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January 27th, 2013
I told Chris that I sometimes compose twitters in my mind that I don't actually post.
"Like what?" he asks.
I reply, "I can divide my own live in to BC and AD - Before Cup and After Diva."
"No one wants to hear about your menstrual cycle, Dawn," he says.
I KNOW! That's why I didn't post it!! I share those thoughts for you, my love.
January 20th, 2013
I have a shameful confession. I am a lazy viewer. I don't want to try to analyze subtext and try to interpret a couple of lines of dialogue and costume choices. I just want to know whether Michael Fassbender secretly wants to fuck Carey Mulligan and that's why he can't form relationships with other women. :
In other news, my dishwasher has been pissing me off. All of a sudden, all of the silverware has been coming out all spotty. I noticed this before Christmas, and it's been irritating me ever since. So about three weeks ago, I said to Chris, "See how spotty the silverware is?" Hmmmm, was all he had to say about it. Then two weeks ago, "Ugh! It's still all spotty. It wasn't doing this before! Why all of a sudden is everything coming out like this?" I got a noncommittal shrug. Then last week, I say, "This dishwasher isn't even that old!" He responded, "Well, everything else is getting clean, so it's not like it' broken
." Well it's not like it's WORKING!! I think, but say nothing. So Friday after work, I'm unloading the dishwasher and making very loud and angry grumbly sounds while pulling out the silverware, once again freckled with ghostly splotches.
Chris, who's mixing me a drinkie-poo, asks, "Have you filled the Jet-dry lately?" This sends me in to an apoplectic fit of silent, seething rage. Why is it always my job to remember to pay the car registration, keep track of how much dill relish is left, keep track of the W-2's, and fill the fucking Jet Dry? I stomp away with my beverage and immerse myself into a world I can control, organizing my pinterest boards. However, later, when my hulkstage subsided, I realize that the reason I was really pissed is because I've been obsessed with the spotty silverware for nearly a month, but it never once occurred to me to turn to a product specifically designed to reduce spots on dishes.
I found a container of jetdry under the sink, and carefully dribbled the blue liquid intio the awkwardly positioned receptacle. The silverware was not spotty today.
April 19th, 2009
Ok, so if you have been paying attention, you would have noticed a week or two ago when I was made extremely frustrated by the fact that my professor told me to put a methodology section into my proposal document, then remove it from my paper.
Believe it or not, this story gets worse.
So I am at the oral presentation on Wednesday, and already I am not doing so well. I started crying while driving over there, and had to call Dear old Dad to talk me down. Plus, the night before the presentation, I went to practice to check the timing. So my good sport of a husband sits down with a kitchen timer and I do my thing. Finally, I say "DONE! How'd I do?" He looks at the timer, then looks at me, as though he is afraid. Unable to say the words aloud, he turns the timer around so I can see it. 20 minutes. 20 MINUTES. "Was that counting down from an hour, and I have 20 minutes left? Like I did 40 minutes?" I ask, the strained hope cracking my voice. No, he shakes his head, sadly. Fuck. So I spent the rest of the night revising my presentation. Then, before going in, I got a little shaky and teary, and had to call my dad to talk me down. But now I am there, and I am doing my thing. Already, they have begun asking the questions, though I have not reached the end, and at one point in time, I get, "That's a really
good answer," which calms my fears and puts me in a good place to wrap things up.
So I'm pretty much done, and I'm winding things down and I mention, at my advisor's urging, how I had done a pilot version of my presentation for a graduate class in the special ed. department in order to obtain feedback on it and to make changes before eventually presenting to a wider audience. Suddenly, the other profs stiffen. Uh-oh. "You don't mention that in your paper," on says. Furtive glances are passed around the room. So they say, if I did a pilot, then I need a methodology section in my paper discussing what I did, what they said, what I changed as a result of the pilot, etc. I feel my jaw tighten, because I HAD a methodology section, but my prof. said I didn't need it and made me take it out and rewrite it as a conclusion. Immediately after this discussion, they ask me to step out into the hall for a moment.
My prof. warned me that they do this, so I was prepared, in theory. However, after the concerns voiced over my lack of a methodology section, I became very concerned, and all the anxiety I felt before walking in came rolling back. So there's a bench right across the hall from the door, but the bench down the hall is next to a trash can, and I head down there, because I am suddenly sure that I am going to throw up. So they call me back in, and apparently it showed I had gotten nervous, because someone steered me to a chair and said, "Maybe you should sit down and take a deep breath, because you turned white.
" So anyway, someone says, "Let's get this over with," and now I am POSITIVE that I am F U C K E D
. Immediatley, tears sprung to my eyes, because I am sure that the next words I am going to hear have to do with my paper lacking a methodology section.
The tears, already brimming in my eyes, would not allow themselves to be blinked back, so now I have to brush them away, so I'm crying in front of my fucking professors. Awesome. Not. Anyhoo, since I had mentioned that I originally had a methodology section and it was edited out, they said I should put it back in and resubmit the paper. However, they mentioned that the reason it was important for me to put it back is because if I were to decide to later go for my phd, then I need to have an example of research writing process in my portfolio, especially since I went for the creative component route instead of writing a thesis.
And that's what happened.
April 7th, 2009
Losing my shit
So I sent an updated draft to my professor on Sunday night. It is Tuesday, and I haven't heard back from her. I am getting evermore nervous about my shiteous project, especially the fact that my oral examination/defense is a week and a day away. So I shoot her a quick note inquiring after her responses to my updated draft. "Looks great!" was her response. I try to press her for further detail, especially regarding specific sections I was unsure about. "You're done." Is what she says. I don't know whether she even actually read it.
In a moment of blind panic, I call my father-in-law, a professor of microbiology, bawling about how I have no one to read by draft before I have to submit it. He graciously agrees to read my paper. However, he is a DOCTOR, who has worked both as a provost of a university, and for the federal government. I've written a glorified lit review with a miserable excuse for a conclusion - no methodology (which my advisor recommended I omit??) no findings, no real quality or use. And plus, I was crying like a little girl when I asked him to read it. He's going to think I'm an itiot. Better to have someone think you an itiot than send him your crappy paper and remove all doubt...or something like that.
April 5th, 2009
Easter is for ham
I was just talking to the moms, who was extending and invite for Easter dinner. I asked what we were having, and her reply was, "Well, traditionally people have HAM for dinner, but I know YOU don't LIKE ham...so (long pause) I'm not really sure what we're going to have."
I informed mummy dearest that, while I appreciate her consideration for my dietary restrictions, that the way she cooks, there's going to be enough food for three times as many guests as will be in attendance, and I've no doubt I will be able to make a considerable meal from "sides".
Suspicious of my new found empathy for the time-restraints of others and general, overall selflessness, she dubiously inquires, "You sure." When she was reassured of my earnestness, she decided, "Okay, then. Ham it is." Daddy, who had only heard one side of the conversation, said, "But Dawn doesn't like ham. You should make her chili," (which I also hate,) then as an afterthought, "with whipped cream on top." (Gross, I DETEST whipped cream!)
April 3rd, 2009
I am supposed to graduate this semester, so I signed up for the last class that I need for this term. It is supposed to be collaborative time between me and my advisor, during which we're supposed to work out the what/when/how etc. of the final project. I was just looking back at my calendar, and I started attempting to contact my advisor on January 15th. Despite numerous e-mails, it was not until February 12th that we actually managed to meet. At that time, she informed me I needed to propose my idea to the entire committee, which I was not previously aware of.
At that first meeting, I told her my idea for my project was to create a self-guided learning module for preservice or new teachers who found themselves working in inclusive classrooms with special education students, but hadn't received any previous training on differentiating of instruction. (BTW, this is what happened to me when I was a new teacher. I had NO training about serving special education students in the general education classroom as an undergrad, and when I struggled to meet their needs, I thought I was just a shitty teacher. It wasn't until later that I learned teacher training programs are what's shitty; no wonder half of new teachers quit within the first five years!) Anyhoo, my prof. said it was a great idea, so off I go to start my website on ULD, which is supposed to be the format for this self-guided learning module.
I e-mailed all the members of my committee, and prepare my proposal. However, between the four of us, it was impossible to nail down a time we could all meet until March 3. At the proposal meeting I learn that, if I am to graduate this term, I have to present by April 17th, AND that my project must be completed and submitted to all memebers of the committee two weeks before the oral defense is scheduled. Oh, and wouldn't it be awesome if I designed my project as a district-wide professional development, so that all the teachers at my school could learn about my topic? Oh, and wouldn't it be even cooler if I postponed graduation until next year so that I could present it at my school and include the feedback from my co-workers in the results section of my project?!?
Bitches pushed me too far there.
When I made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that pushing back my graduation date was NOT AN OPTION, they reeled in their enthusiasm. However, once the idea of designing the project as a professional development training was out there, it could not be so easily swept back under the rug. As a result, not only was all the time I'd spent on the website wasted, but I had to do a TON more research, as they wanted me to include a review of the literature on professional development and adult learning.
So anyhow, since I didn't meet with my committee until nearly two months into the term, I then had only six weeks to finish the project I should have had all semester to do, and now it's taking a totally different and unexpected format than I had been preparing for, and I have to research a new topic, and I have to create lesson plans and presentation materials for a professional development training. But wait, it's not a full 6 weeks, because the committee members are supposed to get copies to review two weeks before the oral defense. So I have a month. And I work full time.
So I've been working and studying and reading and writing and ignoring my friends and tivoing my shows and missing all the movies I've been wanting to see and crying and fretting and losing sleep and snapping at my students and overall generally freaking out. But I finished my draft and sent it to my prof. to review. We were going to meet Thursday, so I thought if I sent her a draft, she could propose any revisions when we met. Then, I could make any changes I needed to, finish up the lesson plans and some revision to the powerpoint presentations, and be done by Sunday.
Under this stupidly optimistic delusion, I spent this week thinking "Sunday. I'll be done on Sunday. Printing it off on Sunday. Delivering to profs. on Sunday. Sunday." However, when my prof. and I met Thursday, she had not finished reading my paper, (still hasn't), but informs me that the methodology section of my paper didn't need to be included in the final paper, it is just for the proposal. Oh yeah, and I'm supposed to have a conclusion section where I talk about what I learned, what my educational and professional goals are, how I proposed to deliver the project, how and why I selected the topic, etc. etc. And I'm sitting there trying not to chew a hole through the inside of my cheek or grab her and scream into her face THEN WHY THE FUCK IS THIS THE FIRST I'M HEARING ABOUT THIS!!!!
Anyhoo, she decides that I have enough more to do and/or change that she wants to meet me again next Thursday, which means that I won't be done on Sunday. And the other committee members won't be getting the final projects two weeks ahead of time (which my prof. said she'll talk to them about, but again, this is the woman who didn't respond to my e-mails for the first month of the term.) So if she wants me to make any more revisions after next Thursday, even if I pull a SERIOUS late night, I can't see being able to get it finished before 5 p. m. Friday, and I don't think the other committee members will check their office mailboxes over the weekend, so essentially they wouldn't get my stuff until Monday - two DAYS before my oral defense, rather than the two WEEKS required by the guidelines.
And that's what's up with me.
March 23rd, 2009
For about the last year, I have been eating a Weight Watchers Berries and Cream muffin almost every morning for breakfast. I realized that they would sell out quicker than some of the other flavors, so I would buy four or five boxes at a time and freeze them. Yes, I've tried the other flavors. I don't like them. I like the Berries and Cream ones. The evil sons of bitches who created these addictive baked treats have now discontinued them. I am devistated. I have been searching for an alternate breakfast food, but none of them are doing it for me. I like grape nuts quite a bit, but I never get up early enough to eat cereal, so I need something I can throw in my bag and take to work. All the stuff I got to try is crappy. The Berries and Cream muffins are irreplaceable. Woe is me.
March 8th, 2009
It was 70 degrees on Thursday. It is snowing.