Well, Hello There, Old Friend!

I had to switch back to the old theme (probably only temporarily) because turns out, I’m a terrible computer hacker. I can’t for the life of me figure out how to put “previous post” and “next post” buttons on that new, stupid theme. Why would a blog theme not come with that feature installed?! Stupid theme.

But! Things I’ve learned by attempting to be a computer hacker:

  • Using google and youtube, you can learn nearly everything ever from everywhere. (Except how to get your Previous/Next Post plug-in to work.)

OK, that’s just one thing. But it was a big thing. I did way more than I thought I could. And if I knew WHERE THE HELL to paste the code that the trouble-shooting sites tell me to paste, I think I could be total web ninja.

Ask the AB: Van’s Gluten-Free Frozen Waffles

Let me be clear. I review food (“DELICIOUS!”) like I review art (“PRETTY!”). Regarding yesterday’s review, my friend/web ninja was like, “OK, everything you said in the second video needed to be in the first 30 seconds of the first video.” And he gave me a bunch of suggestions about who to watch and emulate. I’m gonna get on that.

Probably.

At some point.

Can’t I just say, “It’s YUMMY! You should BUY it and EAT it!”? Like I do here?

 

New Feature: Video Reviews!

You asked the Avid Bruxist! (No, you didn’t!) Here’s your first review: Mellow Mushroom Gluten-Free Pizza

For my video debut, I probably should’ve showered, or put on some make-up, or closed the window so you wouldn’t hear the traffic, but Redford makes an awesome cameo (of sorts) in this one, so I just had to post it.

I forgot one thing:

I not only have a blog; I have a vlog. I’m a vlogger. I vlog.

Whoa! New Theme!

This is a test post.

I’ve spent the last couple days downloading and previewing themes and installing plug-ins. I researched and learned how to embed video content. I also manually entered my UA code to update Google Analytics. WHAT??? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.

Yes, I’m an accidental computer hacker now.

Sort of.

My profile picture is not showing up, even though I tried some of the troubleshooting techniques mentioned on various internet technology geek sites.

Come on, my geek people. Help a lady out.

(And in case you’re confused, the comments button is that speech bubble high and to the right. Go ahead, tell me what you think.)

Now It Seems Your Dancin’ Feet Are Always on My Couch

I’ma need you to do something for me.

Wait, let me back up.

I think I’m done teaching fourth grade.

Nine years ago, when I got into the New York City Teaching Fellows program, I intended to teach high school. But I was told I needed a Bachelor’s in my subject area, and I really didn’t want to prod a bunch of adolescents into fulfilling their foreign language requirement. Ándale, muchacho! What I really wanted to do was teach theatre, and I cursed myself for not following my bliss at UNC. My options were limited. There was huge push for us to go into Special Education or English as a Second Language…No phanx. The next highest on the most-likely-to-find-a-job list was elementary.

Now I definitely wouldn’t trade my nine years in third and fourth grades. I’ve learned so much about teaching and learning disabilities and autism and compassion and patience. Moreover, I’ve met some of the world’s dopest people doing it. But I think I’m done.

And in North Carolina, as far as I can tell, you don’t need an undergraduate degree in your subject area to teach high school. You just have to take a certifying exam called the Praxis II. I took this exam for elementary when I was planning to move down here because it was required for my NC certification. Even though I had received a Master of Science in Elementary Education—with a 4.0 and an A+ on my thesis—and taken New York’s certifying exams. Shit, how ’bout some reciprocity, Tar Heel State?!

Anyway.

High school drama teacher jobs are damn near impossible to come by since there’s maybe one at each school, and I’ve realized that I think I’d enjoy teaching English nearly as much.

So! I’m going to take the content knowledge and pedagogy exams for English Language, Literature and Composition, on July 30.

Here’s where you come in.

Wait, let me back up.

In elementary grades, one of the many things we do is help kids find their Just-Right Reading Level. That is, not too easy so they get bored, and not too hard so they get frustrated. Just Right so they learn and grow. Aw.

Well, I don’t know about you, but when I was in high school, we were tracked. Oh-five level classes were for the smarty-pantses, 04 for the kids who did pretty well, 03 the average ones. (No one talked about 02, or 01—you just heard mumblings now and again about remedial classes. They were held in the dungeon or something.)

My older sister and brother were tracked into 05 classes, as was I, but I’m not entirely sure I had an 05 mind. A whole lot of the stuff we read in 05 English was above my Just Right Reading Level.

I resolved this issue by doing a number of things:

  1. Buying the Cliffs Notes.
  2. Having my brother read and summarize it.
  3. Not reading it.

OK, NOW here’s where you come in.

At least four days a week, I write on this blog, which I admit I love doing, but it takes work. If you come here to read, it’s because I, in some way, keep your interest. Maybe I entertain you; perhaps I just push your buttons. Whatever. I serve a purpose. But WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR ME LATELY?

I have three months to read everything I should have read in high school and everything y’all probably did read in high school. So I expect a report of no more than 500 words in the comments from EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU FUCKERS. You may choose your piece of literature, but your report should include a brief synopsis, important themes, literary devices, and historical context. Extra points will be given for information about literary movements, such as New England Puritanism, Naturalism, or Transcendentalism. Or if you write your report as a rap (Dan M).

Go.

Signed,

Ms. Jackson, if you’re nasty

Buy a Honda. And Never Sell It.

In January, I replaced all the belts and hoses and whatnot in my Subaru (to the tune of $1,200), and now it won’t pass inspection. Why? The check-engine light is on. Amongst others, the catalytic converter code pops up on the computer, but whoa, that’s a thousand bucks. My mechanic says the spark plugs blah blah misfiring and the spark plug wires blah, and that could be what’s setting off the alarm, so “Cross your fingers that, when that’s fixed, the cat con code will disappear as well.”

I trudge around Chapel Hill for six and a half hours while they replace that stuff.

$816.

He says, “OK, it needs about seventy miles to reset. If the light doesn’t come on in seventy miles, you’re good to go. Come back and we’ll reinspect it.”

So I drive seventy miles. No light. Whew!

Eight miles later, stupid fucking light comes on.

I’m trying to keep this in perspective. Dug told me, when we first met, that his brother had cystic fibrosis and had been in the hospital for months waiting for a lung transplant. He had actually had one already a couple years ago, which seemed to be doing well, for about a year. Can you imagine? Thinking, “Hey, I’ve got working lungs!” for a year. Jesus, what a disappointment when they go on the fritz.

So this is just a car. It’s just a car. It’s just money.

Never should’ve sold my Civic.

(Maybe the problem is that I don't have flames. See, Margo's has flames. Mine, no flames.)

I’m Taking Away Something a Little Different from Your PSA

It’s amazing how much cleaning I can get done when I’m having last-minute company. In half an hour, I tidied the desk, wiped down the kitchen, cleaned the bathroom, took out the recycling, and swept and skated on Clorox wipes. Even changed the sheets! Rowr.

Just kidding.

Not about the sheets. About the getting some.

There’s a billboard on 85 that says, Every 28 minutes, an NC teen gets pregnant. Every time I drive by it, I think, “Man, those teens are getting so much more action than I am.”

I Have Special Skin

Very special skin. It makes me want to kick Mother Nature in the nuts.

As I’ve mentioned, in my teen years, I took meds and smeared creams all over my face. And it helped. Some.

It wasn’t only break-outs, though. Just generally ickiness. Remember those Saturday Night Live “Delta Delta Delta” sketches? In one, the sorority sisters meet a new rushee, and after she leaves, the girls are talking shit about her. Pretty sure it’s Roseanne Barr who says, “Could her pores have been any bigger?” I can’t tell you how aware of my gigantic pores I became in that moment.

My skin got better as I got older. Never beautiful. But tolerable. Zits, yes, but persistent acne? No. Painful blemishes, yes, but eh, I could deal. Especially if it meant not giving up sugar, which those bastards Joe and Terry Graedon told me to do.

Then a few months ago, I started breaking out worse than ever. Like, pimples in the crease of my neck. On my jawline. On that bone behind my ears? On my eyelidsareyoufuckingkiddingme?

I thought, Maybe it’s my face wash, so I tried different ones. No change. Detergent? Went back to Arm & Hammer. No dice. My shampoo or conditioner? Nope.

I finally asked Facebook for dermatologist recommendations. As soon as I booked an appointment with one, I got to thinking. What had I been doing for the last few months that was different from before?

Well, I had been taking fish oil capsules…? Googled ‘fish oil and acne’, and while a lot of the reviews said fish oil could help get rid of acne, a few people said it made things worse.

I stopped taking fish oil, and my skin indeed started looking better.

I decided to keep my appointment to see the dermatologist anyway because my skin was never perfect, and maybe this could help.

Let me ask you, how long after your appointment do you consider it reasonable to be seen by a doctor? Because 20 minutes, I can tolerate, but 45 minutes makes me want to kick somebody in the nuts.

Moreover, the doc started telling me what we were going to do before she even looked at my skin, and then only for—seriously—less than a second. Two topical prescription medications. $25 for one, $30 the other. Copay: $60.

I’m telling you, if I don’t look like Cate Blanchett after this, somebody’s nuts are getting kicked.