Favorite Things.

I know I said that my next update would be a detailed account of the previous post's bulleted points of my Week From Hell. But I lied. Don't act like you're surprised. I'll get to it "next time," okay?

For now, I want to tell you all that my most recent "splurge" purchase (first one in...God I don't even remember) - i.e. something for me and me only and not for AT&T or our landlord or Dish Network or Kroger or Chevron or Progressive insurance, etc. - is my brand new brilliant wonderful Copco BPA-free double-walled plastic reusable coffee travel mug.

 

Purchased for $8 at the grocery store (it was not planned), but I'm pretty sure I've seen them even cheaper at Target and TJ Maxx. Anyway, this thing totally keeps my beverage hot for longer than the lame earth-destroying disposable paper cups at Star*ucks. And even when it stops doing so...I can just pop it into the microwave and nuke my cold coffee to my heart's content! 

This is most ideal because of the fact that my first class in the morning is at 8:00 and our department secretary, who is in charge of the coffee-making for the faculty, usually gets in about 8:04 (add that to my list of grievances against my workplace). With this reusable cup, I can now make a quick batch of coffee at home in the mornings and not have to depend on slightly-less-than-punctual staff members!  I used to not opt to bring from home before because, while I have roughly ten zillion traveler mugs from Star*ucks, they are all unfortunately large and metal, which means 1) I can't nuke it and 2) they are too large to use with our little compact 2-cup coffee maker at home.

So anyway. I spent an unnecessary $8 on this mug and it is TOTALLY WORTH IT. I love it. It's like my baby. I even got into a conversation about it with the lady behind the checkout counter at Pep Boys this morning, where I was waiting to get Schmoobs' car's left tail light fixed so he didn't have to take time outside of work to get it done. He drove my 1998 nearing 190k miles, tire-alignment-needing, passenger-side-manual-window-knob breaking Toyota Corolla in to work this morning and after he left, I got a call from him:

Ys: "Hey."

Schmoobs: "So...I locked myself..."

Ys: "Oh no..."

Schmoobs: "...INSIDE your car."

Ys: "Wait, what?"

Schmoobs: "Yeah, I locked myse--"

Ys: "OH! Was the door not opening? Yeah, sometimes it does this thing where you think you're stuck inside. But all you have to do is pull the door handle and then jiggle the door lock a little and it'll unlock. I probably should have told you that."

Schmoobs: "Yeah...I ended up climbing into the backseat, letting myself out that door and then unlocking your door with the key from the outside."

Ys: "Oops. Yeah, just jiggle the door lock next time. It'll work, I promise."

Schmoobs: "Yep... Well, I just wanted to call and let you know that your car is a little bit of a...hoopty. We need to get you a better car. And a better computer."

Ys: "Yup."

Schmoobs: "Better car. Better computer. Better job. Better place to live."

Ys: "Yup."

Oh, and when I was at Pep Boys, they totally had a one-zillion (twenty-four) pack of AA batteries for $5. Five dollars! What a bargain! So I bought one. (Meaning, Schmoobs bought one.) We will never need AA batteries again! 

And that is the end of my wasteful spending for the week. (Except for the pack of Avatar: The Last Airbender - cartoon, NOT movie - band-aids that I bought for $2 because I think my nieces would like them.)

Things I promise to write about in my next update.

...that I will outline here in bullet form in order to 1) remind myself and 2) make it seem like I wrote an actual post.

1. My week from hell two weeks ago. Seriously. Things it entailed:

• Falling in insta-love with a sweet, loving, adorable Boston Terrier puppy. And then having to concede that keeping her would be an irresponsible thing to do. I still get verklempt about her. Pardon me... *sniffle*
• Existential crises out my wazoo. 
• Catching a cold from any number of germy students in the music building, which then caused my asthma to flare up, resulting in a month long coughing + dry heaving bender.
• My car stereo suddenly deciding to stop working. Blergh.
• Eating my feelings. With lots of ice cream and cheese. And subsequent repercussions.
• Menstruation. 

2. My newfound love for organic chicken legs from the grocery store. So affordable!
3. My students continue to love me. I continue to make a fraction of minimum wage. Hooray.
4. MLB World Series. Here's hoping for another Rangers loss a Cardinals win! :)

5. The Star*ucks barista I met and chatted with at length this morning has a Masters degree in Oboe Performance from Northwestern (very good music school). I think he was jealous/impressed that I had an adjunct teaching job with only a Masters degree. Little does he know he probably makes more money than I do.

6. Schmoobs and I poisoned ourselves with cheese (specifically, deliciously ooey queso on nachos) last night. The biggest loser in this scenario? Our toilet.

State of the Ysabel Address.orGeez. It's not like I haven't been busy teaching and writing zillions of content articles online to make pittance every month, GREG.

Apparently, according to my sister, my brother in law has deigned to suggest that my blogging has "gone downhill" lately. Well. Soooo-rryyyyy GREG. I guess I should have written a post all about how my crummy adjunct teaching job from the last three years has gotten suddenly infinitely crummier (or really, just twice as crummy) this semester as my teaching load has been karate-chopped in half due to state budget constraints. And about how, in order to still be financially stable passable clinging on by the skin of the skin of the skin of my teeth (Does that mean I have plaque? Ew, gross. No way.), I have had to take on any and every freelance content writing work I can get, which basically means that, when I'm not sitting at the table grading theory tests or preparing lesson plans or grading dictation quizzes, then I am sitting at the table staring at my computer screen endlessly pushing down buttons on the keyboard in the hopes that the words I am forming make a modicum of sense and that the client will deposit a few dollars into my Paypal account for my efforts. And how, because of that, the last thing I want to do lately is sit down at the table and stare at my computer screen endlessly pushing down buttons on the keyboard in the hopes of updating my blog because nobody will deposit dollars into my Paypal account to do that.

Also, as if I weren't already feeling like the fly buzzing around a steaming pile of turds about my woeful employment situation as well as some lingering DEjection from my REjection from PhD programs last fall and, hence, my lack of prospects for career and financial and LIFE advancement, I went ahead and suddenly found myself in a weirdly dramatic, angering and awkward situation with the university last week.

Here's what happened:

I've already blogged about the two hundred year old tenured professor whose job I have been groomed (and have been grooming for) to take the last three years who refuses to leave despite his piss poor course and tenure reviews even despite a very generous retirement offer from the university. His name is Dr. Brahms. Not really, but he looks like Brahms. Because of his stubborn refusal to retire and the budget cuts, I am now only able to teach two adjunct courses. These two courses combine to earn me enough every month to pay my share of our rent. Period. Nothing else. (Enter, the wonderful world of freelance writing...)

I've also already blogged (I think?) about how the university strung me along all summer while I waited and waited and waited to see if I would be able to get any teaching assignments this Fall. Increasingly desperate emails were sent on my end that said, essentially, "Please let me know if my teaching is an impossibility or even an improbability as I will have to make plans and arrangements for further employment after the summer." And I always received the reply, "Yes, we are still trying to get you some teaching assignments. Please be patient. We are doing our best to find the money." How do I give up on that? At the last possible moment, when I was two seconds away from finally phoning it in and looking for any old 9 to 5 job that would at least get me steadily employed, the university finally offered me the two measly classes. It was a massive teaching and pay cut, but at least I still got to teach for my work. And, I figured, it would be tough but I can make some money gigging as a freelance writer. Double the glamour.

Lo and behold, the beginning of the semester came about and Dr. Brahms suddenly had to have neck surgery placing him out of commission for (he claimed) the first two weeks of classes this semester. My first thought: "Pffft. Two weeks? Yeah, right." Let's not forget that he was gone for TWO MONTHS last year for knee surgery. In the meantime, other faculty members stepped up to cover his classes since I couldn't because they overlapped with my existing, meager as it was, teaching schedule. Fine, whatever.

Cut to one and a half weeks ago - one month into the semester and it turns out, he's not able to return anytime soon. Big surprise. So our music department head - who, up to this point, had been my greatest champion and has continuously insisted that, "Ysabel, you'll be the first person I call anytime any teaching opportunities come up. You're awesome! You're GREAT! WE VALUE YOU!" - sends out an email to the entire music faculty explaining that Dr. Brahms has finally decided to collect on eight weeks of sick pay to recover fully from his surgery which, if anybody with a right mind would have thought about it, should have been planned for before the freaking semester started so that the proper teaching assignments could be made. Anyway, the email from Department Head asked if anybody would be able to teach Dr. Brahms' four courses this semester. I, of course, immediately responded by volunteering to teach the two ear training classes that did not already conflict with my two existing classes.

Four hours later, we all received an email from Department Head stating that, because nobody (i.e. me) could teach ALL of Dr. Brahms' classes, he would be hiring on a new adjunct to teach those classes this semester. A girl who JUST graduated from Baylor with a Master's degree in music theory with absolutely zero teaching experience. A girl who just happened to send her resume in to Department Head this summer at the perfect time. A girl who, just through sheer circumstance and hasty decision making from Department Head, would now be relocating to a new city to teach for (I ASSUME) only two and a half months and be given an adjunct contract that was twice the size of mine.

In other words, I was not given the two additional classes I had room in my schedule for - not to mention desperately needed - because, if I did take those classes, Shiny New Adjunct Person would likely not relocate only to teach two classes at our university. So she gets four. I still only have two.

When this became clear, I was confused. Schmoobs was instantly livid. I felt like I should be more upset, but I could not really direct the anger anywhere. Yes, the situation was unfortunate, but could it have been handled any other way? At first, I thought no. It made sense. Shiny New Adjunct Person had to be lured with a considerable teaching load offering.

But then, the more I thought about it, the more bitter I felt.

For the past three years, I had done everything and much more than had been asked of me as a faculty member, let alone an adjunct. I've created syllabi and formulated lesson plans for the entire semester for a class that I had never taught before with, at times, one week's notice. I have gotten up at 6am in order to drive one hour and be ready for 8am Theory and 9am Ear Training and 10am Literature even though I still had to drive two more hours later that afternoon to teach clarinet lessons since my adjunct income was insufficient. I have generously and cheerfully agreed to administer and grade piles of theory exams that were the responsibility of an absent tenured professor who can no longer handle the duties of his title and yet refuses to step down. I have committed hours and hours of unpaid non-classroom time to creating lecture material and handouts and practice sheets and exercises in order to ensure that my students receive the utmost education that I can offer. And I have, literally, received THE highest course evaluations in the entire music department every semester for the past three years. And this semester, I am doing it all in order to be able to take home a paycheck that amounts to half the cost of renting a two bedroom condo in a Dallas suburb every month.

Fair, no. Stupid, probably. Stressful, yes. But I did it because, I assumed - no, I was told - that should any opportunity arise to give me more work, it would be done. So, you can understand my anger towards the university, Department Head and the profession as a whole when they chose not to reward me for my past service and record of excellence by giving me two additional credit hours of employment and, instead, offer the whole entire shebang to a twenty-five year old unknown entity whose spectacularly good timing offered the university the most convenience. It felt like somebody spit a metaphorical loogie in my face.

So I spent the entire last week seething with rage. I graded exams and seethed. I lectured on diatonic triads and seethed. I listened to sight singing exams and seethed. I avoided as many faculty members and especially Department Head as much as possible and seethed. I even skipped out on Department Head's informal birthday lunch celebration in the faculty lounge last Friday and went directly to my car after classes instead so I could drive home while I seethed. I looked at my paystub for the month and seethed especially bitterly. I angrily and aggressively typed out roughly two zillion freelance articles in order to make up for my embarrassingly small adjunct salary and seethed with every keystroke. I talked and cried it out with Schmoobs every day and we seethed together.

And so, because of this, the proverbial "last straw," and because of my entire life for the past six years since leaving graduate school and Living The Dream as an underpaid musician and educator, I have finally decided to start moving on. I will finish out the semester and do my best to earn the highest music department course evaluations again. I may even come back next semester to teach my favorite class in the curriculum, Music Literature, if I were so asked. Rumor has it that Department Head has become wise to my displeasure and has implied that he will be giving me more than twice the teaching load next semester than I have right now if - IF - I decide to come back.

But as I do all that and continue writing for pennies, I will be reading books and training myself in order to become employable in a more lucrative creative field - I think I'm going to aim high and learn about skills in the web and graphic design field. I know it will take work. I know it will take focus. But I know about work and I know about focus. All I need now is to know that, if I apply those two things in a field that is not music nor education, that eventually it will be rewarded with something more than just empty promises and an uncertain future. That maybe I'll be able to upgrade my 1998 Toyota someday. That I can buy a ridiculously overpriced $5 Star*ucks latte more than once a week without blowing my budget. That I can afford to visit my family without having to ask my parents for help buying a plane ticket.

Schmoobs understands my frustration but is worried that I will be sad about moving on from music education. I thought maybe I'd be sad, too. But I'm not. Truly. I explained to him that I enjoy teaching because I am good at it. I find pleasure in doing something and excelling in it. So if I can apply myself in another creative field, such as writing or web design, and be good at that too, I will love it as well. I think. I'm ready to find out. Plus, it's not like I would ever step completely away from music. Ever. I've still got my devil stick. Hell, I've got two of them. I also have my guitar with its ten-year old strings and my digital piano. I've also got my resume that makes me qualified to teach adjunct music courses whenever or wherever the hell I want to. So there's that.

<breathe>

Let's get on to the more entertaining stuff.

Schmoobs offhandedly learned last week that Shiny New Adjunct Person would be sharing my office. The office that I had not been able to use all semester because it had been temporarily assigned to the contractor who needed the space while he worked on repairing our music building. A contractor that would be utilizing my office from the very beginning of the semester until October, precisely when Shiny New Adjunct Person arrived. What the eff is with this girl's perfect timing coinciding with all my effing misfortune? So, without even being granted the courtesy of having been told officially, I learned by word of mouth that I would be sharing my office space beginning at the exact time that it would be available to me again.

So, last week, as I was in full on seethe mode, I was especially pleased to receive an email from Department Head informing the faculty that Shiny New Adjunct Person would be offering theory tutoring three days a week...out of "our" office. So, of course, since I had not been (and still have not been, by the way) informed in person that my office would be shared and had not been contacted by Shiny New Adjunct Person about setting up a shared office schedule, I took it upon myself to reply to both Department Head and Shiny New Adjunct Person with the following succinct message:


"Department Head and Shiny New Adjunct Person,


Will these tutoring sessions in {my office room number} be during a scheduled time, or should I assume that they will be all day?


Ysabel"

The implication, of course, being that I would really like to know if I would have the privilege to use my own office at any point, or if I should just try and squeeze some time in there whenever a tutoring session happened to not be going on. I wonder if my pointed curtness came across in that email. I didn't include any happy face emoticons or enthusiastic exclamation points, so I think I made my point clear.

And THEN. This morning, I got to work early, about 7:40am, in order to make a buttload of copies of handouts and practice sheets for my theory and ear training classes. Three minutes after I had started on my first copying set, who should walk in? Shiny New Adjunct Person. I smiled. I said hello. We had this conversation:

SNAP: "Hi! Have you seen the office yet?"
Ys: "No... I peeked in there on Friday but the contractor was still in there and I haven't been up there since..."
SNAP: "Oh. Well...I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of putting some of my stuff in there. To decorate it a bit. I just hate when things are so sparse and barren..."

She took the liberty of decorating my office - MY GODDAMN OFFICE GODDAMNIT!!!!! MY OFFICE THAT I LIKE TO KEEP NEAT AND TIDY AND UNCLUTTERED AND CLEAN OF CRAP!!!!! - without just at least asking out of courtesy. WHO DOES THAT?! Am I completely bonkers or is that weird?! IT'S WEIRD, RIGHT?!?! So, while I silently raged inside...

Ys: "Oh. Sure. Yeah, that's fine. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the office. Clearly, it's not an office that's meant to be shared by two people at once. So, if it works with your schedule, I'd like to be able to use it from 10 to 11am."
SNAP: "Oh, of course! That's perfect, since I start tutoring at 11am."

Yes. Perfect. Isn't it nice when other people take consideration of the time and needs of those that will be affected by their decision making and then have a brief yet necessary discussion about the matter and come to an agreeable decision for all parties? Anyway, because, despite all my rage and anger and bitterness, I am brain damaged in the particular section of my cranium that regulates politeness and manners:

Ys: "How much copying do you have to do? I have quite a bit..."
SNAP: "Oh, not that much. Just a couple of handouts for my 8am class."
Ys: "Okay, why don't I just finish this first set of copies and you can do yours real quick. Then I can go ahead and finish mine up when you're done."
SNAP: "Oh, great! Thanks!"

AND THEN SHE PROCEEDED TO CAUSE I SWEAR TO YOU FOUR PAPER JAMS IN A ROW THAT I HAD TO HELP HER FIX EVERY SINGLE TIME GODDAMNIT AAAAAAUUGGH!!!

So. By the time she finished her freaking worst copy job of all time in the entire universe and got up to her 8am theory class on time, I was able to finish all my copies and get to my class...five minutes late. And while I was hurriedly rushing up the staircase and through the horde of students waiting for my class, one of them decided to be cute and joke-scold me by tapping on his watch while I walked by and saying, "Laaate. Tsk tsk tsk."

At which point, I grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him over the second story balcony to the cement floor below to his death.

Just kidding, but I thought about it.

AND THEN. After my last class, I headed back up to my office to check out the decorating. I approached the door, next to which is my bulletin board upon which I neatly and minimally post my most recent handouts and lecture notes and saw that it had been decorated with Fall Harvest themed fabric squares. FALL HARVEST THEMED FABRIC SQUARES. On my bulletin board. There was a student standing nearby. He heard me mutter to myself, "What the hell?"

And then I opened the door and walked in to be greeted with the following:

• MORE assorted Fall Harvest themed fabric squares adorning the back wall of the desk. 
• A giant portrait of her family in a frame on the desk.
• A green teddy bear. On the desk. Wearing a "Baylor" teddy bear t-shirt.
• A digital clock on one bookshelf that was displaying the wrong time.
• A coffee mug that had a picture of a music triad in first inversion on it. On the desk.
• A lavender colored clock on the wall. Emblazoned on the face in all manner of pastel shades of blue, green and yellow various music symbols in place of the clock numbers.

There was more. But this was all I could remember as my brain quickly took a snapshot before I had to look away and literally slow-motion say to myself, "Oooh....myyy...Go-" And then I dove into my purse so that I could text message Schmoobs and warn him of my continuing descent into madness. 

And then I hurriedly finished recording two sets of theory homework assignment grades into my computer before my allotted one hour of precious office time was up and I drove away to meet Schmoobs at the nearest Star*ucks so that I could medicate with some coffee. 

So that's what's up lately.

Oh wait, there's this: Schmoobs wants to get a new puppy. I wouldn't not love a puppy that happened to start living in our home. But, at the same time, I am surprisingly not brain damaged in the section of my cranium that regulates practicality and responsibility and I am cautious and forcing Schmoobs to seriously consider all the time and financial commitments a decision like this will entail. Unbeknownst to me, he has been thinking about and researching this for quite a while.

Me all weekend, when I finally realized that he was seriously considering getting another dog: "Schmoobs, you have to let me know when you are thinking about making decisions like this so that it doesn't feel so sudden for me. DURR."

Don't get me wrong. If I were to even slightly insist that I did not want another dog, Schmoobs would drop it and put the issue aside. At least for a while. But, of course, once you meet the cute doggies and one of them decides to climb into both your laps on two different occasions and fall asleep both times, you have a difficult time going from "80% no" to "100% no." So anyway, we fell in puppy love with a Boston Terrier yesterday. Much discussing has been had and will continue to be had until I am convinced that the best decision has been made, either way. If we don't get her on Wednesday, I am sure she will end up going to a wonderful and loving home. But if we do end up getting her, I have decided that her name will be Addy. Short for Admiral Ackbar.

She and BB would make perfect cuddle buddies. They will be all sorts of snorty and farty together. Bela would just take his anger out by killing me and Schmoobs in our sleep.