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.

The Stairway to Hell

This was my grandmother's loveseat.
(Sorry it's so blurry- I think my camera is on the fritz and I'm too lazy to go take another picture.)

Every year when I was growing up, we would make the thirteen-hour trek to the house where my father spent his childhood.  I remember being a little girl who fit comfortably on this ridiculous print, falling asleep listening to my grandparents' southern drawl.


My father's father passed when I just a little kid and in 2006, when the fortune he left had dwindled to a few pennies- mostly thanks to outrageous nursing home fees- my father's family decided to sell their childhood home. 


When I arrived to help organize and pick through the furnishings, I only wanted two things: a vintage letter holder and the 60's loveseat.  I have since carried this loveseat around from apartment to apartment and from city to city five different times.


Besides the sentimental value and orangey-cock pattern (can you believe "loveseat" is considered incorrectly spelled by my blog server, yet "orangey-cock" is perfectly acceptable?), the loveseat is also made with the craftsmanship that only old furniture possesses.  Actually, now that I'm looking at it this way, it looks more like a turkey.  Discuss.


Anyway, the couch is solid wood and very heavy, and it has never been a problem in all of my transience.  Until it encountered my new stairs.

You see, my new stairs are U-shaped, with a landing in the middle.  Here, on the left, is the view up from that landing.  (Notice all the drywall?  Yeah, that's where this going.)  And on your right is the view down.  I hit my head on that overhang last week and I have what I assume is a permanent dent.

These stairs have been the bane of my existence since we moved in about ten days ago.  Thursday, the day we loaded up the truck and drove 3 hours to our new home, Mr. Peaches and I decided to unload a few essentials- and what's more essential when you're exhausted than a bed?


It took us an hour, a lot of cussing, some name calling, and several large holes in the hours old apartment to get our full-sized box frame up those stairs.


On Friday we unloaded the rest of the truck, including Mr. Peaches's desk and the loveseat, both of which had to somehow make their way upstairs to the study.  First was the desk, which I didn't want to bring to our new home in the first place, and reiterated probably 37 times during its trip up the stairs.  Then came the loveseat.


After much struggling, we eventually moved the loveseat up to the landing and reveled in finally being halfway there.  Except we weren't.  We could not get the loveseat up the rest of the stairs.  After ten minutes of huffing and puffing and pushing and screaming, I had a temper tantrum.  A string of profanity flew out of my mouth and I punched and kicked my grandmother's poor old loveseat several times.  Then I left Mr. Peaches on the other side of that loveseat and walked away.


We left the loveseat there for many, many hours.  When the team of four DirecTV men who had been digging in our backyard to install a stupid service I do not want, they asked to use the bathroom, one by one.  And one by one I explained to them that they would have to duck and push their way through the loveseat in order to reach it.  And one by one they did.


I was not ashamed.  I hated that loveseat, and I hated our new apartment.  If it were up to me, I would have left it there as long as we lived here.  I would have added some colored lights around Christmas.  But it wasn't really up to me.

Eventually, Mr. Peaches, my super smart cousin, and I got the loveseat up those last three stairs.  But did you notice the mirror placed in the landing, Dear Reader?  That mirror is covering up a treasure trove of dents, scratches, and sheet rock.


Also, did you know there was a difference between spackle and caulk?  I learned that this week.  I wish I had learned it before filling all of the holes in my last apartment with caulk, but win some, lose some.

Summer 10

I just had to share this gloriousness with you, Dear Reader.

It's going to be a good summer.

ETS, you are not my enemy after all

I know I have only been gone for four days, but I have so much to say!  What's worse is that I am enjoying my new apartment and my time with Mr. Peaches and Mr. Holden that I have no interest in writing anything at all.

First and foremost, I PASSED the Spanish Praxis.  I didn't do well, per say- my score certainly wasn't stellar, but I did PASS and that is the only important thing.

However, my score on the second Praxis test- the Principles of Teaching and Learning- was stellar.  It was so stellar that I received professional recognition for my score (ETS RoE), which might help me in the job hunt.  (I doubt I need to point out, however, that my ability to take a test well has little to do with my ability to be a successful teacher, and I believe there are all kinds of things wrong with standardized tests.)


So, I finished all of my coursework (thanks to my waived class), passed the two mandatory tests that I need to take, and tomorrow I will apply for my teaching license.  And I will get it.  There are no roadblocks.  My state believes that I am mature and competent enough to care for students, from K-12.

PULL YOUR KIDS OUT OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS NOW, DEAR READER!


Just kidding.  Sort of.

A Riddle

Dear Reader,

How do you get a normally happy couple to nearly break up?

Get them to move to another city together.

I miss you, Dear Reader.  Moving is hard.

Mr. Peaches's World

Mr. Peaches, until now, has been living in the shadows of my waived course.  The news that I have finished school was entirely unexpected and due to this fact my "graduation" has been celebrated and doted over by me, Mr. Peaches, and my entire family.

However, Mr. Peaches graduated this past weekend as well, and this was an hito that he never thought he would accomplish.  He started college at a University at the tender age of 19, after taking one year off.  He continued there for three years until he had to leave due to some difficult family circumstances and an interesting job opportunity.  When he finished the job and got through the hard family stuff, he got a job that paid well and didn't require a degree, and that is where we met.  (At this point in the story, Mr. Peaches is actually much smarter than I am because we were paid the same amount of money and I owed twice as much in student loans.)

Until it got to the point that Mr. Peaches couldn't stand working at that job anymore and he decided to go back to school.

Since then, Mr. Peaches has worked extra hard to finish in three semesters.  He worked two, sometimes three jobs at a time, while managing his schoolwork and the housework and dealing with me (obviously no easy task).  He decided that he will become a lawyer and has done everything in his power to make it happen, all while juggling the above responsibilities.  Now he starts law school at a top-ranked University in three months.

There was a time in his life that Mr. Peaches did not think he would ever have a college degree.  Now he has one and is on the fast-track to much more.  You've done well, Mr. Peaches.

¡Felicidades!

The Cat's Meow, I Say!

When I saw that The University was calling me, I ran like a speeding bullet calmly left the classroom in which I was sitting to someplace more private (i.e. without students).  The closest place happened to be a stairwell whose wall is entirely made up of windows, and has an unobstructed view of the sun the entire day.  It is hot in there.  I immediately started sweating, but who can tell if was from the heat or the anxiety?

I knew it was Dr. Chair, and since he was five days late in calling me, I also knew I had a fight on my hands.  I had prepared myself mentally for the fight, waiting with questions such as, "Which objectives did you and Professor Nightmare feel I did not meet?" and "Why didn't you confront me about that objective during our meeting, when I could have produced an artifact proving that I have already met it?"

Following this confrontation- which I would ultimately lose- would come tears and questions like, "Is there any way we can work out something else?  Maybe I could do an independent study from my new city to strengthen the weakness you feel I have?"  HAVE MERCY, OLD MAN!  PUH-LEASE!

But before I could get any of that out, he said (without apologizing for being 4 days late, mind you), "I have some good news and some bad news, which would you like first?"

Gulp.I know what the bad news is already, what can the good news be?  Maybe he already has decided to let me write a paper instead!  Well, okay, that's not the end of the world.  I wonder how long he wants it to be- 12 pages?  Twelve pages seems fair.  I bet it's on the laws regarding religion, I was a little weak on that.  

Wait, did he ask me a question?

"Bad news, I'll take the bad news," I said after what must have been an awkward pause.

"The bad news is we lost your petition. Blah blah Education Department blah blah blah moving blah lost in the shuffle blah blah."

They lost my petition?  Wait, THAT'S the "bad news"?  I have to drop off another petition?  Wait, then what is the good news?  Oh my god, what is the GOOD NEWS?  There is no way.  I know he did not waive my course for the "first time in ten years- my entire career here at The University."  Is he still talking?  Focus, Ms. Peaches, focus!

"The good news is, I am approving your petition to waive the course."

I must have sounded like I was in love with man (and at that moment, I probably was) because, Dear Reader, I swooned.  I said, in the swooniest of all swoony voices, "You areeee?"

He continued by saying that he and Professor Nightmare (who shall now be named Professor Cat's Meow) both agreed to waive it because I impressed them so much at the meeting.  They didn't see my shaking hands!  I impressed them!  I impressed the man who laughed at me when I told him I wanted to graduate in May.

And now I will.

 I didn't hear the rest of his compliments because I was too busy jumping up and down like a fat kid on a trampoline- and sweating just as much- and imagining my much, much brighter future.

To wrap up:
I have officially finished my Teaching Certificate and Spanish Degree at The University.  Monday I will apply for "graduation" even though the ceremony was yesterday.

I will save (actually, Mama & Papa Peaches will save- bless their hearts) the $1024 cost of the course.  I will save the $300 in gas it would have cost for me to drive 5 hours (roundtrip) twice a week for six weeks to attend said course.  I will graduate in May instead of August, giving me a much better chance of finding a job.

Now my biggest worry is that I didn't pass the Praxis and who cares if I didn't?  I can take it again in June if I need to do so.

Overreact? ME?

Last Monday I had an important meeting to waive the very last course I need to finish my teaching certificate.  To prepare for the meeting, I read all three textbooks for the class, dug up tons of old syllabi, and gathered as many "artifacts" I could find that would support my position- particularly evidence found in my own teaching.

I wrote out a script and studied it, the same way I would cram for a final.  I planned out the conversation and prepared as much as humanly possible for it.  I arrived on time.

When I walked into Dr. Chair of the Department's office, Professor Nightmare was also there.  This was a surprise.  I sat down.  Dr. Chair said, "Tell me why I should waive this requirement for the first time in my career here at University."  My hands shook, but my voice was calm, cool, and collected.

Dr. Chair seemed open-minded, but when I left Professor Nightmare did not.  He had a response for nearly everything I said.  I was nervous.  Dr. Chair said he would call me "tomorrow morning" (Tuesday) to tell me his decision.  I felt pretty confident walking out of the meeting, like I couldn't have done, said, or prepared anything better.

Tuesday morning came and went.  At noon, I called him.  I did not leave a voicemail.  Wednesday I called again in the morning- still unwilling to leave a voicemail.  When Wednesday afternoon rolled around, however, I was feeling surly.  I left a nice, deferential message, using phrases like,  "I'm just following up" and "When you get a chance."  Thursday brought the same- one anonymous phone call and one voicemail message.  Each day I was a less optimistic than the day before.

On Friday morning, I was pissed.  I called on my way into school and was much less polite.  I issued a directive, "Call me today."  If he doesn't call, I said to myself, I will have a sit-in on Monday, since I don't have school.  I'll get to his office at nine and I will refuse to leave until he sees me.  I even recruited Mr. Peaches and a professor who has been very good to me.  I would make this an event.  I'll create signs!  I'll bring a bullhorn!  My activism days were coming back!

Three hours later, he called.  (Lucky for him!)

Aren't you dying to know what he said?