linden_jay

So, okay.

Today, the boy was teaching an English as a Second Language class full of International students--basically instead of being immigrants, they're kids who pay to come and learn in Canada for anywhere from a term to a year, to their entire high school program. Some of you may recall that I used to work as a secretary for this program before I got all knocked up. The kids are from all over the globe, and they come in with varying levels of English, and varying levels of understanding of Western culture. This can sometimes get interesting.

Today, he had them in their ESL support block, where they were doing independent stuff, research, and conversation. As long as it's all in English, that's exactly what they're supposed to be doing. And the Academic Husband, he hangs out in the class on his laptop (typing away for Nano, I should add), and answers questions/helps as needed.

So, the kids are spread out all over the room, and the boy who is a Russian Jew from Israel (I'm not really so sure how that one breaks down, but lets just keep going) was having a chat with the Chinese girls, the newest student in the class being a boy from Saudi Arabia who was beside them. And the kids are chatting, and then the Russian Jewish lad (from Israel) puts up his hand, and asks the boy "what is this 'lesbian' mean?"

( You know. As you do. )

So, I haven't talked much about the job that I accidentally got just over a week ago, but what it is that I'm doing is working as a library assistant at an elementary school. I check books out, re-shelve them, help kids find books, help the grade sevens with their knitting (it's a class project, and the teacher found out I could knit and roped me into helping, which is awesome), back up the librarian, and do pretty much everything else she wants. It's easy, but it pays well, and it's nice to be working somewhere that I'm always busy. Way, way too many of the jobs I've had you've had to look busy, even when you have nothing to do. Here, there's always something else I can be doing, which I actually really like.

So today, there was a grade one class in the library, wandering around and choosing books. I was mostly behind the desk checking them out for the kids, but I was ducking out every now and again, suggesting books, reminding the boys that Calvin and Hobbes is awesome, yes, but it doesn't count as a storybook, so they have to pick something else too.

I was back behind the desk again when this little curly-headed, black-haired elf-child came up and stood at the desk and looked at me, all big eyes. I give her my best 'I am a friendly and nice lady' smile.

"Can I help you find something?" She says nothing, just keeps looking at me for another few moments while I nod encouragingly. She leans forward all close and looks up at me again, speaking barely above a whisper.

"I really like your hair."

Jay. Ded. From. Cute. I swear. Ohmygosh.

I think I might be glad I accidentally got this job.

So, the AH's substitute teaching position today?

Dance.

I've been making fun of him since he got the call. Of course, teaching dance for him has turned into letting both classes watch Step Up (which means he has to watch it twice), but still. Poor, poor Lutheran boy, teaching dance. I'm gonna get a LOT of mileage out of this one, I tell ya.

In other news, I'm officially on the on call list for the school district as secretarial relief. And I just got my first posting--a whole week of working in an elementary school library for half a day, each day. I guess I really am going to need to go out tomorrow and buy a pair of shoes. Damn.

I'm still waiting to hear back about the actual job I interviewed for, but they said it would be awhile before I heard back one way or another, so I'm trying to be patient. But in the meantime, sorting books and helping little kids check them out? Sounds good to me, dude.

My mom and I are going on a massive trip to Superstore tonight to build up stuff in my kitchen, which should be totally awesome in that I will then have FOOD. Which probably means I should finish organizing the kitchen-ack!

Two more days until I have internet at my house again. Believe me--I'm counting.

I've been slowly getting the Academic Husband to watch episodes of Supernatural with me... it's taking longer because he's not the mainline an entire season in a day or two type, like I am... he likes to watch one episode, then wait a few days, watch another. Episodic network television is MADE for people like him, I swear... I don't even think he minds hiatuses. He claims it's comic book training... having to wait a whole month for the next GI Joe and Captain America, back when he was a kid. Makes me nutsy.

Anyway--we've made it as far as In My Time of Dying (and don't even get me started on the fact that it took over a week between watching Devil's Trap and watching this--it was on a CLIFFHANGER!) and we were talking about it afterwards, and I was trying to taunt him into watching more episodes by saying 'but we must find out what it is that John whispered in Dean's ear!'

Academic Husband: *in John-voice* "Dean... we really could have afforded cookies all those years."

I only kicked him twice. I think that was restrained.

So, I put my copy of disc one of season one of The West Wing in my computer DVD drive to watch, and the track listing and album cover comes up.

As "Bellydance Surprise... Queen of Flowers".

Oh, it's playing disc one of "The West Wing"... but not according to the track finder-thingie on my WMP.

I have like... no words.

All right- this is the once and for all definitive explanation on how Canadians make iced tea. Forget all that nonsense with putting things out in the sun and tea bags and boiling water and sugar and all that nonsense- THIS is iced tea- in steps, with pictures:

( This is how we do things up North, y'all. Okay, we don't say y'all, but I like it... )

( A bonus for those of you who don't actually know what Smarties are... )

So- my dog Loki doesn't bark. Basically at all- we've worked really hard to train him out of it, because we live in an apartment, he's a big dog, and I don't want to get evicted for noise complaints. Plus, barking dogs make me crazy. The point is- it worked, and if he kind of grumble-barks four times in a week, that's the exception.

He's crated at night, which he loves, and he usually drops off fairly quickly after the Academic Husband goes to bed. Last night, about twenty minutes after they both crash, he barks. LOUD. So I go in, scold him, spritz him with water, and leave the room. Two minutes later, he barks again, bashing his crate around a bit like he's moving. I go back, scold him some more, totally confused, leave. (The AH, btw? Did not wake up once during this whole process). Another few minutes, and he barks AGAIN, even louder. So I go back, trying to find out, is one of the cats taunting him, is something wrong, does he need to go out...

... and I almost step in cat barf. Two piles of it, actually. Just a foot or two beyond Loki's crate.

Seems one of those mean, selfish cats set a treat out for him, just out of reach, and driving him crazy. Wicked teases, taunting him with that nummy smelling- *gags, cleans up cat barf, doesn't hear a peep out of puppy for the rest of the night*

I dread being scheduled to work Wednesdays. Well, I dread Thursdays too... and Friday... pretty much any day that ends in a ‘Y’. But Wednesdays are particularly gruesome if you work at a Famous Players Cinema, because of one thing *cue low ominous music*

( Famous Babies. )

[Cross posted to customers_suck]

So,was at work today, standing on podium, taking tickets and talking to the Academic husband, who had dropped by to visit me, *squishes much*. And this adorable little boy, maybe two years old, definitely not three, comes toddling out of a movie with his older brother and Grandma. Grandma goes to the ladies room, asks older brother to watch little, which, 'course, he doesn't- grabs a magazine and sits down in the chairs to wait for Grandma.

So AH and I are keeping an eye on the wee one, who's just kind of toddling about in the lobby of the theatre, wandering aimlessly... until he sees the huge piece of popcorn that fell out of someone's bag onto the floor.

His eyes light up, and he's barrelling off towards this piece of popcorn like a fat kid on a smartie, and I know how nasty our floors are, so I'm saying, loud as I can, "No, sweetie- YUCK! Don't eat it!" but I'm too far away, and he has no intention of listening to me.

He sits down on the floor, (ew ew ew EW!) because he's not quite mastered leaning down to pick stuff up, slowly picks up the piece of popcorn, almost reverently, carefully gets to his feet, ( cradles it in the palm of his hand like it's something precious... )