I've been getting lots of questions about what I'm up to lately, so I thought I'd post a little update for those who are interested.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
Q: What are you up to, Tara?
A: Quite a lot - thanks for asking! Please read on for details...
Q: I heard you were leaving Stockton - is it true?!?!
A: Why yes, it IS true. My last day is May 6, so if you happen to be around campus, stop by and say Aloha!
Q: But aren't you sad about leaving?
A: I am. But as a wise person once said, all good things must come to an end. I have enjoyed my 10 years there, but it's time to give someone else a shot at the job.
Q: What will you do for food?!
A: I will most likely continue to eat a lot of apples and drink a lot of coffee. I don't expect my leaving Stockton will change that at all.
Q: But how will you PAY for food?
A: With money, which of course I will earn at all my other endeavors. If not, there's always scavenging (a highly underutilized and under-appreciated form of sustenance).
Q: I heard you were building a business - is it true?
A: Yes, it is. I've been a freelancer for more than eight years but I just officially registered with the state. It's called Triple Threat Freelancing, LLC and I'm working on my website right now (www.triplethreatfreelancing.com).
Q: But what will you do in the meantime? Businesses aren't built in a day!
A: True, but I've got it covered. I've been working with a wonderful nonprofit and a fantastic small business, and I plan to continue doing that for some time.
Q: What's the nonprofit?
A: New Jersey Coalition Against Sexual Assault (NJCASA; www.njcasa.org); I'm the new AmeriCorps Coordinator.
Q: What's the small business?
A: The Philadelphia International Music Festival (PIMF; www.pimf.org); I do a bit of everything.
Q: Anything else?
A: I have some writing and editing contracts here and there. But they're top-secret...for now. And I'm an adjunct at Atlantic Cape Community College - I believe I may be teaching a couple of classes at Stockton in the fall, too.
Q: But what about medical school? Didn't you say you were going to do that?
A: Yes - yes, I did. Plans have changed slightly, though.
Q: WHAAAATTTTT?! After all that nonsense about changing direction and becoming a world-famous neurologist?
A: I've changed direction again and have decided to pursue a doctorate in neuropsychology, which will allow me to do the same type of work without the time and expense of medical school.
Q: What made you decide that?
A: I'm turning 30 this year. I've been taking stock of my life and what's important to me lately and I realized that I don't want to miss out on my marriage and family for the next ten years.
Q: OK, well that all sounds okay. Will we still hear from you?
A: Yes. I never really go away - I'm like the plague that way (you know, except for the whole fleas-on-rats thing).
t.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Customer service...the good, the bad, and the ugly
I think I may have found my writing niche - customer service in health care. Or perhaps the lack thereof. I don't know about you, but it seems to me that it might not be so awful to go to doctors if perhaps they were a bit nicer to you.
Let me contextualize. I have chronic sinusitis, and I'm absolutely positive it's worse than it actually sounds. Have you ever had a sinus infection? You know that feeling when your head is all stuffy, your face hurts, and you've got a sore throat from all the post-nasal dripping? You know how sometimes it makes you dizzy and a little bit nauseous, maybe tired and achy? Welcome to my world. Chronic sinusitis is like that ALL THE TIME. I suppose it's got its benefits - after awhile you get so used to constant pain, pressure, and dizziness that the flu feels like nothing at all. So it toughens you up, even if you don't want to BE toughened up.
Anyway, I've been on the lookout for a good Ear, Nose, & Throat doc for some time and one day, I stumbled upon an ad in a local publication touting this one particular doctor and her state-of-the-art method for ridding patients of sinus pain and pressure. Of course I thought to myself, "I got to have me some of that!" so I called her office, made an appointment five weeks away, and waited.
Finally, the day of my appointment came. I was so excited at the prospect of getting rid of the sludge in my face, I couldn't wait to meet her! I showed up early because I knew there'd be tons of paperwork to fill out, so I did all of it, took it proudly to the window, and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait.
An hour and a half past my appointment time, to be precise. An hour. And a half.
To say that I was frustrated would be an understatement. This doctor came with a great reputation and obviously her office was buzzing with people who also couldn't wait to see her. But an hour and a half? That's a bit extreme, don't you think? When she finally came into the exam room, there was no apology, no acknowledgment even that I had been waiting way longer than expected. In fact, I didn't even get a smile. After we were finished, I left with another appointment set for this week. I was irked because I had missed another important appointment while waiting to see this doctor, but I was so glad to have the prospect of sinus surgery on my horizon that I waited anyway. I thought it would be worth it.
My follow-up appointment was originally scheduled for this past Tuesday, so I took another day off of work (having already missed more than my sick days because of constant illness over the last three weeks). A half an hour before my appointment, the receptionist calls and says the doctor has to cancel. I missed another day of work for this, but okay...So I rescheduled for today.
So guess what? I took another day off of work to go to my appointment today. I was cheerful and tried not to be too put off by the poor customer service so far. I went in a bit early and waited. Do you see where I'm going here? I waited another 45 minutes past my appointment time when I FINALLY got the chutzpah to leave. I calmly walked out to the receptionist desk and told the woman there that I couldn't wait any longer. I made it clear that I knew it wasn't her fault, but I was upset because of all the waiting I'd already had to do for this doctor. I didn't want to seem like a nasty or constantly angry patient, but come on!!!! I explained to her that I'd missed three days of work (and other appointments) because this doctor either didn't consider her patients' time to be as valuable as hers OR because she couldn't actually accommodate new patients, as I had been led to believe.
So was I being unreasonable?
No, I don't think I was. I even let her keep my co-pay (which she was going to keep anyway). I left there so angry I could have cried - in fact, I did tear up a bit (sometimes I let my frustration get the best of me). I had wasted so much time and hope on a doctor who just didn't seem all that interested in her patients. Maybe it's because I was new. Maybe it's because she was too busy. Maybe she just happened to be having a bad couple of weeks.
If it had been an isolated incident, I would have gotten over it and continued to go back. But it wasn't isolated - it seems to be this woman's M.O. and that's just a shame. By my calculations, I wasted three sick days; about six hours just waiting, filling out paperwork, and driving to the office (she's about 45 minutes away from my house); at least one tank of fuel driving back and forth; and an unmeasurable amount of emotional energy. All for nothing. I know, I could have just sat and waited some more - then, at least the trip wouldn't have been for nothing, right? But here's the way I see it - you shouldn't do things because you feel cornered into them. I got tired of feeling like I was just a couple of dollar signs to this woman - her receptionist clearly didn't care that I was leaving (and she basically told me so). You know why? Because I'm sure there's five more patients waiting in line behind me who will gladly take my spot. And that's fine with me - I'll find another doctor. I know good ones exist - my family doctor is a great example of how to feel respected and heard as a patient.
I was so angry about the whole situation. I thought about writing a letter to the editor or driving back to the office to tell her what poor customer service skills she had. But to what end? Like Alex pointed out, she still got my copay and she'll probably still bill the insurance company for a visit that never happened. So I opted for focusing on the GOOD customer service I experienced today.
For example, I had to take my car to get fixed at a collision shop (I hit a deer a few months back and tore the grill off the front of my car). Not only did Bogg's Collision in Woodbury treat me well, they actually charged me LESS than the quote and had it done sooner than expected. They were communicative, very nice to speak to, and reasonable. THAT was superior customer service.
And I went to Family Dollar today to get Rosie some more of her tennis sticks (they're made out of the same stuff tennis balls are, but they're sticks so they're easier to pry from her grip). They only had one left, so I asked the cashier if they would get anymore in, and she very cheerfully told me that yes, they would be getting more in. And when I asked her to help me get some tomato cages unstuck from each other so I could buy four instead of the entire box, she gladly assisted. THAT was excellent service, too.
So customer service matters. It even (maybe especially) matters in health care. People don't go to doctors to talk about how well they are, do they? No, they typically go because they're miserable, in pain, sick, whatever. So shouldn't doctors be kind and appreciative of their business? Because just like there's five more people to take the spot of one disgruntled ex-patient, there's about 100 doctors to replace every one I decide doesn't fit the bill.
t.
Let me contextualize. I have chronic sinusitis, and I'm absolutely positive it's worse than it actually sounds. Have you ever had a sinus infection? You know that feeling when your head is all stuffy, your face hurts, and you've got a sore throat from all the post-nasal dripping? You know how sometimes it makes you dizzy and a little bit nauseous, maybe tired and achy? Welcome to my world. Chronic sinusitis is like that ALL THE TIME. I suppose it's got its benefits - after awhile you get so used to constant pain, pressure, and dizziness that the flu feels like nothing at all. So it toughens you up, even if you don't want to BE toughened up.
Anyway, I've been on the lookout for a good Ear, Nose, & Throat doc for some time and one day, I stumbled upon an ad in a local publication touting this one particular doctor and her state-of-the-art method for ridding patients of sinus pain and pressure. Of course I thought to myself, "I got to have me some of that!" so I called her office, made an appointment five weeks away, and waited.
Finally, the day of my appointment came. I was so excited at the prospect of getting rid of the sludge in my face, I couldn't wait to meet her! I showed up early because I knew there'd be tons of paperwork to fill out, so I did all of it, took it proudly to the window, and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait.
An hour and a half past my appointment time, to be precise. An hour. And a half.
To say that I was frustrated would be an understatement. This doctor came with a great reputation and obviously her office was buzzing with people who also couldn't wait to see her. But an hour and a half? That's a bit extreme, don't you think? When she finally came into the exam room, there was no apology, no acknowledgment even that I had been waiting way longer than expected. In fact, I didn't even get a smile. After we were finished, I left with another appointment set for this week. I was irked because I had missed another important appointment while waiting to see this doctor, but I was so glad to have the prospect of sinus surgery on my horizon that I waited anyway. I thought it would be worth it.
My follow-up appointment was originally scheduled for this past Tuesday, so I took another day off of work (having already missed more than my sick days because of constant illness over the last three weeks). A half an hour before my appointment, the receptionist calls and says the doctor has to cancel. I missed another day of work for this, but okay...So I rescheduled for today.
So guess what? I took another day off of work to go to my appointment today. I was cheerful and tried not to be too put off by the poor customer service so far. I went in a bit early and waited. Do you see where I'm going here? I waited another 45 minutes past my appointment time when I FINALLY got the chutzpah to leave. I calmly walked out to the receptionist desk and told the woman there that I couldn't wait any longer. I made it clear that I knew it wasn't her fault, but I was upset because of all the waiting I'd already had to do for this doctor. I didn't want to seem like a nasty or constantly angry patient, but come on!!!! I explained to her that I'd missed three days of work (and other appointments) because this doctor either didn't consider her patients' time to be as valuable as hers OR because she couldn't actually accommodate new patients, as I had been led to believe.
So was I being unreasonable?
No, I don't think I was. I even let her keep my co-pay (which she was going to keep anyway). I left there so angry I could have cried - in fact, I did tear up a bit (sometimes I let my frustration get the best of me). I had wasted so much time and hope on a doctor who just didn't seem all that interested in her patients. Maybe it's because I was new. Maybe it's because she was too busy. Maybe she just happened to be having a bad couple of weeks.
If it had been an isolated incident, I would have gotten over it and continued to go back. But it wasn't isolated - it seems to be this woman's M.O. and that's just a shame. By my calculations, I wasted three sick days; about six hours just waiting, filling out paperwork, and driving to the office (she's about 45 minutes away from my house); at least one tank of fuel driving back and forth; and an unmeasurable amount of emotional energy. All for nothing. I know, I could have just sat and waited some more - then, at least the trip wouldn't have been for nothing, right? But here's the way I see it - you shouldn't do things because you feel cornered into them. I got tired of feeling like I was just a couple of dollar signs to this woman - her receptionist clearly didn't care that I was leaving (and she basically told me so). You know why? Because I'm sure there's five more patients waiting in line behind me who will gladly take my spot. And that's fine with me - I'll find another doctor. I know good ones exist - my family doctor is a great example of how to feel respected and heard as a patient.
I was so angry about the whole situation. I thought about writing a letter to the editor or driving back to the office to tell her what poor customer service skills she had. But to what end? Like Alex pointed out, she still got my copay and she'll probably still bill the insurance company for a visit that never happened. So I opted for focusing on the GOOD customer service I experienced today.
For example, I had to take my car to get fixed at a collision shop (I hit a deer a few months back and tore the grill off the front of my car). Not only did Bogg's Collision in Woodbury treat me well, they actually charged me LESS than the quote and had it done sooner than expected. They were communicative, very nice to speak to, and reasonable. THAT was superior customer service.
And I went to Family Dollar today to get Rosie some more of her tennis sticks (they're made out of the same stuff tennis balls are, but they're sticks so they're easier to pry from her grip). They only had one left, so I asked the cashier if they would get anymore in, and she very cheerfully told me that yes, they would be getting more in. And when I asked her to help me get some tomato cages unstuck from each other so I could buy four instead of the entire box, she gladly assisted. THAT was excellent service, too.
So customer service matters. It even (maybe especially) matters in health care. People don't go to doctors to talk about how well they are, do they? No, they typically go because they're miserable, in pain, sick, whatever. So shouldn't doctors be kind and appreciative of their business? Because just like there's five more people to take the spot of one disgruntled ex-patient, there's about 100 doctors to replace every one I decide doesn't fit the bill.
t.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Procrastination be damned!
My name is Tara and I am a bonafide, dyed-in-the-wool procrastinator. In fact, I'm probably procrastinating right now, although off the top of my head I can't think of anything else I should be doing. Which may be the problem.
I was just scanning my email when I came across this very interesting (and timely) article about procrastinators. It's certainly not the first time I've read something about procrastination, but it IS the first time I've read anything about procrastination potentially being a psychological disorder. And hey, why not?
See, in this article two experts talk about how procrastination is really just symptomatic of a chronic misjudgment of time, inability to make decisions, and failure to take responsibility for one's life. I can't really argue with any of that (although I think it's a stretch to call it a disorder in and of itself). Although I'm rarely late for things, I do have a tendency to misjudge how much time I have to complete a task or how much time it will actually take me to do that task. I'm one of those dreadful people who keeps all of her clocks ten minutes ahead of time so that I feel like I'm running late just so there's enough pressure for me to light a fire under my own ass. Anyone who knows me also knows I'm TERRIBLE at making decisions - I mean positively paralytic when it comes to deciding on Special K or Fruity Pebbles (because I always WANT Fruity Pebbles but I know they're worse for me than Special K, so there's always this internal battle going on in the cereal aisle).
I'm definitely a chronic procrastinator. So what's a girl to do?
Well, when that girl is getting ready to start working for herself (i.e., depending entirely on her own ability to drum up jobs and meet actual deadlines), that girl panics.
She thinks, "OMG, self, what the hell were you thinking?"
And then she goes into self-preservation mode and starts blogging instead of addressing the actual problem.
I will say that I've been much more proactive than I typically am when I decided that working for myself was the way to go - I've gotten linked up with a bunch of freelance organizations, I've already gotten a few side jobs to help pay the bills, and I've EVEN saved a little cash as a failure-cushion. But I have a feeling there's still much ground to travel before I REALLY and truly except the fact that I'm screwed if I don't get a little dose of self-discipline.
I'm pretty sure procrastination is showing up in other areas of my life, too. In fact, I'm positive of it. You know that six-figure student loan debt I've wracked up? Well, I have found many ways over the year to defer payment to my debtors (legitimately, of course), but really all that means is that I'll be paying off my education well into my 70s.
And I managed to put off serving jury duty for ten years and in three different counties until I just didn't have any good excuses anymore and you know where I ended up? Camden. I guess that's what happens when you put things off unnecessarily.
So that brings me to question what else I'm putting off. What else am I not acknowledging because I don't have the strength-of-character to deal with it? Good question. I think I'll think about it tomorrow.
t.
I was just scanning my email when I came across this very interesting (and timely) article about procrastinators. It's certainly not the first time I've read something about procrastination, but it IS the first time I've read anything about procrastination potentially being a psychological disorder. And hey, why not?
See, in this article two experts talk about how procrastination is really just symptomatic of a chronic misjudgment of time, inability to make decisions, and failure to take responsibility for one's life. I can't really argue with any of that (although I think it's a stretch to call it a disorder in and of itself). Although I'm rarely late for things, I do have a tendency to misjudge how much time I have to complete a task or how much time it will actually take me to do that task. I'm one of those dreadful people who keeps all of her clocks ten minutes ahead of time so that I feel like I'm running late just so there's enough pressure for me to light a fire under my own ass. Anyone who knows me also knows I'm TERRIBLE at making decisions - I mean positively paralytic when it comes to deciding on Special K or Fruity Pebbles (because I always WANT Fruity Pebbles but I know they're worse for me than Special K, so there's always this internal battle going on in the cereal aisle).
I'm definitely a chronic procrastinator. So what's a girl to do?
Well, when that girl is getting ready to start working for herself (i.e., depending entirely on her own ability to drum up jobs and meet actual deadlines), that girl panics.
She thinks, "OMG, self, what the hell were you thinking?"
And then she goes into self-preservation mode and starts blogging instead of addressing the actual problem.
I will say that I've been much more proactive than I typically am when I decided that working for myself was the way to go - I've gotten linked up with a bunch of freelance organizations, I've already gotten a few side jobs to help pay the bills, and I've EVEN saved a little cash as a failure-cushion. But I have a feeling there's still much ground to travel before I REALLY and truly except the fact that I'm screwed if I don't get a little dose of self-discipline.
I'm pretty sure procrastination is showing up in other areas of my life, too. In fact, I'm positive of it. You know that six-figure student loan debt I've wracked up? Well, I have found many ways over the year to defer payment to my debtors (legitimately, of course), but really all that means is that I'll be paying off my education well into my 70s.
And I managed to put off serving jury duty for ten years and in three different counties until I just didn't have any good excuses anymore and you know where I ended up? Camden. I guess that's what happens when you put things off unnecessarily.
So that brings me to question what else I'm putting off. What else am I not acknowledging because I don't have the strength-of-character to deal with it? Good question. I think I'll think about it tomorrow.
t.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Ash Wednesday...and all that
Today is Ash Wednesday. Know how I know? Because there's a priest in the hallway outside my office drawing on people's faces. Know how else I know? Because all day today, I've been looking at people who evidently didn't think ahead and got their faces drawn on early this morning, only to find that ashes pretty much liquify and run down your face after you've been sweating all day. What can I say? I know some pretty sweaty people.
So here's what happened.
I was getting that oh-so-familiar hunger for chocolate delighfulness around 3:30, so I felt up my pockets to see if I could dig up change for some peanutty M&Ms. Lucky for me, I had a couple of bucks so I ambled on out into the hallway to haunt the vending machine (which happens to haunt me just about eight hours a day). I saw the priest talking to some sorority girls and commending them for organizing some religious hullabaloo in honor of Ash Wednesday (my guess is they were repenting mightily for whatever they did on Fat Tuesday). I didn't think much of it...until my second trip out to the vending machine for another bag of M&Ms (it's been a rough day). As I was trying to slip by the priest unnoticed, I suddenly felt his eyes on me - you might say it felt as though the very eyes of God were drilling into my ravenous, chocolate-hungry soul. For a moment, I wondered if he had noticed my first trip to the machine and if so, was he judging me for what was obviously a bad case of gluttony? I mean, gluttony is a sin, right? I think those big stone blocks had something to say about it.
Now listen, I'm not a religious person. I believe in God, though, so when I pass a nun or a priest, you better believe I put on my "I'm behaving" look and walk on by just as sweetly as I can. But I will tell you that priests (more so than nuns) make me feel a little slimy - I don't know if it's all the scandal that surrounds them or if it's all the scandal that surrounds my aberrant chocolate-eating behaviors, but whenever I pass a priest, I feel like I should go take a shower. I feel like I'm being JUDGED.
So it got me thinking, this whole middle-of-the-hallway judgment thing that was happening to me - why is it that the priest is staring ME down as I walk innocently by, as if to ask me why I haven't been saved from my hedonistic ways? Why is it that when an Orthodox Jew or Muslim walks by, he just politely smiles and nods at them? I've got a theory...
There is a certain degree of political correctness in a priest acting respectfully towards someone who is CLEARLY of a religion that is diametrically opposed to Catholicism. I'm one of those people who thinks the basic tenets of all religions are essentially the same - there is certainly something beautifully fascinating in the details of each, but altogether, everyone just wants the world to be a shiny, happy place, right? (Except for the nutjobs, of course.) But there is absolutely NO political correctness in letting someone who is clearly a heathen pass un-accosted by the Catholic church's holy recruiters. I think there are two things at work here:
1. The priest basically has no hope of saving the Orthodox Jew or Muslim and he knows it. They're going to hell and he knows that, too. Still, he can be nice in his pity for their damned souls because he knows his chance of recruiting them is slim to none. And why would he want to anyway? The Jews killed Jesus (and apparently ate babies) and the Muslims are all violent, American-hating freaks.
2. The priest does know, however, when he's looking at a potentially Christian sinner. I'm conspicuous in my lack of religious attire. In fact, I might as well be a hooker as far as he's concerned. "Look at that skirt, so far above her calves!" he's thinking, all the while calculating his approach and how he can successfully use the least amount of energy in making me feel the greatest amount of guilt. Well, this is what I imagine is happening anyway.
So basically, because I choose not to wear my deity on my sleeve (which is an interesting analogy, given my sudden interest in getting the great, fat Buddha tattooed down my entire arm), I am fair game. And all of a sudden, I am drowning in the judgment of the Catholic Campus Ministry priest's stare. I can feel it on my back, and if I'm not mistaken, he was checking out my ass, too.
Does God hate me because I'm speaking so disrespectfully of a priest? Nah, probably not. I'm pretty sure he doesn't like most of them, either.
t.
So here's what happened.
I was getting that oh-so-familiar hunger for chocolate delighfulness around 3:30, so I felt up my pockets to see if I could dig up change for some peanutty M&Ms. Lucky for me, I had a couple of bucks so I ambled on out into the hallway to haunt the vending machine (which happens to haunt me just about eight hours a day). I saw the priest talking to some sorority girls and commending them for organizing some religious hullabaloo in honor of Ash Wednesday (my guess is they were repenting mightily for whatever they did on Fat Tuesday). I didn't think much of it...until my second trip out to the vending machine for another bag of M&Ms (it's been a rough day). As I was trying to slip by the priest unnoticed, I suddenly felt his eyes on me - you might say it felt as though the very eyes of God were drilling into my ravenous, chocolate-hungry soul. For a moment, I wondered if he had noticed my first trip to the machine and if so, was he judging me for what was obviously a bad case of gluttony? I mean, gluttony is a sin, right? I think those big stone blocks had something to say about it.
Now listen, I'm not a religious person. I believe in God, though, so when I pass a nun or a priest, you better believe I put on my "I'm behaving" look and walk on by just as sweetly as I can. But I will tell you that priests (more so than nuns) make me feel a little slimy - I don't know if it's all the scandal that surrounds them or if it's all the scandal that surrounds my aberrant chocolate-eating behaviors, but whenever I pass a priest, I feel like I should go take a shower. I feel like I'm being JUDGED.
So it got me thinking, this whole middle-of-the-hallway judgment thing that was happening to me - why is it that the priest is staring ME down as I walk innocently by, as if to ask me why I haven't been saved from my hedonistic ways? Why is it that when an Orthodox Jew or Muslim walks by, he just politely smiles and nods at them? I've got a theory...
There is a certain degree of political correctness in a priest acting respectfully towards someone who is CLEARLY of a religion that is diametrically opposed to Catholicism. I'm one of those people who thinks the basic tenets of all religions are essentially the same - there is certainly something beautifully fascinating in the details of each, but altogether, everyone just wants the world to be a shiny, happy place, right? (Except for the nutjobs, of course.) But there is absolutely NO political correctness in letting someone who is clearly a heathen pass un-accosted by the Catholic church's holy recruiters. I think there are two things at work here:
1. The priest basically has no hope of saving the Orthodox Jew or Muslim and he knows it. They're going to hell and he knows that, too. Still, he can be nice in his pity for their damned souls because he knows his chance of recruiting them is slim to none. And why would he want to anyway? The Jews killed Jesus (and apparently ate babies) and the Muslims are all violent, American-hating freaks.
2. The priest does know, however, when he's looking at a potentially Christian sinner. I'm conspicuous in my lack of religious attire. In fact, I might as well be a hooker as far as he's concerned. "Look at that skirt, so far above her calves!" he's thinking, all the while calculating his approach and how he can successfully use the least amount of energy in making me feel the greatest amount of guilt. Well, this is what I imagine is happening anyway.
So basically, because I choose not to wear my deity on my sleeve (which is an interesting analogy, given my sudden interest in getting the great, fat Buddha tattooed down my entire arm), I am fair game. And all of a sudden, I am drowning in the judgment of the Catholic Campus Ministry priest's stare. I can feel it on my back, and if I'm not mistaken, he was checking out my ass, too.
Does God hate me because I'm speaking so disrespectfully of a priest? Nah, probably not. I'm pretty sure he doesn't like most of them, either.
t.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The incredible burping dog
I have a dog that burps. There's nothing inherently unique about this fact, unless you consider that she pretty much intentionally does it in my face. Lots of people (usually dog trainers and the like) say that dogs aren't motivated by anything other than instinct when they act. I disagree.
My dog burps in my face because she can and because she thinks it's funny. Sometimes she also farts while staring at me.
At first, I thought maybe I was being a little sensitive. See, my dog (until very recently) has never really liked me all that much. She's a daddy's girl and can regularly be found curling up lovingly at my husband's feet, shoving her face into his armpit and falling asleep, sticking her nose in his ear and trying to wake him up. You know, that kind of cute, doggy-type thing. On the other hand, she can typically be found growling at me if I get too close to her for any reason (although her growls have really turned into a sort of high-pitched whining because she knows she'll get in trouble for actually growling). Unless food or toys are involved, she generally wants very little to do with me - except that recently, she has decided that I am her perfect playmate and she assaults me at all times of the day with her strange red Martha Stewart rope toy. But I digress...
The long and short of it is that I have a very gassy dog who enjoys making public displays of her gassy-ness, generally in the direction of my face. Like when, approximately ten minutes ago, she stood in the middle of the living room floor (I'm home sick again today), stared at me (all the while wagging her tail), and burped very loudly and very intentionally. I'm pretty sure I heard her chuckle after that.
And sometimes when I refuse to respond to her cries for attention, she deliberately turns her back on me and farts. Tell me that's not intentional.
My dog hates me. Still, she's pretty amazing at performing feats of gas that are difficult even for my dad.
t.
My dog burps in my face because she can and because she thinks it's funny. Sometimes she also farts while staring at me.
At first, I thought maybe I was being a little sensitive. See, my dog (until very recently) has never really liked me all that much. She's a daddy's girl and can regularly be found curling up lovingly at my husband's feet, shoving her face into his armpit and falling asleep, sticking her nose in his ear and trying to wake him up. You know, that kind of cute, doggy-type thing. On the other hand, she can typically be found growling at me if I get too close to her for any reason (although her growls have really turned into a sort of high-pitched whining because she knows she'll get in trouble for actually growling). Unless food or toys are involved, she generally wants very little to do with me - except that recently, she has decided that I am her perfect playmate and she assaults me at all times of the day with her strange red Martha Stewart rope toy. But I digress...
The long and short of it is that I have a very gassy dog who enjoys making public displays of her gassy-ness, generally in the direction of my face. Like when, approximately ten minutes ago, she stood in the middle of the living room floor (I'm home sick again today), stared at me (all the while wagging her tail), and burped very loudly and very intentionally. I'm pretty sure I heard her chuckle after that.
And sometimes when I refuse to respond to her cries for attention, she deliberately turns her back on me and farts. Tell me that's not intentional.
My dog hates me. Still, she's pretty amazing at performing feats of gas that are difficult even for my dad.
t.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Resignation
Although the news hasn't really hit the airwaves yet, my life has just changed drastically. After much thought and flip-flopping, I officially resigned from my position at Stockton today. It won't be effective until mid-May because I don't desire to make anyone else's life more difficult in the middle of an academic semester, but now I have a deadline by which to make some important decisions.
Oh, how I've tossed and turned over this decision. My entire professional career has been built at that school, and I can't begin to describe the wealth of relationships I've built there. It's been home for so long, I'm not quite sure what life will be like without it. One thing's for sure - it's already scarier. I have no immediate job prospects, although I'm completely confident in my ability to continue making a living. I hope to write more, edit more, and most of all, teach more. I have found that teaching is where I am most comfortable - it allows me to connect with students in more significant ways than I currently do and it's such a great thing to know that you've got SOMETHING useful to offer the world. I don't expect to pursue a teaching certificate, but I will certainly look for as many adjunct instructor opportunities as I can throughout my immediate area and beyond. And, of course, I'll continue to plod through my pre-med studies at a snail's pace.
It's difficult to explain - I feel like I've been watching the long, slow death of my current profession for some time now and it's been brutal. My entire life has been built around my field - my self-esteem has, at least to some degree, hinged almost entirely on what I've been able to accomplish professionally and academically. It's scary to think of moving on finally.
But I'm also completely intrigued by what might be possible now. I suppose I owe a lot of my evolution as a person to Alex for being so supportive of every decision I've made in the time that we've been together. Not once has he told me NOT to do something; in fact, he's pushed me to really think about what I love to do and how to make it into a career. So that's what I'm doing, I suppose.
It's going to be weird, looking at everything I do this semester as the last time I'll do it at Stockton. It will be even stranger to see someone else in my chair, in my office, probably with the horrible fluorescent lights on instead of the cozy little cave-lighting I've created. It will be weird to go to the school only as a student and not as an employee with the benefit of an office, a little plot of land in academia to call my own.
I'm just being self-indulgent and reminiscent now :) I've got a great deal of heartburn (both literal and figurative), so I suppose I'll take some Pepto and go to bed. Good night, all.
t.
Oh, how I've tossed and turned over this decision. My entire professional career has been built at that school, and I can't begin to describe the wealth of relationships I've built there. It's been home for so long, I'm not quite sure what life will be like without it. One thing's for sure - it's already scarier. I have no immediate job prospects, although I'm completely confident in my ability to continue making a living. I hope to write more, edit more, and most of all, teach more. I have found that teaching is where I am most comfortable - it allows me to connect with students in more significant ways than I currently do and it's such a great thing to know that you've got SOMETHING useful to offer the world. I don't expect to pursue a teaching certificate, but I will certainly look for as many adjunct instructor opportunities as I can throughout my immediate area and beyond. And, of course, I'll continue to plod through my pre-med studies at a snail's pace.
It's difficult to explain - I feel like I've been watching the long, slow death of my current profession for some time now and it's been brutal. My entire life has been built around my field - my self-esteem has, at least to some degree, hinged almost entirely on what I've been able to accomplish professionally and academically. It's scary to think of moving on finally.
But I'm also completely intrigued by what might be possible now. I suppose I owe a lot of my evolution as a person to Alex for being so supportive of every decision I've made in the time that we've been together. Not once has he told me NOT to do something; in fact, he's pushed me to really think about what I love to do and how to make it into a career. So that's what I'm doing, I suppose.
It's going to be weird, looking at everything I do this semester as the last time I'll do it at Stockton. It will be even stranger to see someone else in my chair, in my office, probably with the horrible fluorescent lights on instead of the cozy little cave-lighting I've created. It will be weird to go to the school only as a student and not as an employee with the benefit of an office, a little plot of land in academia to call my own.
I'm just being self-indulgent and reminiscent now :) I've got a great deal of heartburn (both literal and figurative), so I suppose I'll take some Pepto and go to bed. Good night, all.
t.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Families
You can't live with 'em...and you can't shoot 'em. Just kidding. Of COURSE you can shoot 'em - you just better have a real good escape route.
I jest. Over the last few months, lots of things have changed in the Fayter-Ronda household. Little things. Things that most people wouldn't even notice on the outside. After a bit more than a year in our humble abode, I can say that we've finally REALLY settled in. While it felt like home from the moment our realtor showed us the little rancher on a corner lot, it's really OURS now. (Well, not according to Chase, who still demands those pesky mortgage payments every month...but I digress.) After two Christmases, an anniversary, and about five major snow storms, it's safe to say we love it here.
In the three years since Alex and I have been married, dozens of people have asked us when the babies will start coming, and that question popped up only more frequently after we bought the house. People don't seem to accept the fact that we're very happy with what we've got - there's Sydney, of course, who we wish was here more often but who is always here in spirit with her purple bedroom and (ghastly) teeny-bopper posters. Sangha the Neurotic has taken his rightful place on all the windowsills, while Rosie the Nutcase continues to terrorize the very friendly neighbors with her incessant barking and peeing. It's a happy little home we've got here.
So what does THAT have to do with families?
Well, they change a lot. Recently, Alex reunited with his dad and stepmom after some years apart and Syd finally got to meet her "long-lost grandfather" (as she continues to call him). I think we are all quite happy to say that our families got a little larger. And we finally trekked up to see Alex's mom, sister, and nephew over the holidays, after more than a year of only emails (can you tell we're very irresponsible kids?) - I was especially pleased to meet the ten cats and two dogs (because, really, who DOESN'T need more animals in their extended families?).
It made me think about my own family and how good we've got it. I live close to the area where I grew up, having been more than satisfied to settle myself down here and build my career. I see my parents regularly (and I thoroughly enjoy the company of their two rambunctious new pups). Sydney knows my family pretty well by now and seems to have found her place in the brood easily - they love her, she loves them, it's all one big happy family.
It makes me feel bad for people who don't really HAVE families and even worse for people who DO have families but neglect them. I suppose sometimes those folks come around to finding out what's really good in life...but it seems more often than not that they don't. Maybe they prefer to suffer. Maybe they're the type of people who always want what they haven't got.
Or maybe (and this is just a theory), they're the kind of folks who get what they want and find that it isn't enough, that there's still something missing. It's hard not to get angry at people who tend to miss what's right under their noses. They take for granted the people who invite them into their lives and try to make them a part of something bigger - they think, perhaps, that the crackers will always be on the table and the vodka will always flow freely. But it seems to me that human families operate on the same Darwinian principle as every other thing that breathes - it's survival of the fittest. We sometimes forget that in an evolutionary sense, we have to give our families a REASON to let us be part of the pack. For most families, the reason is obvious - we depend on and trust each other to be part of the same support system. It makes sense, then, that once you remove yourself from the support system (intentionally or otherwise), you get squeezed out. No one needs you anymore, and you end up an isolated individual in a world where the collective functions most efficiently. And isn't that a sad story?
In a larger sense, it would appear that the family survives where the individual does not. I'd hate to be that one lone ranger.
More next time, folks...
t.
I jest. Over the last few months, lots of things have changed in the Fayter-Ronda household. Little things. Things that most people wouldn't even notice on the outside. After a bit more than a year in our humble abode, I can say that we've finally REALLY settled in. While it felt like home from the moment our realtor showed us the little rancher on a corner lot, it's really OURS now. (Well, not according to Chase, who still demands those pesky mortgage payments every month...but I digress.) After two Christmases, an anniversary, and about five major snow storms, it's safe to say we love it here.
In the three years since Alex and I have been married, dozens of people have asked us when the babies will start coming, and that question popped up only more frequently after we bought the house. People don't seem to accept the fact that we're very happy with what we've got - there's Sydney, of course, who we wish was here more often but who is always here in spirit with her purple bedroom and (ghastly) teeny-bopper posters. Sangha the Neurotic has taken his rightful place on all the windowsills, while Rosie the Nutcase continues to terrorize the very friendly neighbors with her incessant barking and peeing. It's a happy little home we've got here.
So what does THAT have to do with families?
Well, they change a lot. Recently, Alex reunited with his dad and stepmom after some years apart and Syd finally got to meet her "long-lost grandfather" (as she continues to call him). I think we are all quite happy to say that our families got a little larger. And we finally trekked up to see Alex's mom, sister, and nephew over the holidays, after more than a year of only emails (can you tell we're very irresponsible kids?) - I was especially pleased to meet the ten cats and two dogs (because, really, who DOESN'T need more animals in their extended families?).
It made me think about my own family and how good we've got it. I live close to the area where I grew up, having been more than satisfied to settle myself down here and build my career. I see my parents regularly (and I thoroughly enjoy the company of their two rambunctious new pups). Sydney knows my family pretty well by now and seems to have found her place in the brood easily - they love her, she loves them, it's all one big happy family.
It makes me feel bad for people who don't really HAVE families and even worse for people who DO have families but neglect them. I suppose sometimes those folks come around to finding out what's really good in life...but it seems more often than not that they don't. Maybe they prefer to suffer. Maybe they're the type of people who always want what they haven't got.
Or maybe (and this is just a theory), they're the kind of folks who get what they want and find that it isn't enough, that there's still something missing. It's hard not to get angry at people who tend to miss what's right under their noses. They take for granted the people who invite them into their lives and try to make them a part of something bigger - they think, perhaps, that the crackers will always be on the table and the vodka will always flow freely. But it seems to me that human families operate on the same Darwinian principle as every other thing that breathes - it's survival of the fittest. We sometimes forget that in an evolutionary sense, we have to give our families a REASON to let us be part of the pack. For most families, the reason is obvious - we depend on and trust each other to be part of the same support system. It makes sense, then, that once you remove yourself from the support system (intentionally or otherwise), you get squeezed out. No one needs you anymore, and you end up an isolated individual in a world where the collective functions most efficiently. And isn't that a sad story?
In a larger sense, it would appear that the family survives where the individual does not. I'd hate to be that one lone ranger.
More next time, folks...
t.
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