisor.  His role was essentially to observe me (and grade my teaching ability) and make me jump through a million pointless hoops just because he could.  Which for the record is exactly what good teachers are not supposed to do.  My cooperating teacher taught me that. 

My university supervisor - from now on US - would also schedule the 'random' visits.  Not that I did anything differently, but if I was a mediocre teacher, I would have only pulled out the big guns when he was there.  He also would randomly walk into my classroom, turn around and walk out IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS.  And I would have to run out of the room to figure out what the hell was going on, only to find out HE'D GONE INTO THE WRONG ROOM, WALKED ACCROSS THE FRONT OF THE CLASSROOM AND THEN NOTICED.  You can tell I think highly of him.  In fact, I'm not going to call him US, I'll just call him douche-waffle.

You may ask why I am writing about my student teaching in September when I graduated in May.  Well, I'm getting to that.  You see, I applied to a few school districts for a teaching position this year, but didn't hear back from any of them.  Then I went to apply for substitute teaching positions.  And reading the application a little closer than I had done in the past, I discovered at least one reason why: Since I do not have any teaching experience, they want to see a letter of recommendation from my cooperating teacher (who wrote me a very glowing one), and another from douche-waffle.

I emailed him shortly after graduation to get one.  When he didn't respond, I called him.  He said he hadn't been checking his email recently, but he'd get right on it, and send it out promptly.  This was in May. I got busy, and distracted, and never noticed that it hadn't appeared in the mail.  That part, I'll admit is Hubby's fault.  He didn't remind me.  Notice I'm not at fault.  Ever.

Anyways, in the middle of August, I picked up the application for substituting and suddenly remembered that I didn't have the letter.  I sent douche-waffle a very polite email requesting it, as well as a confirmation (via email or telephone) that he had received my email.  I don't think that's asking too much.  Then I got started back in retail, and I got busy.  I waited two weeks with no response, so I fired off another email - less polite than the first, but still very cordial.  This time explicitly insisting that I wanted confirmation of receipt.  Again, no response from douche-waffle. 

So last night, finally completely fed up - school was now back in session, there was no reason he hadn't returned my emails - I fired off a fourth email (I know that doesn't add up, but douche-waffle wanted me to send him an email with my mailing address, even though I had already done, when I talked to him in May). This email was still mostly cordial, but it was also incredibly passive aggressive.  Hubby was mildly horrified that I was sending an email like that to someone who potentially held my future in his hands, but whatever.  Finally, this morning I called him.  Actually, I called several faculty members before I found his number, because everywhere that it was listed online was different and they were all wrong.

Douche-waffle did not seem surprised to hear from me.  In fact, he excitedly told me that he was about half finished and was hoping to get it out in the mail tomorrow.  He's been working on it since May.  He even said so.  As soon as I got off the phone with him, I called Hubby.  When he picked up, I gave him a heart-attack by letting loose a ton of primal noises and yells, as well as quite a few words of a less-than-professional nature.

The man who holds my future in my hands has been working on my letter of recommendation since May, when I originally asked for it.  He never responded to any email where I requested a response. AND HE'S ONLY HALF-FINISHED.  He's essentially had an entire semester, and has done only half of the work.  That's a 50%, which is an 'F'.  Unless you go where I went.  They think that 'F's are demoralizing.  So they give 'E's.

Oh, and yes, I am aware that this is my second post this week, making it the third post this month!  Now I just need five more to equal June!  Whatever, just give me an 'E' for effort and move on.

A Brief Lesson About Chores

As I've made abundantly clear the past several weeks, we are in the proccess of Spring cleaning in our house.  And a lot of progress has been made.  One of my big problems is getting motivated to start any task.  Especially cleaning, because once I get started, the end product is spectacular.  However, even when I get started on some tasks, it takes me a very long time to finish.

My last two sets of responsibilities for this year's Spring cleaning? Vacuum the house, and do laundry.  Since we were having people over, I vacuumed the vast majority of the house on Saturday.  Except I was running late, so I only did the rooms that people would be in.  And I still haven't gotten back to finishing.  Even though I left the vacuum in the middle of the bedroom.  So I wouldn't forget.

Hubby has been having me do the laundry for a while now.  Especially since I sit around on my ass and watch Netflix and On Demand all day.  And I'm very good at starting laundry.  Just not finishing it.  Two days ago, I started a load of clothes around noon.  They finally went to the dryer for 20 minutes around seven pm. They got another 20 minutes around nine.  Around 11, they still felt damp, so I added a few more minutes.  I went upstairs to watch some television while I waited.  I went to bed around 4AM.  The clothes came out of the dryer around seven pm.  18 hours after I started laundry.

I wasn't always this bad with laundry.  At my first apartment, I was always on top of it.  It didn't hurt that the washer and dryer were just outside of my bedroom.  Not in the basement like ours is now.  Of course that same apartment, I had the roommate whose dog would crap at the top of the stairs.  Since her bedroom was downstairs, she never noticed.  And then she had the gall to get pissed when my other roommate and I started leaving the dog crap on her bed. 

Then there was the one Saturday night where I came home wasted slightly inebriated and she had been thoughtful enough to put up the dog gate for like the third time ever.  Which I proceeded to get all tangled up in.  And then found out that she had invited FIFTEEN PRESCHOOLERS FOR A SLEEPOVER!!! Without telling her other two roommates.  And I felt like a horrible person.  But not as horrible as the parents should feel for letting their preschoolers spend the night in a college apartment on a Saturday night.  For the record, I don't have any children.  But I think even those that do will agree that this is an example of horrible parenting.

Neither of those anecdotes really have anything to do with laundry.  They just reinforce how much I hated that first apartment.  Now if you'll excuse me, I promised to make a desert for tonight.  And if I start now, I still wont finish before Hubby comes home.  And it has to chill for 6 hours.  I'm on a roll.