A Monday is Just the Start of the Week

Most people do not like Mondays. I, personally, prefer Fridays, because I do not have to work the next day.

Here are some interesting facts about Mondays:

• According to suicide statistics, MONDAYS are the favored day for self-destruction.
• It is named for “Moon Day” (Germanic for “day of the moon”)
• There will be 52 Mondays in 2009
• It has been theorized that Monday has often been called a “blue” day because it was the usual washing day (prior to the advent of the washing machine) and blue dye was frequently used to prevent clothes from yellowing
• It could also be because its the first day of the work week and workers must endure the week before their next break (weekend)
• Many cultures see Monday as an unlucky day (even a day when people become insane); may be associated with the moon
• The Latin word for moon (luna) is also in our language to designate lunacy
• There are several holidays that are traditionally held on Monday: Labor Day, Memorial Day, President’s Day, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, Columbus Day, and Veteran’s Day

…..

This weekend, I wasn’t feeling very well.  I was snarky, snorky, and a little “moody.”

First of all, the drama with #1 son is just neverending, bag full of shit.  Now, he’s deciding to go into culinary arts. That’s THREE majors in a month.  *sighs*  I did put my foot down with school and told him he’d have to goto community college for a year or two.  For the better part of a month, I swear this child has been punishing me for doing that.  (Oh well)  However, the past week or two, he’s decided to become a chef.  *sighs*  Not that he can’t cook, because he can.  However, I wonder if his pallat will prevent him from being a GOOD chef.  (“Here, taste this,” I’d say to him, “What do you taste?”  After much thought, he’d say something like, “It’s fine, good.  Yup. Good.”)

And, for the past week or two, I’ve been playing secretary to the number of culinary schools that have been calling looking for him.  “I’m sorry, but [#1 son] is not here at the moment, may I take a message?”

I want him to succeed.  I do.  What I’m really REALLY tired of (and I mean exhausting-tired) is his constant “shift” from “YEY, COMMUNITY COLLEGE” to “I need to get OUT of here… which school can I go to that’s not in New Jersey” to “I need to be across the country and as far away as possible from all of you.”

However, he’s definitely not mature enough to go out on his own… across country or down the road.

So, while trying to help him set up a generic schedule to take to the advisory meeting in two weeks, I happened upon the major “Culinary Arts–AAS” on the website. 

Are..

You…

KIDDING…

ME???

All this time there’s been a culinary major AT this community college and HE didn’t look for it?  He started to stammer and complain that it wasn’t the same thing UNTIL he cross-compared the coursework here to the culinary school there.  BINGO!  We have a match.

So, he’s switched (or will be after he gets home) from Criminal Justice to Fine Arts to Culinary Arts.

(If I survive the next few months it’ll be a fucking miracle.)

Now, once we get him settled into a schedule, *I* get to call Tin Man and his wife and explain that he changed his mind, but its something he likes to do.  We’ll see how receptive they’ll be to paying for him to goto community college for cooking.  Ha!

Well, it IS a trade, yes?  And, some people can make money at it, right?  What my son doesn’t seem to realize is that it takes YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARS to rise up the ranks and make money.  I told him, jokingly, of course, that he better perfect the various ways to cut a carrot, because that’s what he’ll be doing at first.

He didn’t laugh.

But, he did make killer steak sammiches on Saturday.  And, has been TRYING to show me that he’s responsible (this’ll last maybe a week or two) by washing dishes without being asked, cleaning off countertops, and doing ALL types of laundry (not just his) this past weekend.

He hasn’t gone to see SD in about 2 weekends.  Last weekend, they wanted him to scoop deer shit from their yard and pick up sticks.  He has HORRIFIC outdoor allergies.  I guess they didn’t pay attention to me when I told them he can’t do yardwork, but would help out inside.  This past weekend, he didn’t want to go because SD wanted him to clean out their old condo for the new renters.

My opinion? He doesn’t LIVE there (maybe 3 nights a month), so why can’t THEY pick up their OWN deer shit, sticks, and clean out the condo that they told us and my son that they sold 3 years ago. 

What should he do there?  Clean his room.  Do his laundry.  Wash dishes and clean up after himself. 

What do they want him to do there?  Everything that SD doesn’t want to do himself, which pretty much is everything.

I don’t believe its fair for them to expect him to do these type chores when he doesn’t live there.  Hell, he doesn’t pick up deer shit here or mow the lawn because I know he’ll be snarking and moaning for days.  So, he gets to clean the bathroom (one day he’ll get better at this), dishes, he even vacuumed this weekend for me.  There are PLENTY of things he can help with, but as far as SD’s house, they shouldn’t require him to do everything.

I haven’t heard from anyone over there about why my son hasn’t visited.  I prayed for YEARS for the time when I would have my son home on the weekends.  Now, I feel guilty for him being home two weekends in a row.  He doesn’t want to get dumped on.  I get that.  But, I get dumped on all of the time and no one bats an eye.

…

One more email from a student whining about their paper, and I will literally scream.

“Professor Herstory, why is the other class turning their papers in two weeks after ours are due?”

“Because, I said so.”

“That’s no fair.”

“Life’s not fair.”

…

Equally as annoying are the emails that refer to their grades;

“Profeser, why am I faling?”

“Re-read that question and you will have your answer.”

“Miss, I am not shure why I’m not doing well, cuz I show up and all.”

“Do you turn in your assignments? Pass your tests?”

“What work are you talking about?”

“Get a tutor.”

….

I did sign up for American and European for next semester.  I think now that I’ll be a 3rd semester teacher there, that I have more seniority than those who came on board after me.  I need to transition away from Western Civ I.  It’s giving me a headache.

…

I spoke to Prof. Hot on the phone last week (I haven’t posted in a few, so I’m not sure if I mentioned this or not)… he said that J-boy (remember him from grad school) has finished his coursework for his PhD and has put his application in the till for next semester.  That means, the Old Boys’ Club is back together and once again, Little Miss Herstory will be excluded from the games because she has boobies.

“How many classes did you pick up at the school you’re at for the fall?” His concern is a blanket for the happy dance. IF I am unable to be available for the fall, his boy will slide right in.

“Two, but I’m trying to get into other schools as well,” I said.  Hell.  I’m not afraid of these boys.  I can find work, albeit for peasant wages.  And, I’ll probably have to sell my house to avoid foreclosure.  I can’t pay my bills and my work load for these mindless oafs is more than teaching fulltime, but HEY… at least I have something, right?

“That’s GREAT,” his enthusiasm almost peaked with fireworks and dancing elves, “uh but…”

“Ok, so it’s great to hear from you, I have work to get finished, have a good weekend,” I said, cutting him off.

Ok, so I’m not a PhD.  I am not a full-time professor on tenure track.  I more likely than not will never get my PhD, be a tenure-track professor, and have a permanent job with a desk of my own.  Is there something wrong with not being any of those things?

Apparently there is.  The PhD club is a snooty tooty club filled with other PhDs.  They sit around, smoking cuban cigars while sipping the finest of brandies.  And, they talk about what a PAIN in the ass those MA’s are. 

Yes, I am a pain in the ass.  I am determined.  I am bull-headed and stubborn.  I am a fighter even when I don’t WANT to fight.  And, I have just a lowly masters degree.  Get over it, geez.

….

Last night, my husband and I were talking (well, I was mostly talking) about moving.  I want to move before we HAVE to move.  I remember saying this two years ago when we were almost thinking about moving to either Arizona or North Carolina.  Neither excited us.  Now we’re talking about Colorado or Nevada.  I want OUT of NJ before the governor increases our property taxes (we’re over $10 k a year now), state income taxes, and anything else he can manage to increase until we pop.

I don’t want to POP.  I want to live happily and be relatively comfortable. I’m not asking to be rich (though that would be REALLY nice), but I’m asking to just be able to afford to pay my bills ALL of the time, not just in spurts.

I do not want to lose my house to foreclosure.  I don’t want it to sit dormant and turn into a pile of shit while people try to find the best deal in town.  I want to sell my house to people who want it and, most importantly, can afford it.  I want to find a place where there are a lot of kids for my sons to play with… parks on THIS side of the highway… good schools… and work. 

So, what I need to do (aside from working on lessons, which is what I should be doing now), is find a job.

What do I want?
To enjoy my job.
To enjoy who I work with.
To be appreciated for my work.
To be able to go home at night and have NOTHING to do but be with my family and NO work on the weekends.

Oh, yeah, and benefits.  I need to not pay $2,000/month for HMblOw.

I know, I know… a pipe dream.  But, at least its something to start with…

…

Old entries about Jboy, Mgirl and the crew from grad school.  In case you don’t remember:

http://her-story.diaryland.com/051202_6.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/051107_99.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/051111_24.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/051116_20.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/051119_66.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/060108_18.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/060215_2.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/060216_45.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/060301_74.html
http://her-story.diaryland.com/060412_2.html

Oh, shit, there’s a lot of these…I didn’t realize how often I bitched about the pretentious little bitch.  HA!