Of sick puppies and cat pee.

BB was sick for a couple of days this past week. I was a very worried momma. It is so unusual for the wee little one to have anything less than a psychotic amount of energy and pure effervescent joy, that when I came home from work on Monday and she chose to stay in her puppy bed instead of greet me excitedly at the door with a toy in her mouth and spinning in circles (literally), I thought it was weird. I just amounted it to the cold front that had come in and BB being unwilling to leave her warm and cozy cushion. But when it was five hours later and she still hadn't gotten up, I knew something was wrong. I picked her up so I could lay her on the couch next to me and she just started whimpering.

Sad panda.

So Schmoobs and I spent the next two days - when we weren't at work - cuddling with her and begging her to at least drink a little bit of water. On day two, she tried to go poopy doopies on her puppy pad, but was having such difficulty that she actually did the arched back, teetering walk the entire length of our condo, all the way from our front door to the bedroom. I actually had to wrap my hand in paper towels and help her pull a turd out of her ass. I can now say that I've done that twice this year. And then she shook herself and another turd fell out of her butt. (We will be getting her groomed this weekend.)

On the morning of day three, I was finally able to get her to eat a little bit of wet food (by warming it up in the microwave first...thank you Google). And then later that evening, she showed signs of the old BB by bouncing up from the spot on the couch where she had been sleeping all day and greeting Schmoobs at the door when he got home from work. And now she is well on her way to full recovery! In fact, I think she is making up for lost bonding time with her toys, as this is what I woke up to this morning:

 Play time.

Play time?? 

Play. Time.

In President of the Finer Things Club news: Schmoobs has this habit of letting his laundry pile up in gigantic mountainous piles in the bedroom. After about a week, I lose any interest in trying to remember if they are clean or dirty, and I just start piling them all into one gigantic mound. And then Bela expresses his disgust at having to dwell in such a filthy habitat (I'm with you, Bela) that he will on rare occasion pee all over Schmoobs' clothes pile. 

Last night, Schmoobs got home from work after a particularly long day and was sitting on the couch. I told him about an unexpectedly hilarious viral video that had been going around so he brought it up on his beloved Macbook Pro to watch. I went over to his end of the couch and sat next to him so I could watch it again. And then I noticed that something smelled like piss. I thought to myself, "Hm. That's weird. I guess it's time to clean out Bela's box again." 

About half an hour later, Schmooblins got face down on the floor and asked me to massage his sore back a little bit. As I got down to massage his back, I noticed the pee smell again. And then this happened:

Ys: "It smells like pee."

Schmoobs: "Hm. Maybe one of them peed on the carpet."

Ys: "Nooo...I would have noticed a pee spot on the floor..."

Schmoobs: "Yeah, I smell it too actually."

*Continues to massage for a few seconds*

*Bends down and sniffs Schmooblebuns*

Schmoobs: "Did you just smell me??"

Ys: "Well..."

Schmoobs: "YOU JUST CHECKED TO SEE IF I SMELL LIKE PEE."

Ys: "Yes, because I first noticed it when I went to sit next to you on the couch earlier!"

Schmoobs: "I can't believe you think I'm the one that sme--- OH MY GOD."

Ys: "What?"

Schmoobs: "...I think Bela peed on my shirt."

Ys: (laughing hysterically) "Oh no! Is that the shirt you wore to work today?"

Schmoobs: "ALL DAY."

*still laughing*

Schmoobs: "I WORE PEE ALL DAY."

I mean... I just... I can't...

Is this really still a thing? A thing people actually think is true?? 

First of all, the effing "President Obama cancels the National Day of Prayer" thing: WRONG. And then some ignoramus decides to back it up by mentioning the freaking birth certificate nonsense from 2008?? Also: WRONG.

I try really really reallyreallyreallyREALLY hard to not comment on anybody's political updates on Facebook, especially when the person is only a slight acquaintance from when we went to the same university six years ago. But I just couldn't help myself. I mean...seriously?

A short one about my bowels.

Yesterday, I got home in the early afternoon after a scheduled woodwind quintet rehearsal was cancelled due to the flutist's sinus infection. About 4pm, I got sudden intestinal distress. No warning. Was it the goat cheese I had with our veggie sandwich dinners the night before? The caramel frappuccino the previous day (I asked for soy!!)? The roasted poblano and white cheddar cheese soup I had with lunch? Whatever the hell it was, I found myself whining in self-pity while sitting on the porcelain throne, leaning pathetically over on the refreshingly cold marble counter while droplets of sweat trickled down my neck. I felt like my body was turning itself inside out. Thank Jeebus Schmoobs was still at work. That was no time for me to try to be subtle.

Anyway, after about three hours of that scene, interspersed with long stretches on the bed curled up in the fetal position, I finally felt better enough to walk around and be normal again. But it wasn't until lunchtime today that I felt brave enough to get something to eat. And damn it, the only two things my taste buds were craving was greasy Chinese or Mexican food. *shudder* Okay, I went with the Chinese. Three hours later, so far, so good. I think I'm in the clear. I also really want a big old iced coffee right now. Would that be smart?

(Of course not. But I'm going to do it anyway.)

Hey, you know what's funny?

Getting a letter from University of Hawaii telling you that (upon acceptance of their admission into the Masters program, which I have no plan on doing) you will need to take diagnostic tests in Music Theory and History...when you freaking teach both subjects to college music majors.

***

Also, my new favorite thing is roasting vegetables. And then eating them. Simple olive oil, salt and pepper is all that is necessary, but sometimes I'll throw in some other things from the pantry based on my mood. Garlic powder, dried basil, cayenne pepper, etc. Last night I roasted some red onion, eggplant, red pepper and mushrooms in the oven for about 30 minutes (until things got all hottt and caramelized), then I grilled up some wheat flatbread, smeared a healthy dollop of goat cheese on both sides, followed by the roasted veggies, and topped with some mixed baby greens. It was, yes, both delicious and nutritious and earned Schmoobliebuns' hearty seal of approval.

Over Spring Break - when I was in the middle of The Great Neverending Pre-menses of 2011 - I went a little wild and crazy with a bowl of chocolate miniatures* (amongst a host of other tasty treats) and gained three pounds. But then I ate this sandwich last night and lost two. I'm totally serious. However, my taking of Acidophilus supplements and its causing my bowels to work very efficiently may have had something to do with it.


* True story: Schmoobs and I went out one afternoon to run a quick errand and then grab dinner - and I brought the bowl of chocolate with me. We were about two blocks down the road before Schmooblies looked over and noticed the chocolate. He attempted to give me a hard time, but then I told him that the choice was between having a content girlfriend that brings a bowl of chocolate during the ten-minute drive to dinner, or an angry girlfriend who yells at you for no reason except that she is hormonal. That swiftly shut him up. Hahaha.

Realization.

I met this guy in Brevard this past summer. He was actually a former piano student at Brevard, but was there this time around as a member of the theory faculty for the high school division. He also did the pre-concert lectures. He and I got to talking one afternoon at the cafeteria and I learned that he was enrolling in the fall as a musicology graduate student at Cambridge. Effing Cambridge. And when I asked him what his background was, I learned that he had gotten his Bachelors degree from USC (Southern California) in Piano AND NEUROSCIENCE. Oh, and that he got his Masters degree from the University College of London ...in MOTHEREFFING NEUROSCIENCE! And I thought to myself, "So this is the type of person I am up against in PhD programs for Musicology. Good to know." *visualizes throwing self off mountain cliff*

He was kind enough to tell me that day that, since I already had a couple years of actual university teaching experience and was published, that I had a leg up on him. And then I wanted to simultaneously hug him for his stroking of my battered ego and choke him while saying, "Listen, mofo. You have two degrees in Neuro - to the effing - science! From USC and London! I have two freaking degrees in How To Play the Devil Stick!"

Anyway, I decided to check up on his Facebook profile the other day just to see how somebody who is actually succeeding in doing what I tried in vain to do last Fall, which was to get accepted to just ONE doctoral program in Musicology, was doing. And do you know what I realized? This guy's not at Cambridge for a PhD. Cambridge only took him in as a freaking MASTERS STUDENT. Are you kidding me?? 


Let me get this straight. A guy who got a double degree from USC in Piano Performance AND NEUROSCIENCE (did I mention that before?) and won the Concerto Competition while there, THEN went to London and got a graduate degree in Neuroscience, AND was on faculty at the Brevard Music Center STILL isn't good enough to get accepted to a PhD program in Musicology - no matter if it's Cambridge? Good. Lord. 

Sigh.

"Dear Ms. Sarte:

This is in regard to your application to the Department of Music in the Graduate School of Arts and Science for the fall, 2011 semester.

Your application has been received and carefully reviewed. We regret to inform you that we are not able to extend an offer of admission. Please be aware that the applications for admission this year are particularly strong, and we have been unable to welcome all of our promising candidates for admission.

We thank you for your interest in New York University and wish you the greatest success in your future endeavors."

Blergh.

"Dear Every Single PhD in Musicology Program In The Universe,

This is in regard to your countless rejections. Just because my background and training is as a performer, it does not disqualify me as an academic or an educator. It just means that I am also capable of actually playing the music that you want to spend the rest of your lives writing obscure journal articles about. Just so you know, I can wear an elbow-patched tweed jacket along with the best of them."

The end.

In better news, today is my sister's birthday and Schmooblins and I attempted to leave her a birthday voicemail while singing the birthday song in Medieval parallel organum. It didn't go well.

Also, Schmoobs and I wanted to take full advantage of our last full Spring Break day together (he leaves tomorrow morning for Nerd Camp) and actually ventured into the city of Dallas to check out the Dallas World Aquarium. We had heard great things about it and were excited. Unfortunately, the reviews seem to be accurate, as after spending about twenty minutes driving aimlessly around the West End district looking for the actual aquarium, we arrived to find a line of families going around the entire block waiting to enter. So we went for Plan B, which was to get lunch (if all else fails, eat) and then re-evaluate the situation. And that ended up with us deciding to just walk around the area instead, which happened to be right by Dealey Plaza - the location of President Kennedy's assassination. So, rather than battle the hordes of screaming childrens, we spent the afternoon at the Sixth Floor Museum looking at and listening to exhibits all about the Kennedy assassination located on the sixth and seventh floors of the book depository where Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly shot President Kennedy as the lone gunman. 

We were not allowed to take photographs inside the actual book depository/museum. I was surprised that the whole area, particularly the short stretch of Elm Street just off of Houston Street where the president was shot, was still functional and not cordoned off as a national historical monument. Even Schmoobs mentioned that he had driven down that very stretch of road before and even noticed the white "X"s, not realizing their historical significance. Strange. It was really fascinating and a very interesting, albeit somber, way to spend a vacation afternoon. 

 I took this photo from the actual "grassy knoll" directly next to where President Kennedy was shot. If you'll notice, there is a white "X" on the middle lane near the right edge of the photo...

...which is where they have marked the exact spots where President Kennedy was hit. Quite a sobering view.

A view at the top of the street. I don't understand why you can't see them in the photo, but there are actually two white "X"s on this road, marking the presidential limo's location during the multiple gunshots. The book depository is directly behind to the right and grassy knoll is ahead and to the right.

 The book depository. The far right window, second floor from the top is where Oswald was.

 A view across the street from Dealey Plaza. The road and the grassy knoll is directly to the right.  The book depository is directly behind me as I took this photo. The buildings on the left are the Dallas County Records and County Criminal Courts. Those gray warehouse doors on the left are where Oswald was being transferred to the county jail after being arrested and where he was shot at point blank by Jack Ruby.

 Plaque on the book depository building. The left turn from Houston onto Elm is the final turn the presidential limo took before the assassination.

Schmoobs bought me a pair of JFK commemorative coffee mugs at the gift shop. One red and one blue. We came to the conclusion that we would both be battling over who gets to drink out of the blue mug every morning. Also, I quickly inaugurated the blue mug upon receiving my NYU rejection letter. That is a traditional Irish margarita in the photo. Cheers to my penultimate grad school rejection! *CLINK*

Hey, did you know that Spring Break is AWESOME??

Even when you still have to spend a good portion of your day grading monstrous piles of Midterm exams. Bleh.

The more important thing is that Schmoobles and I have actually gotten to watch two whole movies together so far this week! Battle Lost Angeles (robot alieny fun) and Hall Pass (splattery diarrhea fun).

This post is going to be very scattered and disorganized, just so you know.

The other night I dreamt that I waged in an epic sword battle in our dining room against some strange 12 year old boy over BB. And then the next night I dreamt that I was at a beautiful beach surfing, but before I could go out for my last wave I suddenly saw a hybrid saxophone-euphonium wash up on the shore that was missing all of its keys so I had to run into the jungle to fix it. Oookay.

Hey, so I totally got accepted into the University of Hawaii! ...but they explicitly said that it was into their Masters program, not PhD. UGH. Who the hell can afford to go live in Hawaii for 3+ years for school without a doctoral teaching fellowship, huh? Unicorns and leprechauns, that's who. Certainly not me. Circus clown cannon, here I come!

Also, I totally do NOT recommend waking up in the morning and then reaching to your left to try and find your phone only to have your hand land on...A FRESH DINGLEBERRY LEFT BEHIND BY YOUR DOG.* Oh, and that's not all. I also recommend NOT having a natural lack of vision in the morning due to the lack of contact lenses in your eyeballs, causing some confusion and resulting in you picking up the dingle and bringing it an inch from your face for inspection.


* I hope it was BB...

Ow my back.

FINALLY. That's all. 

Seriously? Seriously.

I'm pretty sure I've been PMS-ing for thirteen decades now. Some months, my body likes to get it all over with in a flash-boom-bang. Other months, like RIGHT NOW apparently, it likes to "pull a Bruckner"* and draw things out eeeendlessly.

And it's not like "the train"** is "running late" or anything since consulting my posts last month will confirm that I did not get my Monthly Confirmation That I Am Indeed Without Child until the eleventh. I've just been pre-Mensesesesing forever.

Have I talked about my reproductive system enough yet for you?

Also, there's this: SPRIIIIIIIIING BREEEEEAAAAAK.


* Oh, musician humor. I predict two people will understand that reference without consulting Google.

** The uterine wall shedding train.

I think the Monthly Confirmation is nigh.

At least it better be. I am eating a bowl of chocolate for lunch. Literally.

***

In Tooting My Own Horn news (Please indulge me. It helps numb the pain of looking at my monthly pay stubs.): Schmoobs came home from work last night and the first thing he told me was that some of the students told him that they thought I was an amazing teacher. Surprisingly, two of them were students I was sure didn't like me as a teacher. They always stay fairly quiet for the most part, and when they do raise their hand with a question in class, I am always paranoid and afraid that it was because they're not finding my lectures or explanations clear enough. And that they were judging me for it. Anyway. Apparently, they appreciate that I "don't have an agenda or anything" and am "really flexible in class" and I "try to make sure that everyone really understands all the information." Well, there you go. Did you hear that, Stanford? Screw you, man! At least my students like me. Hahaha.

Also, I had introduced this year's freshman class to the joy of Battle of the Brains (i.e Midterm Review Session) in Music Lit yesterday morning, and the winner was one of the two students I mentioned above. So the Star*ucks gift card he won probably swayed his opinion a bit :)

Three things.

1. In precisely two days, I will be on Spring Break. And then I will (maybe) start to blog (semi) regularly again. (Probably.)

2. Remember this girl? And how she was literally handed a brand new clarinet which she was apparently okay with not even trying out and playing at all for at least six hours after she received the instrument? (The things you learn about your students through Facebook...) She posted this today:

And her father's response was:  


"Don't ever feel like you have to play to please anyone but youself if you don't feel like palying [sic] then don't but if you feel like it by all means play. That is what I have said before about Music Programs sometimes they force the fun out of playing. Playing music should be fun and when alot of pressure is put on you playing it is more like work than fun."


Ugh. Okay. Here's the thing. Music is fun. To 99% of the regular population, music is FUN. Going to concerts is fun. Rocking out to the radio and looking like an idiot in your car is fun. Playing in high school band - this is key - and going on band trips is fun. But being a music major - with just the hope of making music your career - isn't supposed to be fun. It's WORK. Being a music major in college isn't the same thing as high school. You don't just get to be a "band nerd" for four extra years and then magically get a job at the end of it. Unfortunately, it seems like that is what this student thought. And also unfortunately, what will - hopefully - end up happening is that this student will realize that being a serious musician is not for her, change her major...and sell that clarinet. Instead of it going to another dedicated, hard-working music student who deserves it.

And the really unfortunate thing is that this student will probably never realize that the real "fun" in being a musician comes after you have done all that distasteful work. After you've done the long tones and the scales and the technique exercises and thrown a chair around in your practice room and listened back to recordings of your performances with a grimace on your face and listened to teachers and mentors and clinicians and conductors listen to you play and tell you everything you didn't do well enough. After you've spent hours in the library reading and researching the history and background of the composers whose music you are performing. After you've been hunched over your desk at 3 in the morning analyzing a musical excerpt for your theory professor. Then you earn the privilege of experiencing music as a craft and art at a higher level than just going on band trips with your friends. Yeah, sometimes it's fun. If you're lucky, it can be even more than that.

But whatever.

3. I feel like I've been PMS-ing forever. Out, damn uteral lining! Out!

Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeergh.

You know it's been some kind of Monday morning when you greet a student after your 10am class with "Have a good weekend." Yikes. So that's how this week is going to be. But at least after this week is ...Spring Breeeaaaak!!!

Also, I woke up at 2:12am this morning with the thought that I had neglected to top my (leaky) oil tank off with a couple pints of oil this weekend and would have to wake up 10 minutes early than the already regular Butt Crack of Dawn O'clock in order to take care of that before the commute to work.

But at least I got to yammer on about Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven in Music Lit today. And I got to say the words "fart jokes" and "piss" in the lecture. So that was fun. Time for lonch now.

Welp.

Chips and salsa with coffee for breakfast? (Which was preceded by a couple of fish tacos and a handful - probably more - of peanut M&Ms for dinner?) I think we all know what that means...

Note to self: Buy some Midol at Target.