Today, I'm grateful for...

• creativity
• the spiritual lessons that come to me via many avenues, including the people I meet every day
  
• cats—not just my own, but all of them, all over the world
• a real Mom, who is so much more interesting in real life than any fictional mother I could read or write about
  
• beautiful springtime flowers—the wisteria, dogwoods, azaleas, cherry trees, Carolina jasmine, daffodils, and many others blooming right now
  
• the abundance of rain we had last week
• books

For what are you grateful today?

Myrtle Mae Monday: Hosted today by Why Architects Drink!

This is Part 2 of the Starchitect Chicken Coops series, and my sister Pixie's blog is once again hosting today's MMM. So head on over to Why Architects Drink and get your daily laughs, and clucks!

Two signs in a week?

I was fresh out of my meds, so I headed over to Walgreens after work to pick up my prescription. On the way out, I saw my neighbor's daughter getting out of her car, and she waved me over. "Kitty, I am SO sorry to hear about Myrtle Mae!"

"Well, thanks," I said. "I really miss her."

"My kids do too," she replied. "Kelton [her 10-year-old son] is always asking me when do I think you're going to get another chicken."

I laughed. "Well, tell him not to worry. I'll get some by the end of the year, I hope, when Mom and I can build a better coop for them."

"Good for you!" She paused. "You know, all the grandkids are asking my mom for those little bright-colored baby chicks for Easter. My sister's youngest said the other day, 'When you get a chicken, you have to name her! I'm gonna name mine Myrtle Mae!"

Student Essay Insanity #57!

I have only a couple bloopers for you this time, but don't worry: next week will find me grading Regents' Exams, and heaven knows I'll have a few good ones for you then.

As usual, the essay prompts are in bold type, and the students' bloopers are in plain type. And as always, they're real essays, written by real students...real(ly) bad(ly). I shit you not.

**********

Many colleges do not allow alcoholic beverages to be served or consumed on campus, not even in restaurants or in faculty clubs. Do you agree or disagree with this rule?
Budweiser, Miller Lite, MGD, and Corona all have a place in the world, but not on the campus of College USA.
[Okay, that's just funny.]

From a Comp II essay comparing two different short stories:
Even though she knows better, she chooses to do so because she does not know any better. ...The protagonist basically forewarns herself.

It's a sign, I tell you. A sign!

It was a quarter 'til 5, and I was just inside the Small Town city limits, driving home from work. "Oh, crap. I still need to go get that package from the Post Office, where I do not live," I thought. Maybe I could make it—I had 15 minutes.

So I made it to the P.O. and stood in line with the other last-minute postal customers. The day had been a ho-hum one, and I was feeling deflated, depressed, and irritated with people. There was a huge sign at the front of the room, in plain sight: TURN OFF ALL CELL PHONES AND PAGERS WHILE CONDUCTING BUSINESS IN THE POST OFFICE. THANK YOU. But of course, half a dozen people were yapping away on their various devices. Goddammit, the sign's right there! Hang up! I said to myself. Three cell phones rang almost at once: "Happy Birthday," then what sounded like a snippet of a Dave Chappelle stand-up routine, and finally a rooster crowing. Jesus, people, I thought. Put it on silent! The first two people in line answered their phones, but the rooster ring sounded twice more.

My irritation subsided a little when it was my turn at the desk. "Hi, need to pick up a package," I said as I handed the clerk the claim slip and my I.D. She nodded and motioned for me to wait just a minute. As she was walking to the back, she saw a man standing at the very back of the long line of customers. "Oh, sir, you don't have to go back to the end of the line! Shirley's coming right up with your packages."

"Oh, all right!" he replied cheerfully, and walked back to the kiosk next to me. "There should be two big packages back there, ma'am."

The clerk returned a minute later with my package, and readied the computer for me to sign for it. Just as she came back up to the desk, Shirley did too, lugging a big package; really, it was three smaller packages taped together. The boxes were a white-and-red plastic material with half-inch holes, and a filmy material covering the inside of the holes. HANDLE WITH CARE! LIVE BIRDS! read the labels. "Okay, sir, let me get the other one now," she said to the man in line.

And from the package came a very loud "COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOOOO!"

So that's where the "ringtone" was coming from. "Chickens!" I exclaimed to the clerk. "Ohh, it sounds like my house!" The man smiled broadly and laughed. "Oh, I hope I can get more chickens soon!" An angry brkbrkbrkbrkbrkbrrrrrrrrrk! came from the package. I could hear Shirley in the back struggling with the other package, and a frantic b'GOOOOOCK! Brkbrkbrkbrkb'GOOOOCK! coming from a room or two away.

I laughed and smiled the rest of the day.

Here's what's been going on.

The end of the semester is nearing, thank heavens, and my students are rushing to get their research papers done in a timely manner. BLEH. But there's still plenty more going on that's been keeping me busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.

• I just presented a paper at Other Division II University (OD2U), the Colonel's alma mater. It got an excellent reception, and might have the potential for a presentation at a nationally-recognized conference such as CCCC.
  
• A certificate in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) would help me and my students tremendously—so I'll be starting on the coursework this summer at D2U.
  
• Three of my favorite colleagues are leaving at the end of Summer Term. FAIL.
  
• For the fall, I'm involved in Freshman Learning Communities with a couple other professors from other departments. This should be very interesting.
  
• I've been invited to be an AP Exam Grader in June.
  
• The Mentor Panel for the Secondary English Ed students is awesome; I'm so heartened to see earnest young people going out into the world with a firm grasp of who they are and how they'll teach.
• Spring's here at last, which means more gardening.
• I have awesome new vintage dress patterns in my stash. MOAR DRESSES!
  

And that's just a partial list.

More interesting posts soon, and with pictures.

Tired, tired, tired.

A lot's been going on for the last few weeks, and I apologize for the lack of decent E&P posts. My sister saved my hide yesterday with her hilarious drawings for Myrtle Mae Monday, which has been the best post this blog has seen in quite a while.

The B-12 shot is kicking in, and so is regular sleep. I'll be back to posting good stuff in a day or two.

Myrtle Mae Monday: Hosted today by Why Architects Drink!

While I was visiting her for spring break, my sister drew up a few sketches of what my new chicken coop might look like were it designed by various so-called "starchitects" (famous "star" architects). Today, Pixie hosts Myrtle Mae Monday over at Why Architects Drink—please do stop by her site and laugh your butt off at outrageous chicken houses!

E&P will return after these messages

Bear with me for a day or two, folks. I'm preparing to go out of town again this weekend to give a presentation at an academic conference, and am working like mad on my PowerPoint and notes. I should be back to posting after a while.

I'z hoam—heer r moar kittehs!

Since I'm now home from a wonderful Spring Break in Denver with my sister, I'm deflated. I'm back home with my boring, pedestrian life and have nothing interesting to say just yet. So while I let it ferment—and get the photos uploaded to my home computer—here are a few pictures of the cats here at the Happy Kitten Cottage.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 3/16/09

Be sure to tune in next week for new chicken coops designed by "starchitects" (cross-posted on Why Architects Drink)!

More conversations with my sister

ME: I have to poot. [drinks from Izze soda, then burps loudly] 
PIXIE: That’s never stopped you before.
ME: No, it hasn’t. [farts loudly]
PIXIE: [sniffs] Hmm, that’s an interesting smell. Fart and fruity burp. 

**********

[after a night out with Pixie's friend Dame Judith]
PIXIE: When you're really, really drunk, does your coochie go numb?
ME: Honey, my coochie never goes numb. 
PIXIE: [snorts with laughter]
ME: Just ask the Colonel.

HAPPY 60th BIRTHDAY, MOM!

Happy fucking birthday to the best goddamn Mommy in the whole universe! HOORAY!

Can you believe that the Mom who greets E&P readers each week with this...


...is the same person in this picture?


Late August 1975: eight months pregnant with Pixie, sitting with 21-month-old me on the sofa. The gown is one she made to go to Aunt Gayle's wedding. (I still have that awesome gown, too.)


Mom's still sewing for us, making the best goddamn dresses in the whole universe (more to come on those individually).

Where did I get my love for kittehs?


It's not hard to figure out.


Mom talks a good game about the kittehs being spoiled...


...but we know how she rolls.


Mom still does all kinds of stuff for Pixie and me—even if we buy crazy expensive fabric for her to make it out of. She has an angry for a while, but still sews it. And will kill us til we dy frum it.


She cooks the best goddamn food in the universe—here, a pound cake from scratch.

But most importantly of all...


Mom taught us to think for ourselves.

HAPPY 60th BIRTHDAY TO OUR MOM, AND EVERYONE'S FAVORITE INTERNET MOM!

Boring-ass Friday kittehs

Usually, an E&P "Friday Kittehs" post is really exciting, full of HKC kittehs and their crazy antics. However, today I'm stuck posting pictures of Pixie's boring-ass kittehs, since I'm spending my spring break here in Denver. I've never met two more complacent kittehs. OK, OK, so Maddy gets a break because she's been sick. But still. [sigh]

When you care enough to send the very goddamn best

Every family has catch words or phrases that have to be explained to outsiders. Happily, the Kitty & Pixie B. Goode family has some of the funniest catch-phrases ever. So I'll explain one that we use all the time.   

**********

Mom doesn't think she's a very good cook—but believe me, she is. Her curry chicken is amazing, and she makes so many awesome baked goods (Christmas press cookies, oatmeal cookies, Scottish shortbread, Polish chruschiks, etc.). Mom also cooks a Thanksgiving turkey and side dishes whose deliciousness will make you slap your grandma, and her homemade spaghetti sauce with home-grown tomatoes is fantastic. And her lasagna is out of this world, better than any I've ever had in fancy restaurants. 

As a busy person, I don't often have time to cook, and I'm very grateful when someone else does. Cooking for someone else shows real love and care, and I try to thank Mom every time she cooks for me. During and after the meal, I say stuff like, "The potatoes are awesome, Mom" or "This is the best pot roast ever." I'm not being fake; I just give compliments because the food's that good, and I'm so happy that Mom cooked me a meal. 

El Seebeno is another story, though. His family is a strange one, and they don't often give honest compliments. (Matter of fact, when one of his relatives does give a compliment, it's usually back-handed.) So El Seebeno's not really one to voice his approval of food. It's not that he's unappreciative; he's just not vocal about liking a meal. Mom knows Seeben enjoys a meal when he goes back for seconds and thirds. It's also important to realize that Seeben is used to and enjoys eating at restaurants. As a truck driver, he eats out every day, and is used to doing the same thing when he comes home on the weekends. But with the sagging economy, Mom cooks a lot more often at home. El Seebeno bitches about it, but Mom reminds him every time how good it is to have a full stomach and a full bank account.

One Saturday night last year, Mom made her out-of-this-world lasagna. It was the first time in their many years together that she'd made it for El Seebeno, and she didn't know how he'd like it. He's a notoriously picky eater. But he went back for a second huge helping of lasagna, and after he was done, he sat at the dining-room table with a full belly, sipping a big glass of sweet tea. 

"Well?" Mom asked. 

Seeben was quiet for a moment. he sighed deeply. "Kitty's not here, guess I better fill in for her." In a higher voice, he exclaimed, "This is the best goddamn lasagna in the whole universe!" 

So now, whenever something is really, really good, we exclaim, "That's the best goddamn _______ in the whole universe!" Seeben even suggested putting it on Teddy's little marker in the kitty graveyard behind their house: Teddy, 1991-2008 / Best Goddamn Cat in the Whole Universe. And I think it's a splendid idea.

Ask Mom™

Folks, I apologize for the long, long absence of the Ask Mom™ feature—things have been rather busy the last few weeks. However, Mom's getting back to answering your qeustions, and I'm getting back to blogging them at least once a week. Feel free to send in your questions, however crazy. Nothing surprises Mom anymore. 

And I have no idea what the hell's wrong with the font in this post.

Dear Mom,
In the wake of all the multiple births and women having enough children to field entire sports teams, do you think someone ought to remind folks that a vagina is not a clown car?
Sincerely,
MiniKat

Dear Minikat: Sweetie, all of us normal people know that multiple births are WRONG/BAD/STUPID.  Hell, worse than that, it's STOOPID to have more than one child at a time.  God knows we've got enough neglected kids in this world!  In my opinion, Octo Mom needs to beaten publicly.  Everyone who pays taxes would be able to hit her at least once with a yard...hell no! meter stick (meter sticks are thicker and longer!).  After all, they are the ones who will be paying for the YEARS! DECADES! of therapy that her ig'nant bastid chirren will need.  I had 2 kids 22 months apart, and thought I'd never get a decent night's sleep again.   And while we're on the subject, that dumb-assed doctor who implanted the babies should be shot, hanged, drawn-and-quartered, and strangled with his own intestines. That's all I got to say about that.

Dear Mom,
I have a neighbor that has a lot of "uncles" over while her husband is deployed. To each her own, but I have a problem when her children fill my daughter in on her current boyfriend. I have already informed the neighbor that I don't want my child knowing about her affairs and that from now on my children are not allowed to play in her home. Now the neighbor is angry, makes angry phone calls, has made rude comments about my children, and has been spying on me—the scary-old-lady-hiding-behind-your-bushes-and-reading-your-mail kind of spying. Can you recommend a way to tell this woman to step off that won't get me arrested?
Thank you,
Nicole

Ok, Nicole:  Nope, you can't get there from here.  Not without ending up on "Cops."  The stupid bitch hasn't enough self respect to fill a baby-tooth, so what makes you think she'll respect YOU? Short of a 12 gauge up the butt, I don't think you can impress [upon] this woman [that she needs to leave you alone].  (Seriously, making threatening phone calls is ILLEGAL.  Call your phone service carrier and get the Law involved.  If you put the word out on your street, you may be able to run the bitch off..... and then there's the tried-and-true tar and feathers... and DFACS...let her deal with Child Protective Services. Har-har-har!)  And remember "Guns don't kill people- husbands who come early DO," like Larry the Cable Guy says.   Um, and  for the tar and feathers thing you need at least 12 people to help.  And you could always drop the husband's C.O. a line.  I wonder if that's illegal...causing some dumb broad to get the shit kicked out of her by some guys in her old man's outfit... Hum.  Brings on more talk, eh?

What is the relative wisdom of staying with a significant other who tends to have big dreams but no solid plans if those dreams fail? (Said significant other makes a living by jumping out of perfectly good planes, but is loyal to the death if either of those facts makes a difference.)
Thank you,
Heckawe

Dear Heckawe:  PLEASE, PLEASE tell me this person is a Paratrooper, Airborne Ranger, or Smoke Jumper!!!  An adrenlin junkie at any rate.  Come on now, you have to admit you never know if your sweetie will make it home or not.  Why make plans if your chute/wing/whatever might just not open?  Never a dull moment?  And of course they're "loyal to the death"—death is just around the corner.  The question is, can that person think on his/her feet?  Can they pull something out of their ass in case of a massive fuck-up?  Or do they expect YOU to clean it up/make the adjustments?  If you're not prone to stomach ulcers, irritable bowel syndrome, panic attacks, screaming mimis or all of the above, this could be an interesting relationship.  Not a very long one, but interesting.  I can't see a 85-year-old jumping out of a plane.  You can't jump with a walker—they foul the lines somethin' awful. 

More of your awesome questions next week. Until then, do you have a question for Mom that you haven't already asked? You can submit it in one of two ways: by e-mailing me through my Blogger profile, or by leaving your question in the Comments section below. Mom will answer as many questions as she can each week—and remember, no topic's off limits.

Conversations with my sister

ME: [looking at map] Can you drive to Boise from here?

PIXIE: Yeah, but it sounds like a horrible idea. 

*******

PIXIE: We've gone through an entire roll of toilet paper in the three days you've been here. 

ME: That's because you have wimpy TP.

PIXIE: No, I have expensive TP with ridges, and asshole-moisturizing aloe and Vitamin E.

ME: My asshole doesn't need moisturizing. 

PIXIE: No, your asshole needs fumigating. 

*******

ME: Your kittehs suck. 

PIXIE: Why?

ME: They're not friendly.  

PIXIE: [sighing] I know, I know. 

ME: Next time, get real kittehs.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 3/9/09

I've been thinking about chicken coops lately, and doing some research. Since I'm here in Denver this week with my sister, we've been talking a lot about coops—we'll even be doing a joint WAD/E&P post on them.

Whatever chicken house I end up with, it needs to be big enough to handle future flock additions, like when I eventually buy the Rainbow Layer Combo from McMurray Hatchery. Twenty-five hens, laying eggs in all shades from white to light blue to turquoise to light tan to chocolate brown? AWESOME!

ME: I really do need, like, six or seven hens.
COL: Sure.
ME: And a couple donkeys, and some mini-goats...
COL: Mm-hmm, riiight.
ME: And I really would like a rooster or two.
COL: Ummm, I hate to tell you this—
ME: What?
COL: [stage whisper] Kitty. You don't live on a farm.

A Tail of Two Professors

My friend Pilar*, a professor in the D2U Spanish Department, called me a few weeks ago. She was really worried and upset about someone she'd been seeing in her neighborhood, and needed help.

"Kitty, he's homeless, but he's such a sweet, sweet guy," she said. I've known Pilar* since I came to work at D2U, and trust her judgment. "He's been hanging around my neighborhood for six or eight months, and it doesn't seem like anyone's tried to help him. He's evidently hurt his foot, and he's limping really badly. He's as friendly as he can be when I approach him and offer him something to eat, no chip on his shoulder or anything." She sighed deeply. "I can't take him in; I've just got a one-bedroom apartment. But you help homeless guys and gals...could you do something?"

I thought about it. "Maybe so."


Meet Smokey.



Pilar* managed to catch Smokey and take him to a local no-kill shelter, where they neutered and microchipped him. He came home with me on March 3.

Yes, I help the homeless. Kittehs, that is.

Dear Wide Lawns: Come get your kitteh.

Wide Lawns, a longtime friend of E&P, commented on a post a few months ago that she coveted my sweet little part-Siamese Emmylou. "Whenever I see that little cat," she wrote, "I always think of her as my kitty. My husband agrees." Wide Lawns went on to say that, if she and her husband moved North, they would "stop through Small Town and steal that little kitteh. We would even buy her her own Chick-fil-A fries, and chicken sandwich if she wanted."

Well, Wide Lawns, your kitteh is ready to be an indoor cat.


Okay, so she developed a 'nip problem when she and Dolly were in the guest room post-spaying.




She can quit anytime she wants.


She's a pretty fierce huntress, too. I tried to save this poor adolescent blue jay from her clutches, and when I thought the bird was safe (I put it WAY up in a small tree that was too flimsy for kittehs to climb), I went back indoors. The next morning, I walked outdoors to find a blue feather clinging to Emmylou's whiskers.


She gets along well with other kittehs.



So, Wide Lawns, if you want this spayed and rabies-shotted little kitteh, I'll meet you halfway between Small Town and Playa Pobre. And if you can't adopt her...I invite another trusted E&P reades to her adopt her cute little self.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EL SEEBENO!

That's right—a big "happy fuckin' birthday!" to El Seebeno, the World's best step-dad! We'll either take him to the local titty bar, or give him another kitteh. Who knows.

The shirt Seeben's wearing in this picture is one of my favorites. Sadly, he can't wear it while on truck-driving duty. I wish he had one for every holiday: "Your ass ain't gettin' shit for July 4th/your birthday/Thanksgiving/Cinco de Mayo/Flag Day!" OK, Mom, that's our next project.

"Irresponsible" is a Polite Word for It: EPIC FAIL Week #30

While this is the 30th installment of EPIC FAIL Week, let me assure you that there hundreds more that I've simply not had the time to tell you about. How much readers seem to like this series has been a surprise to me; it reminds me of a quote from a Tobias Wolff short story: "Everybody likes to hear about how somebody else screwed up."

Especially when you fuck up big-time and expect not to have to bear the consequences.

I have a policy in all my classes about late papers: they're late, no matter the reason. I decided to change this because it seemed unfair that some bullshitters were getting off easy, while others who actually had legitimate family emergencies still made an effort to get their papers turned in on time. (That is, they didn't wait until the last damn minute, and were just about done with their papers when the shit hit the fan back home.) I have a similar policy about absences: students get a set number of days to miss, and when they cross the limit, they're unceremoniously WF'ed from the class. Doesn't matter whether Grandma's funeral was their reason for missing that very last day—they should've saved their absences for a time such as that. I tell them the very first day of class, "Your loved one is NOT going to call you up and say, "Hey, I was thinkin' I'd kick the bucket on March 23. Is that gonna work with your school schedule?"

So my Comp II students recently turned in a paper, worth 20% of their final grade, via our electronic writing portfolio system. They've had nearly three weeks between drafts, and knew FAR in advance that the paper was due by 12 midnight on Sunday. Once 12:01am Monday rolled around, it would be considered late. (And by the way: of 75 students, perhaps ten came to see me or made an appointment with the Writing Center.) Oh, the excuses have been pouring in!

Miss Kitty i had not realized that I didnt enroll in the [online paper system for the] class, because I can not get into it please accept my paper through here.
This student has NO excuse—he was in my Comp I last semester, in which we used the same electronic portfolio system.

I wasn't able to complete my final draft because my computer was in the shop and they had to wipe the hardrive to get rid of the viruses. So when i did get it back i didn't have microsoft office. I know that this is completely my fault for waiting so long to finish it but i will be so grateful if you will just grade me on the draft i already have on [electronic portfolio system]! I know that it isn't that great but that's all i have before midnight tonight. Thanks for your time.

Hmmm. This wouldn't sound like B.S. if I didn't hear it all the time.

I know this is not time time or very responsible of me to wait to the last minute to post my paper but I've been revising it for the past three and a half hours and was ready to post it into emma and the stupid thing won't let me in. I have been trying for the last hour to get into emma and I can't, I have even tried to reset my password about ten times and I have not gotten the email with the new password. I promise I had it ready before midnight but I'm still waiting for this emma thing to work... while I wait I will send you a copy of my paper. Sorry.
Golly gee willikers, Batman, but she still hasn't sent me a copy of the paper.

Finally this is my rough draft thank you amnd I am sorry for the inconvience
You'll be even more sorry for the big docking your paper's going to get.

Snow pictures

Here are a few pictures I took of last week's rare snow in Small Town.