The Writing On The Wall

When I met Hubby, I fell in lust immediately. I then found out his friend was not gay (maybe an hour later), so I pursued Hubby. Quite successfully, I might add. We've now been together for over 9 years, and the journey we've taken has been amazing. At least once a visit, either Hubby or myself will make an announcement that will shock my family. Most often, the first response is 'why?'. Part of the problem is that I just don't know myself. Maybe I'm too close. Or maybe I just knew what I was getting into from the beginning.

We'd only been dating a week or so when we had our fist spat. I can't remember what it was, but I'm sure it was one of those little things that barely warrants an eye roll out of me these days. But Hubby got in broken down jeep that he was terrified to drive, and went to Walmart to buy me a stuffed panda bear that made sheep noises when you tilted it. I'll admit, it was cute, and we do still have it somewhere. But he never was able to explain why he, as a 19 year old, bought me, also 19, a stuffed baby panda bear. It's just the way he works.

Imagine my surprise a few months later, when walking around the Drillfield, he told me 'I think I want a motorcycle one day'. He's barely coordinated enough to walk and talk at the same time. And he won't drive my car because he's scared of the manual transmission. He knows how to drive, and does it very well. But he won't. When a coworker of his in Pennsylvania got a motorcycle (I guess 3-4 years ago now), that's all Hubby could talk about for weeks. 'P is saving this much on gas, and this much on car insurance' and 'if I had a motorcycle like P, I could....' To be fair, I always tuned those out, because he wasn't actually going to buy a motorcycle.

Then, another friend, A, told him that he should get a Vespa. That was maybe two years ago. He brought it up off and on until we discovered the move to Atlanta was happening. Then gradually became more 'on' than 'off'. Yesterday we got our motorcycle permits. In the next few weeks, I'm selling my darling Subaru Forrester, and taking on Hubby's Toyota Matrix just so that my darling can have the scooter that he's always wanted. Although he claims he's only wanted since January when he started actually going into the office at his new job.

My mom took the announcement that we were getting a scooter surprisingly well. Probably because of the announcement I'd made the last time I'd talked to them. My dad actually seemed excited about it, and was full of advice, but also gave a long version of the 'Don't Get Hurt' speech.

Anyone who knows us knows that Hubby is a hobbyist. He bakes all of our own bread and has maintained a sour dough culture now for several years. He decorates cakes. He crochets afghans. He gardens. And he is meticulous. For every single hobby that he has or wants, he has at least 3 google documents dedicated to that hobby. That I know of. And I know there are plenty that he won't share with me.

I have at least one Google Doc that contains only the animals that Hubby wants to keep as pets that are only found in zoos and circus acts. Like Elephants. And Tigers. As Pets. And he's closing in on 30. So my reaction shortly after we moved to Atlanta and our neighbors mentioned that they had chickens? 'Shit'. That's right, we're now raising chickens.

Again, I'm not surprised this happened. Several years ago, we were joking around with friends about preparations needed to prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse, when someone pointed out that we would be incapable of feeding ourselves if society crumbled, even if the zombies never made it to Central PA. If the grocery stores failed, we don't grow enough produce to support ourselves. Someone mentioned that chickens could easily be raised on a small plot of land. Hubby's eyes gleamed with excitement, and I knew right then that we would one day have chickens.

He'd managed to do a good job and keep it mostly hidden. He probably didn't even think we COULD keep chickens. Especially since we live in Atlanta. Not near. In. (but we've been over that). Turns out, we can have chickens if we live in Atlanta, but not if we live in unincorporated Dekalb County. Also, we're 'limited' to 25 chickens. We wanted four.

They are adorable, and will keep us overflowing with eggs in about 20 weeks. Until then, they get to use our guest room for the next 6-8 weeks (or possibly 4 if the weather holds out...that's when they should be fully feathered).

Crap...I Don't Even Have a Title!

I'll be completely honest.  I really don't know what I'm going to write.  I just know that I basically promised to post two (or more) times a week in my last couple posts, and implied that I'd be trying to post every day.  That was 22 days ago.  I fail.  So to compensate, you (meaning the anonymous people who use google reader, since that doesn't show up on my stat counter, as no one else apparently bothers to read my blog) get the wonderful gift of free-style prose courtesy of me.  In otherwords, this might be a good time to stop reading.

You have been warned.

Ok.  Let me go all the way back to Thanksgiving.  We spent a few days at Hubby's parents' and then went to mine for a few days.  At Hubby's, we went to a movie, and were given money to go out to eat every night.  The only time there was really any 'family time' was when we dragged his mother to the store with us.  Which was a mistake in the guilt-trip sense.  Pretty much anything we looked at, she offered to buy for us.  When I pointed out a few potential Christmas gifts for hubby (while he was standing there) she just put them in the cart, and gave them to us when we got back to the house.  We saw Unstoppable.  Not a horrific movie, although I will say that the small town that they show (looks like Altoona or maybe Tyrone PA) apparently had a population of 754,000 people.  Which would make it the 17th largest city in the country.  That was the one thing I just couldn't let go.  I can ignore just about any ridiculous claim made in an action movie.  The bus in Speed could TOTALLY make that jump.  Just not a real bus, because that'd be crazy.

Anyways, back on point.  ish.  So we went to my parents.  Just north of Charlottesville, VA (like quite literally the first shopping center after you leave Charlottesville) we've always stopped at an Arby's.  We go to pull in, but the Arby's sign is gone, but there is sign saying that it's open.  When I say the sign is gone, I mean you can see the outline of the old sign, and there was no replacement sign.  There were about 30 giant American flag banners in the parking lot.  Turns out, it is now 'The Patriot Place' and serves subs and fried chicken.  It wasn't bad.  Although even inside, they only bothered to cover up the Arby's logos.  They didn't even bother to take off the plaques on the wall near the bathroom.  They just put American flag stickers over the spot where the plaque said Arby's.  Yeah, it was quality.

Oh yeah, my parents.  Shut up.  I'm getting there.  We did a Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day.  At like 5am.  In the rain.  Ok, it was actually light out and it stopped raining long enough for the trot, but that's not the point.  I didn't actually trot.  Hubby did, along with my brother and his fiancé.  My lazy ass decided to do the 2k walk instead of the 5k run.  I did get to take the dog with me, which was nice.  Growing up in the area, I knew there were a few people's houses that I walked by that deserved a bag of dog poo, which I happened to have.  The only problem was that I didn't know exactly which houses I needed to leave them at.  I decided to err on the side of caution and just leave bags at all the houses.  But the dog wouldn't cooperate.  It's kinda embarrassing to sit there begging/yelling at your dog to poop while hundreds of people walk by staring at you.  I just wanted to cover my bases.  Is that so wrong?  Oh, and I beat a guy on crutches that started around the same time as me.  By like 2 minutes.  Go me.

I'd tell you about the rest of Thanksgiving, it was great.  Just not anything crazy.  No fights, or fires.  In other words, nothing fun.  Oh well.  Friday night, we decided to play Trivial Pursuit with my parents on one team, Hubby and I on another, and my bro and his fiance on the third.  We couldn't even agree on what color to be.  It was one of those nights.  But, between the five of us that were drinking, we went through approximately 17 bottles of wine.  Or 4.  One of the two.  I can't remember.  One of the questions, and I was later informed that it was also brought up in the movie Beaches, was 'what did Otto Titzling invent'.  It took my brother like 5 tries to even read the question.  There's something about saying 'tit' in front of your parents.  When he finally got the question out, we all just died laughing.  It was probably the wine.  We didn't even get a chance to guess, because among the raucusness that followed the question, my mom blurted out 'the bra'.  She was right.  A guy named 'tit-sling' invented the bra. Wow.

I'm think I'm going to stop here.  Mostly because I don't know how to segue into anything new.  Because I've been all about the seamless transitions this post.  Whatever.  I did warn you.

Why I Hate Everyone

I've been meaning to post for a long time.  A very long time. Like for real.  Only problem? I'm easily distracted.  As in I'm trying to not do the 4 google searches that popped in my head in the last minute...only because if I do this will never get done.  And I procrastinate like it's going out of fashion.  Of course, I wouldn't know...I'm too busy not doing anything.

My life has been pretty hectic recently, the past few weeks, in the over-a-month since I last posted.  This sounds like a job for....*duh duh duh daaaaaah*...Bullet lists!

In no particular order (especially because I don't remember what happened when...it's been far too long)

• I quit my crappy retail job after only being back there for 2 months
• I went to see a stage version of Rocky Horror
• I have been substitute teaching full time - some as far away as 50 miles (ugh)
• I learned how (and how not) to thaw a turkey
• We've actually had people over to be social (tonight will make two times in a week)
• I really thought this would be a longer list
• It's kinda depressing, actually
• I'll just add a few more bullets to make it seem longer
• There, that should do it
• Maybe one more for good measure

As you can see from all the bullets (but not the contents) that I have been quite busy.  For the record, I'm working on this post while attempting to deep-fry a turkey.  Hubby's office decided to have a thanksgiving potluck, and we're hosting it.  And we spent so much money at the grocery store that they gave us a free turkey out of the goodness of their hearts to force us to drop even more money there in a desperate attempt to save 90 cents a pound.  If you've ever deep-fried a turkey before, you'll know that they need to be watched fairly closely.  Which is why i'm resting the laptop on my lap while sitting outside next to the fryer.  There's no way this can end badly, right?  I should also include that the entire house is made of wood including very old wood siding, and directly above where I'm frying the turkey is a wood balcony.  But if something goes awry, I'll have plenty of time to carefully set my laptop down before escaping the massive inferno that would be my house.

Now that I've explained what I've been doing and what I am doing literally at this moment, I'm moving on to an almost-unrelated topic.  It's still related because it's still about me.

As most loyal followers know, Hubby's graduation from grad school is imminent. Unless something changes, which is still possible. I think.  He doesn't like to give me concrete answers about his progress, So honestly, you are not as far out of the loop as you'd expect to be.  However, we are fairly certain that his post-graduation plans are set.  We are waiting to make sure, because last time, I continually blogged about them, only to have to eat my words. Yes, I'm talking to you Albuquerque.  I gave my laptop a death glare.  Which told the city halfway across the country that I mean business.  I'm sure it got that message.

I've also been substitute teaching full time.  Teaching can be incredibly frustrating. Especially Social Studies.  These student's do not have any social studies classes until 7th grade.  I really did want to hit something (like the blackboard, which I'm pretty sure I did) when I asked my students what the three axis powers of World War II was and someone said 'Mexico'.  Teaching can also be tedious and repetitive.  Don't get me wrong, impatient me is totally able to deal with it in the classroom.  However, substitute teachers have the easiest and boringest (screw you, English teachers!) job.  You show up, and you have a detailed lesson plan waiting for you.  Of course you report well before the students actually show up, so you get to sit around aimlessly for a while, first. You implement the lesson.  Which is usually a video or a handout.  You have nothing to do during the period except try to get the kids to do it, which they wont, because you're not the teacher.  Then you have a planning period.  You don't have to plan anything, since you're not the real teacher.  And then you have to sit around after school ends until your shift ends.  High school: about 10-15 minutes.  Elementary school: like an hour.  And then you teach things like band, where I pressed play twice on a DVD player.  That was my entire day. Seriously.

Also: I'm going to try to incorporate the weekly writer's workshop from Mama's Losin' It.  It seems like a good way to actually post every week.  Plus I'm not doing anything else during the day.  Unless the website is blocked at school.  Like all the good ones are.  Which really sucks when you're bored.

Oh, and for the record, I lied.  I don't hate everyone. Or really anyone for that matter.  Unless I don't like you.  Then I'll arbitrarily claim to hate you.  But don't take it personally.  Because I hate everyone.

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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.

What to Expect When You're Expecting (Gay Edition)

First off, for the record I'm not.  Nor is Hubby. At least that I know of.  And hope.  Because that would be an awkward conversation.  Also, this post was supposed to come immediately after my last one.  And I was extremely excited about having two posts in the same month for the first time in forever.  Then I realized that they would not be in the same month.  So I aimed for the same week.  Which also didn't happen.  But here it is.

Hubby and I have talked a lot about having kids sometime in the eventual future.  But there's one small issue.  See many married straight friends have voiced jealousy towards us in regards that we never have to worry about getting accidentally pregnant.  While that's nice, no matter how hard we try, we'll never be able to get pregnant on purpose. However, there are many possible alternatives.

Want a kid biologically your own?  Just have a drunken one-night stand with a woman.  If that's not your thing, there is always surrogates and in vitro fertilization.  However, using a seperate egg donar and a surrogate, you can pay up to $70,000 just to achieve fertilization.  Even at the priciest bar, you can expect a bar tab of only several hundred for two.  So suck it up and take one for the team.

Don't care if the kid is biologically related? That's fine too. There are many children not fortunate enough to have a loving family of their own here in the US. Also, adopted children can be had for little or not cost to you!  Now you just have to decide the age of kid you are looking to adopt.  Remember, the earlier before the teenage years, the more chances you have to love them before they become little (or not-so-little) rebellious shits.

Interested in adopting children not fortunate enough to live in the US? Madonna and Angelina have led the way in raising interest in adopting children internationally.  It is important to remember that you will have to visit where ever you are adopting from, so think of it as planning your next exotic vacation.  If you aren't interested in traveling there, don't bother adopting from there.  Obviously, you can try to accessorize with your children (ala Angelina), but I recommend avoiding this desire if possible.  Fashions change, and kids can't be swapped out as easily as your wardrobe.

Hopefully, this guide has helped you in your quest to become daddies.  I know there are countless resources out there to help make your decision, but you chose me.  No, I don't know what's wrong with you.  Seriously, something must be.

ADDENDUM: Hubby just reminded me about pets.  Many gay couples have pets that they call their children.  They give them people names and spoil them rotten.  While pets may serve as a surrogate of sorts, they are only for people too lazy to deal with actual responsibility.  Pets are great, but they are not substitutes for real children.  Any gay person that says otherwise is full of it.

Mission Accomplished

I should probably qualify the title.  "Mission Accomplished.  Somewhat.  But not in a George W. Bush sort of way.  I've actually done a lot this week.  Especially for being unemployed.  Stop looking at me like that." The problem was that the title was too long.  So I left it out. But its down in the main body for everyone that was interested.  Seriously, stop looking at me like that.

My last post here was about all the random crap that piled up in the house.  Since then I've done the first two-thirds of what is required for crap disposal.  I have about 50 DVDs in a bags, along with about 15 PS3 or Nintendo DS video games, my Sega Dreamcast and all the games, and my PS2 and all the games.  They are all being shipped off to a friend who will sell them for us on eBay.  It'd be great to make a lot of money out of the deal, but probably not going to happen.  Oh well, at least its out of the house.  On that front, I've been very successful.  On the book front (which is what inspired the trimming), I've been much less successful.  I did pull 80 books off the shelf, plus two years worth of 3 different magazines.  But that's as far as I got with that.

On a more successful note, I also applied for my first teaching job(s)!!  I applied for both middle school and high school level teaching positions in the school district I grew up in.  Until July 1, its a very generic application, but after that, they post all the specific openings at all the district's schools.  I'll know more then.  Of course immediately after I applied I got an email demanding I take one of those crap personality tests online.  They called it a preliminary interview.  I call it BS.  But I need a job, so I took the BS test.

Also, I'm now a contributing author on Hubby's food blog.  It's an unpaid gig, but it gives me a chance to spread my influence.  I keep asking him to put me on staff, but he just looks at me funny.  Even when I offered to work for sex.  He said that constituted sexual harassment in the workplace.  Which is funny, because I don't even work for him.

Of course my number one task this week was to set up the new computer we got from Hubby's brother, transfer files from the old one, and get the old one set up as a media server.  Haven't gotten there yet.  But I did buy tickets to see the midnight premier of Eclipse.  Well a friend bought them for me, but I'm going to see the movie anyways.

It's very pathetic when I actually summed up everything I did for the past week in six (poorly written) paragraphs.  And I still feel accomplished.  I need a job.  Or a life.  But mostly a job.  Don't judge me.

Job Posting: Navigator Wanted

So we just came back from our whirlwind tour of Virginia.  And if my lack of sense of direction is any indication, most of Maryland.  We had a great time at Hubby's parents - except for the one time we sat downstairs with them and tried to be social.  Awkward silences abounded.  It was bad.  The only true downer of the entire trip was when he got the call that he wasn't getting the job that had been all but given to him already.  Which needless to say has left us completely direction-less.  BUT, we've found the silver-lining. Considering I'm the glass-half-empty type, that's always a very good thing.

We have a few ideas, and he hasn't even had a chance to talk to anyone important.  I'll keep you guessing as to the locations, but I will say that I have already vetoed (repeatedly and emphatically) the one in Boise, Idaho.  I'll post more if and when hubby's job hunt becomes fruitful.

On the other hand, I will be applying to a couple of school districts around my parents (there are absolutely no teaching jobs to be had in Central PA).  Depending on the outcome of that, I may be paying rent to my parents and commuting back to PA on weekends. THIS ENDS THE PART OF THE POST ON THIS.

BIG NEWS.  Hubby and I did apply for a marriage license in DC.  The woman was extremely friendly and congratulatory.  The gentleman at the clerk's office was less helpful, but for reasons that will be explained.

We got to my parents around 11:30am, dropped off our stuff (including our new-to-us broken $2,000 computer that just needs a new video card)  We hopped on the Metro and rode into the city.  I made hubby run at Metro Center because I thought the train was there.  It wasn't.  He was mad.  To say the least.  We then went to Union Station and had lunch, which I don't think I've done since High School.  Then, we decided to walk to the courthouse.  Because it was a super-simple and straightforward walk from Union Station.  I know because I checked Google Maps.  Two weeks ago.  We started off by following a sign for the courthouse.  Which went the wrong way.  We realized we went the wrong way when we hit Chinatown.  Of course we didn't know how far we were off by, so we just walked a block south, then a block west, and repeated.  Then we walked right past the courthouse with me commenting that it was a neat building and wondered what it was.  In my defense, we were still a block north of it, and we'd seen another sign for Judiciary Square.  Finally we got there.  Hubby claims to be planning to write a similar post on his blog where he routes our map.  If he ever does, I'll link to his post.  I'm not doing the busywork, screw that.

I don't know what I expected, but the DC Courthouse definitely wasn't it.  On the way to the Marriage Bureau, which was on the top floor tucked into the VERY back corner of the courthouse down a very narrow hallway - past Paternity Court, several courtrooms, and the mental retardation center.  To describe narrow, we had to squeeze past a cute elderly lesbian couple leaving the marriage bureau as we walked in.  We signed in and waited like 15 minutes before they sat us down and went over everything.  Like I said, the women was extremely friendly and was all-smiles, even when politely helping us fill out the sections I had left blank.  I don't remember her name, but if there is EVER a person who epitomizes the ideal civil servant, it was she.

She handed us a printout, and told us to follow the signs for the Family Court Financial Center.  These were inkjet signs with Word-Art.  A hand-drawn one would have looked more professional. Whatever, I was happy with having accomplished my goal.  Now hubby just needed to pay.  The entire trip, I'd reminded him that he was responsible for the $45 cash that was needed.  As late as while we were sitting in the marriage bureau, he insisted that he had the money.  When we found where we were going (no thanks to the sign that pointed straight forward into a T-intersection) the gentleman, who was mildly irate because we had interrupted his cellphone call, asked for the $45.  I looked at hubby.  He had a blank and bewildered look on his face.  So I politely told him to pay the man.  He told me he only had $27 dollars.  I had $13.  So we had to leave the courthouse and find an ATM.  Then come back.  And finally pay the bill.

Mission accomplished.  With a few minor mis-steps.  I find out the date of our wedding for sure on Monday.  I'll let people know.  And I've decided after asking for input (and getting it) on my last post that I don't really care what you think.  As long as you read.  And leave comments.

Confessions of the Witless

I haven't posted as frequently as I used to.  There are a multitude of reasons.  First and foremost, I've found myself witless.  As in without wit.  And while most of my readers probably don't think I am that funny, I do.  And that's all that matters.  As DG recently pointed out, us bloggers are by nature narcissists.  And recently I do not find myself funny.  Except I find myself quoting Jane Lynch as she appeared in my dream last night.  Don't ask.  Let's just say it involved Russian bombs that resulted in glowing green stuff, the Rocky Mountains, Disney World, a dead Queen, and Jane Lynch.  She told me that she was as serious as Down Syndrome.  I couldn't make this crap up.  Except it was a dream, so apparently I did.

I also find this blog in a weird transition.  The last few posts have been less humorous and more political.  I'm not sure if I want to continue to go that route.  Which leads to the next problem.  I'm still getting a decent number of readers, but I almost never get any feedback.  I have a Facebook convo with D in South Carolina, and a two hour phone call with my lawyer pal in Baltimore.  She's the only lawyer with a soul I know.  They gave good feedback.  What I'm convolutedly trying to say is that I need feedback to know which direction people want me to direct this blog.

And this is where the real confessions come in.  I'm still jobless, and feeling very blah about it.  And hubby did not get the job that has been dangled in front of him for the past four months.  So our future is currently non-existent.  Making me feel even blahier. And I've been at my inlaws for the past several days.  And I am going to claim that they stifle my creativity.  I have no evidence to back it up.  But it feels right.

On the plus-side, hubby had a wonderful time in Prague (and even brought me a bottle of absinthe.  And I giant bar of Toblerone.  He really loves me.) So head on over and check out his first post about his trip.  And we are still planning on dropping off a marriage application in DC tomorrow.

Hopefully in the near future, I'll be back to my usual witty self (at least to me).  Until then, bear with me.

I Think I May Be Pregnant

No, I haven't forgotten how that works.  I know that a guy can't get pregnant from having sex with another guy.  But, as the legendary Harvey Milk put it, "God knows we keep trying."

So I am extremely hormonal, which for your enjoyment, I have decided to share.  And on a completely related tangent that must be told first, Glee is dangerous to your health. Not my health.  Yours.  As long as you watch it with me.

Symptoms:

• Deafness from my squealing
• Bleeding ears from my shrieking
• Scratch marks and bruises from me grabbing anything nearby
• Scratch marks from the cat trying to get away from the noises I make
• Scratch marks from the dog trying to get out of my grasp

I don't know when it got this bad, but I'm officially addicted.  FertKiki has given me an official warning that I might be banned from watching the show.  I threatened to rewatch the episode immediately, and he caved.  For now.

Then he (accidentally) managed to seriously upset me. Which wasn't hard. Considering I have the whole pregnancy-hormones thing going on tonight.  He mentioned that Glee had three trending topics on Twitter.  Two of which had plot spoilers and a third was about next weeks episode (LADY GAGA!!!!!!!!!!!...shit, just woke the whole house up).  This was at 10:20 EDT.  That's when it hit me.

I've mentioned before that there is a strong likelihood that I will end up in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  Which is in Mountain Time.  Meaning that at the time that spoilers were appearing as trending topics, there would be TWO HOURS OF SUFFERING until I'd be able to actually see the episode.  I actually started crying. Uncontrollably.  About a television show.  Even I knew it was wrong, and was trying to hold it in.  FertKiki was laughing at me.  Loudly.

I was excited about the idea of moving.  But now?  Not so sure.  Because I'll watch Glee later than people on the East Coast.  Unacceptable.

On a related note, I'm currently acquiring every episode of Glee so far.  Don't rat on me.  I'm trusting you interwebs.  Don't let me down.  He'll take my laptop from me!!

EDIT: Apparently, while it is currently two hours earlier in Albuquerque, they are nice enough to start prime time television at seven instead of eight.  Meaning I'll only be an hour behind in my Glee watching.  That's a slightly more bearable.



EDIT: While I was trying to find the exact quote from Harvey Milk, I actually found the following question asked at Yahoo Answers here:

I heard that some gay guy named Harvey Milk is like a hero because he went into city hall and shot some people. Why is he a hero and why did he kill those people? Was he dying of aids and just mad at the world or something? How would that make him some kind of messiah? Was he cooler than Obama?

Things like this make my brain hurt.  And am about to cry, which is not helping with the whole hormonal thing.

FINAL?? EDIT: I corrected a few minor/major errors that I noticed only after a reread and added tags.  This is what happens when I post when my official blog previewer is asleep.  My bad.

Imitation as a Source of Inspiration

I feel like I know a celebrity.  Well, at least a snarky and voluptuous stay-at-home mom, who spends her free time complaining on her blog.  We even dated for like a month.  Domesticated Gal is probably the only person in the entire universe that I can drunkenly introduce as "the girl who turned me gay" to my fraternity brothers without kicking my ass.  Especially when they already knew her name. 

Between an exchange on facebook last night and reading her new post this afternoon I feel a special kinship.  See, we both moved to forsaken wastelands for the person that we are forced to tolerate unwaveringly love.  And we both find ourselves severely lacking in the job department.

I quit a lucrative and rewarding job at the world's largest retail company (you know the one) to finish up my teaching certification.  Which was unpaid.  And now that that is finished? No job.  And my clearances have expired, so despite the fact I have my certification, I can't apply for any jobs until I get my clearances back.  On top of that, like my move to my current location, FerretKiki gets the big bucks, so I get to follow him.  And he gets his PhD in December.  Which is half-way through the school year.  And I want to be a teacher.  I've been unemployed (and unstructured) for almost two weeks and I'm ready to kill.  And its still May.  F My Life.

For the record, I'm pretty sure that Domesticated Gal's husband is still straight.  So its not her.  And if it is? Jason, call me!

This Bud's for You!

I know its been forever, but I know my faithful readers will cut me a little slack on that.  I was poisoning enriching the minds of the next generation.  Their way of showing their appreciation?  They got me sick.  Not just a little sick.  Like laryngitis and death-warmed-over flu.  That was about six weeks ago.  Why am I writing now?  Because I suck.  And I finally got around to visiting the doctor.

One thing about student teaching is that they don't cut you any slack.  No personal days. No sick days.  Notes from doctors are not accepted.  Unless its from a pathologist.  I'm pretty sure that being absent on account of being dead is excused.  Except you still wont pass. Because you're dead.  And it has to be you: the death of immediate family members allows you to miss A day of student teaching, but you have to make it up.

Since my doctor is on Penn State's campus, and I was in Lock Haven (45 minutes to anywhere in State College EXCEPT the campus) it was pretty much impossible to make it to an appointment.  And usually by the end of the day I didn't feel sick, just tired.  So after the deluge of symptoms went away and I was left with post-illness sniffles, I just stopped taking medicine.  Then the sniffles got worse and my ears clogged.  FertKiki insisted I call the doctor.  What did I do? Wait patiently for the symptoms to go away.  Physically I felt fine, so why should I deal with the headache that is a visit to the doctor?

Anyways, now that I'm done with student teaching (I still procrastinated for over a week) I finally went to see the doctor.  Turns out that the sniffles were the result of a severe sinus infection.  And the clogged ear?  A severe ear infection.  When the doctor asked why I waited, I told him that it wasn't bothering me.  He didn't seem to believe me that I could have that bad of an ear infection and it not hurt.  I guess I'm like Superman or something. Only I cant fly. And I don't run.  And I'm not particularly strong.  Or in shape at all.

So now I'm on doctor's orders to take Sudafed generic over-the-counter decongestants (I guess all the free pens and pads that pharmaceutical industry sends to doctors is lost on this guy) and a pill so large that I can only assume that they are horse tranquilizers.  Only I'm still conscious.  So they're sucky horse tranquilizers.

I'm also required to drink plenty of fluids.  He didn't say that I could not drink alcohol.  They pills don't say "do not consume with alcohol".  Therefore I can only assume that he wants me to drink plenty of alcohol.  Which is pretty crappy advice for a doctor to give.  I'll follow that advice, because I always do what people tell me, but I'm pretty sure this guy is a quack.  Can I sue for malpractice if I follow his advice and my liver fails, or I get alcohol poisoning?  I'm pretty sure I can.  We're pretty broke.  I better start drinking.  I do have a giant bottle of champagne in the fridge from last weekend that we were to drunk to remember forgot about.

WTF, me?

As all million of my readers already know, I'm a little bit of a procrastinator (in fact, this post was started three days ago).  That only holds true on things that have to be done.  If it involves future-planning,(theoretically, at least) I'm all for it.

The creation of this blog was not just because I could, but it was also because I felt motivated for future events:  FertKiki potentially has a real job!!! He hasn't made an announcement on his blog, so I decided to break the news on mine.  I guess that makes me the Fox News of 2010. (also, this just in, Glenn Beck is a giant fairy and Michelle Bachman is a big ol' Lesbo...now I've lost my cred faster than CBS).  Ok...that's out of my system now, and we're back to the status quo. Hopefully.

Apparently there is a position at Sandia National Lab that is a perfect fit for FertKiki.  Even the people in Sandia think so to!! The only problem?  Sandia National Lab is located in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  When he first informed me, I spent 3 days doing nothing but research on New Mexico.  Instead of doing any work I needed to do for school (both the one I teach, and the one I attend).  Did you know that Albuquerque has average highs only about five degrees higher than in NoVA.  They also have lows five degrees lower on average.  Turns out, Albuquerque is over a mile above sea level.  But it has like 1/2 percent humidity.  GOODBYE ALLERGIES!!!!

Why do I bring all this up right now?  Because I need to be finishing creating lessons for Monday and Tuesday, writing a test for Wednesday, and working on my work sample for LHU (which was due a few weeks ago). What am I doing instead?  Researching gardening in New Mexico.  Today I've learned the difference between landscaping, xerascaping, and zero-scaping, and put actual thought into what I would like to use on my property.  There are a few problems with this line of thinking.

1. We live in a rented duplex.
2. FertKiki doesn't even HAVE the job yet.
3. He doesn't graduate until December.
4. We will not be owning a home for at least a year (despite having real money and low-cost of living)

However, this is what I've spent today doing.  Isn't that just great?  Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go work on my retirement speech.

What's the Point of This?

I've had this blog for a couple of weeks now, and I'm doing my first back to back posts now.  The only question I have so far is "why the hell am I doing this?"  I know all of my millions of readers are shocked by this, but theres a link from FertKiki's blog, which is the only one I'm aware of, this blog is unsearchable, and I (so far) haven't updated facebook or twitter to include it.  Thanks to horror stories about teachers and their out-of-school 'antics', I'm very paranoid about doing anything inappropriate that would reflect badly on ever getting a job after seven years of college (and now I want to watch Van Wilder...SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO?).

On one hand, if I keep my blog off the radar, you (aka my millions of readers) will be unable to do the one thing that makes your pathetic lives worth living (reading about mine).  However, if I try to put it ON the radar its just going to result my life being ruined, which would be a very good thing to blog about.

So, it all comes back to the question,

What's the point of this?