Introducing Señorita Peaches...for reals

I haven't written much about my job search for two reasons: 1) It was totally depressing and 2) I didn't want to jinx any positive vibes.  However, last week was one hell of a week for your Señorita.

On Monday, I was offered a contract at a charter school.  If you are as lazy as I'm am, I'll go ahead and tell you that a charter school is a public school (funded completely or mostly by taxes) that literally writes its own rules.  It is not subject to many of the state laws on education and doesn't have to meet the same standards.  There are good- even necessary- charter schools.  They exist.  But, at least in my view, for the most part they are doing a disservice to students and tax-paying citizens alike.

My contract was not at one of the good charter schools.  It came with 6 personal/sick days, 60% paid medical insurance, a mandatory nine-hour workday, a shared classroom, and traveling between two different schools.  For $30K.

Gulp.

I asked for some time "to crunch some numbers," and waited and waited and waited for more schools to get back to me.  But they didn't.  I called and was told positions were filled, or I was ignored completely.  I got desperate.

On Thursday, as my Friday deadline quickly approached, I contacted my local City Schools...again.  I first interviewed with them in March and have called and emailed at least eight times since, but I knew if I didn't call nothing would happen.  Better to call and be told to never call back than have to seriously consider taking this crappy job without exploring all of my options.

I was told there were two available Spanish positions, both at middle schools, and that my information would be "forwarded to the principals."  I was brushed off, and I had to really begin to consider signing with the charter.

Then Friday came.  On Friday, the HR director called me and said,

"Honey, I got with the principal of one of those middle schools.

He told me if I liked you to go ahead and hire you, honey.

So I'm calling to ask you if you want the job."

Do I want the job?

DO I WANT THE JOB??

And today I met my principal, toured my school, and nearly cried in my classroom.  Afterwards, I signed a contract.  I have my own classroom (#108), a mandatory seven-hour workday, a mentor program for first year teachers, $60/month for medical and dental, free vision, and $42,333.

Much improved.  My orientation is August 16- the same day as Mr. Peaches's law school orientation.  Perfection.

Woot Woot!

My state Board of Education updated this on their website today.

I'm a teacher!

Good ahead...click on it.  Take a look.

:)

Love.Summer.

What else needs to be said?

My Possessed Dog

Okay, I know that I'm posting a video of my dog sleeping, and I'll understand if you stop visiting my blog, Dear Reader.  First though, pay special attention around the 40-second mark.

My dog is freaking adorable.

Meet Macaroon

I'm a Mac.

When I was in the sixth grade, I learned what a Mac was.  I learned from a friend who loathed Microsoft, and he- as so many Mac users do- went on and on and on about it.  I mostly had no idea what he was talking about and spent my time with him nodding my head. 

Fast forward seven years to my first year at college.  That friend decided to apply for a Genius job at the Apple store.  The Geniuses are the ones who sit behind their very own counter at the back of the store and fix everything- computers, ipods, and now ipads and iphones.  They get trained in California at Apple Headquarters.  I told him that if he was successful at getting that competitive job, I would buy myself an Apple computer and make the switch.  I thought it was a safe bet from my end- yeah he loved Apple, but that's not enough to get a job fixing them, right?  Wrong.

I bought an Apple and I was hooked.  In 2006, when I ran over my iBook WITH MY CAR (it still turned on) Apple replaced it.  Like, gratis (hence, her name- FreeMac).  They have solved all of my computer-related problems with the greatest of ease, and beyond my expectations.    

Dear Reader, meet Macaroon.

I stepped on her last week and this is the view I am constantly living with, trying to see if I'm spelling words correctly, or reading them right.  I have to move the browser window around to make sure I can see a picture.  It was a pretty sad day.

Well, it was sad until today when the insurance company told me they would send me a check for $1240 to "get her fixed."  

Since Mr. Peaches has been eyeing a MacBook Pro (to be named Big Mac) and I have been wanting a desktop (to be called Macaroni?  Who knows?) I think things are looking up for this little Mac Family.  I'll have Macaroon fixed by a friend for <$100 and splurge on the rest in August.

We'll have one TV and five computers for two people (but one of the computers doesn't work).  Makes sense, right?  At least we still only have two cars (mine's called Cathy).

April, May, and June Flies

This is a "Mayfly."

Mayflies are freaking disgusting an important part of the food chain.  They are called Mayflies because they typically come around every May and die off before June.  However, where Mr. Peaches and I lived, these stupid bugs showed up without an invitation in APRIL and refused to leave until the middle of June.  This is despite their lifespan, which depending on the specific species, lasts anywhere from 30 minutes to one day.

I discovered Mayflies after Mr. Peaches and I had already lived on the shores of a lake for nearly eight months.  Our first summer there, they began to take over all of the outer walls of our house, making me honestly think- for the first time in my life- we were nearing The End Times.  Our neighbors, natives to the city, had to talk me down from purchasing and consuming The Koran, Bible, Talmud, and all fortune cookies in a twenty-mile radius.  

This is the ceiling of our front porch.

We left the house- who knows why- after the neighbor explained that the bug infestation was a perfectly normal, annual part of life.  We only drove on the highway a few miles before we noticed huge black clouds of these teeny tiny bugs, swarming around.  The Wiki page reports that swarms have even been "recorded on doppler weather radar along the shores of Lake Erie."  Dopplar radar.  THE BUGS WERE SEEN ON WEATHER RADAR.

While it is true I was somewhat sad to leave our last apartment, one thing I was not sad to leave a few weeks ago was the Mayflies.  Although we only moved a few hours away, they cannot be seen in our new city.  Phew!

Now If I Could Only Get My Hands on Huckleberry Pie

Tuesday was a very full day for Mr. Peaches and me.

First, we packed a lunch and headed out to a nearby lake and swam for awhile (even though it was cold).  A few hours later we returned and decided to run out to a farm and pick our own strawberries.  Then, we cooked a delicious dinner on our new grill and I made this:

I should have followed my instincts and shared some with my neighbors, because we are still munching on this thing days later.  Although, it's pretty delicious so we don't mind so much.

Becoming Us

Mr. Peaches and I moved into our first apartment together after we had been dating only eight or so months.  Before that, we had lived in entirely different states, and there was nearly a three-hour drive between our two apartments.

We met at work, you see, a place so vast it allowed you to live in any one of three adjoining states and commute to attend the occasional meeting or event- where we eventually saw one another for the first time.  We quickly became close friends, and although we had only been dating a short while, Mr. Peaches and I had known each other for more than two years.

When Mr. Peaches's job, a job I had since quit, required that he move several hours away to a city neither of us had ever wanted to live, we decided to do it together.  I would return to school to become a Spanish teacher and he would work.  We had just a few days to find an apartment and make it all happen.

We made lists and searched all over our new city for a place in our budget that met our demands: washer/dryer hookups, dishwasher, able to walk to "stuff," and felt like home.  But we couldn't find all of those things in one little apartment. 

Before we looked at the apartment we would eventually choose, we decided to have dinner at one of the nearby tourist attractions.  As we enjoyed our meal, the landlord called and texted more than four or five times to make sure we were still coming and wouldn't be late.

It's true, Dear Reader, that I have many flaws: I am impatient and easily frustrated; I worry too much about stupid things and not enough about important things; I don't always appreciate the world around me; I am so.freaking.clumsy.  But I am very prompt and I do not like to be pushed around.

We would look at the apartment, but by the time we left the restaurant we had already decided- out loud- that we would under no circumstances take the place, on account of the absolute ridiculousness and unprofessionalism of the landlord. 

Except when he opened the front door we saw this:

I understand it isn't much in a photo, and to be honest maybe it wasn't that much in reality, either; but when Mr. Peaches and I saw this huge living room for the first time it took our breath away.  We looked at each other with eyes that said...well, you can figure out what they said.  "Does that fireplace work?" I asked, concerned the landlord might say yes.  He turned it on.  My heart melted.

It got worse.  The apartment had a walk-in closet, approximately 4'x6', which I eventually organized to look like this:

Beyond that, the place had a ginormous kitchen and a large bathroom and bedroom.  Most importantly, it felt like home.

Even though we had initially decided against it, Mr. Peaches and I could not fight the urge to live in that apartment and we signed a lease the next day.  Neither of us had packed a box, and in 36 very short hours, we packed up his apartment, my own, unpacked into the new place, and I was sitting in a classroom listening to a professor lecture.  Not something I would recommend.

We did love our apartment, though.  The following summer, we even built a huge firepit in our backyard- paid for by the landlord.  

We were right about that guy, however.  Our landlord was crazy.  The apartment and land were not at all maintained, and promises he made to us upon signing the lease had not been kept.  We later learned that he is a sex offender, and this past November he was out of town on a secret "project" for six months.  I say secret because he didn't even tell us he wouldn't be available.  Oh yeah, and the house was up for foreclosure the entire time we lived there, though we didn't know that until we were a year into the mess.  In fact, on our last day there our neighbors told us the house is going up for auction on June 7.

In addition to having problems with the landlord, we also had problems with the area in which we lived.  Our grill was stolen, as was my bicycle.  Our neighbor's part of the house was broken into.  The place never got any direct sunlight, and was very dark, especially in the winter.  The walls were very thin- I once heard my upstairs neighbor blow his nose.  We lived next door to The Dueling 24-hour Bodegas, trashy little convenience stores that sell alcohol and attract all kinds.  We heard gunshots regularly and I called the cops on more than one occasion.

But that apartment is where our relationship took flight.  Where we experienced some rocky times, including crippling poverty.  Where Mr. Holden got to experience a life absent of transience and hotel stays (thanks to that job I was talking about, not my hooking).  Where my two fellas became friends.  Where we became a family.

Last week we went to clean up the place so we could get our entire security deposit back.  When it was all said and done, we spent time talking about our favorite memories there, the difficult times, and I cried as we danced in the living room.  And when Mr. Peaches and I looked into that apartment for the very last time it still took our breath away.