No hablas Espanol

Today I experiened one of my greatest failures as a teacher.

My English classes are very large--the largest has 39 students and the smallest has 31. That's a lot of kids. Needless to say, I'm still learning names and putting personalities with people. The desks in my class are arranged in a T position and the kids on the outside sit near the wall. Most of my students are friendly, warm, excited and ready to get started. Most of them participate on a regular basis. Most of them smile and are really happy about being in the 8th grade.

My classroom is the epitome of multiculturalism. It's like the United Nations had a convention and forgot to tell me that I would be the speaker. Let me break down for you the ethnic backgrounds in my classes: (in no particular order)

Jewish
African-American
White
1/2 African American, 1/2 White
1/2 Philipino, 1/2 Black
1/2 Hawaiian 1/2 Black
Hawaiian
Cuban
Brazilian
Columbian
Puerto Rican
Mexican
Indian
Asian
Native American
Irish
New Yorkian

That's what I remember off of the top of my head. I'm sure there are more. Anyhow, for the most part I absolutely love it. My classes are teeming with ethnic diversity; I feel like I'm becoming a better person because I'm working with so many different kinds of people.

So why do I feel like a failure?

Today, (keep in mind that school has been in session since Monday) I gave my kids their first quiz. It was fairly simple and only 10 short questions. All of the questions we had been going over since Monday. I knew that all of my kids would get an A. I passed out the papers and sighed contentedly.

Then, a small hand raised tentatively in the air. A little boy was trying to get my attention. I recognized him (having seen him all week) and what I remembered was that he was very quiet in class. I quickly walked to his desk to address his concerns. When I got to his desk, he looked up at me:

"I no speak English." Silence.

I said something back (in English, mind you because I speak no Spanish. This was not helpful, because he looked back at me again and said "I no speak English.")

How had I let and entire week go by without recognizing that this child does not speak English in an ENGLISH class? How am I supposed to teach this child English when he knows NONE of the langauge? I am already planning to have my students analyzing writing and begin writing narratives in two weeks! I'm very frustrated and also a bit sad. It makes me feel horrible to know that there is a child in my class that is perpetually lost and confused.

The irony is, the only Spanish I know is: No hablas Espanol.

So at least we can tell each other we can't talk to each other.

Anyone with any suggestions, please share.

*M*

Again, this picture has nothing to do with this post. I just like it. Hey Tam!

I am not afraid of spiders.

Or so I thought.

Until today, when a creature which goes by the title "wolf spider" crawled its way inside my classroom.

Now, those of you who know me know that I do not suffer from arachnaephobia (fear of spiders), but I instead suffer from ornithophobia (fear of birds). Nothing sends me shrieking in fear faster than a death-ray flying rat pidgeon swooping from the sky with murder gleaming in its red, sinister little eye. The occasional arachnid don't bother me. I've even been known to keep a few around my basement or other spots in my house so they can kill beetles or other creepy-crawlies that I"m not fond of. I was the kid that never understood Little Miss Muffet and mourned amongside Wilbur for Charlotte.

Until today.

Today, I was confronted with the largest, harriest, creepiest spider I've ever seen: I was confronted by a wolf spider--so named because of the stealth and speed it uses to capture and attack its prey. It spits venom, and though not poisonous to humans, it can cause rashes, hives, extreme itching and, evidently, paralysis.

When I saw it crawling along the wall, my first thought was "Ok, don't react. You'll scare the kids. Nothing is worse than a pack of scared kids." When I saw it crawling toward me, my next thought was "Screw that and the kids!" I shrieked. EEEEEIIIIIIAAAAAHHHHH! WHAT IS THAT?!" *A Note to all of my friends who are pursuing education: ALWAYS stick to your first thought and NEVER scare the kids. Pandemonium WILL ensue*

Of course, pandemonium ensued. Luckily this class is small (15 kids) and most of them kept their wits about them as one of the girls (neither of the boys, mind you) ran up, peered down and said nonchantly "Oh, that's just a wolf spider."

"WHAT is a WOLF spider?!" I shrieked as my feet were propped up in the air as my butt was planted firmly on a seat.

"Oh, it's nothing Ms. Daughtery. Don't you all have those in Michigan?" this petite, 5'0 chubby-cheeked girl looked back and asked. "My dad's an exterminator. We have tons of these here."

I felt like saying "Hell no we don't have wolf spiders in Michigan. We have Vernors, Sanders hot fudge, Faygo, the occasional fox, a few bunnies and garbage seeking raccoons. We have mice which grow into gutter rats. We have hennessey. We have trees and grass. We have the gun-toting Militia. We have craps games in alleys and the largest import-export weave system in the entire United States. We most definitely do NOT have spiders that are named after wolves. " But, I held my sarcasm and just said "No."

She sighed. She killed it. I swear I saw green gas puff out of its body as it exhaled its last breath. The lesson continued.

For my friends who think I exaggerate everything, take a careful look at the picture. Would you want THAT coming at you, poised and ready to attack?

This should be titled "8th grade girl saves teacher from hairy, massive, sprinting, people eating, venom-spitting, spittle-dribbling, paralysis-inflicting, though-not-deadly, spider."

Middle School

It's like a glitter factory exploded inside of a melting Crayola farm.

Middle school children are an interesting bunch. First, they have absolutely no sense of fashion--but they all think they do so it's kind of cute. The girls are my favorite. Today I've seen an array of colors coming in all imaginable directions. The best is the shoddy Wet & Wild 8th grade make-up. Everything glitters and shimmers and dazzles. Now, my friends know that I love a bit of shimmer in my make -up. I wear a bronzer all year round. But, 8th grade girls take it to a whole new level.

The First Day

I feel like I've been hit by a Mack Truck.

My body is sore, my joints ache, my eyes and feet are swollen. Teaching.

2007 or 1957? The Jena Six

I don't know how many of you know about the Jena Six. And, because I am absolutely disgusted by the treatment of these students, I am actually at a loss for words right now. This gets little air time, but Michael Vick, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Ritchie get unlimited free coverage? This is so backwards. PLEASE take 2 minutes to visit at least one of the following sites.

Tuesday, July 10th, 2007
The Case of the Jena Six: Black High School Students Charged with Attempted Murder for Schoolyard Fight After Nooses Are Hung from Tree
http://www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=07/07/10/1413220

http://www.naacp.org/splashjena.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=za4B4KhIVTE

http://www.petitiononline.com/aZ51CqmR/petition.html

http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/opinion/324177_amygoodman19.html

NAACP SUPPORTS THE PEOPLE OF JENA
THE ACTION WE NEED YOU TO TAKE:

Sign the Petition:
Donate online to the: Jena 6 Defense Fund OR Mail donations to: Jena 6 Defense Committee, P. O. Box 2798, Jena, LA 71342

Make a Phone Call:

Send a letter to the Louisiana Governor and the Louisiana Attorney General:

THE FACTS:
In a small highly segregated rural Louisiana town of Jena in September 2006, a black student asked permission from school administrators to sit under the shade of a tree commonly reserved for the enjoyment of white students. School officials advised the black students to sit wherever they wanted and they did. The next day, three nooses, in the school colors, were hanging from the same tree. The Jena high school principal found that three white students were responsible and recommended expulsion. The white superintendent of schools over-ruled the principal and gave the students a three day suspension, saying that the nooses were “a youthful stunt.” Black students decided to resist and organized a sit-in under the tree to protest the lenient treatment given to the noose-hanging white students.

Racial tensions remained elevated throughout the fall. On Monday, December 4 2006, a white student who allegedly had been racially taunting black students in support of the students who hung the nooses got into a fight with black students.

Allegedly, the white student was taken to the hospital treated, released, reportedly attended a social function later that evening.

As a result of this incident, six black Jena students were arrested and charged with attempted second degree murder. All six were expelled from school. The six charged were: 17-year-old Robert Bailey Junior whose bail was set at $138,000; 17-year-old Theo Shaw - bail $130,000; 18-year-old Carwin Jones--bail $100,000; 17-year-old Bryant Purvis--bail $70,000; 16 year old Mychal Bell, a sophomore in high school who was charged as an adult and for whom bail was set at $90,000; and a still unidentified minor.

On the morning of the trial, the District Attorney reduced the charges from attempted second degree murder to second degree aggravated battery and conspiracy. Aggravated battery in Louisiana law demands the attack be with a dangerous weapon. The prosecutor was allowed to argue to the jury that the tennis shoes worn by Bell could be considered a dangerous weapon.

When the pool of potential jurors was summoned, fifty people appeared, all white. The jury deliberated for less than three hours and found Mychal Bell guilty on the maximum possible charges of aggravated second degree battery and conspiracy. He faces up to a maximum of 22 years in prison.

The rest of the Jena 6 await similar trials. Theodore Shaw is due to go on trial shortly. Mychal Bell is scheduled to be sentenced July 31. If he gets the maximum sentence he will not be out of prison until he is nearly 40.

THE MESSAGE:
As Chairman Julian Bond stated, "This is an American outrage that demonstrates the continuing shame of racial division in our country. Join us in making it one of the last."

In light of the circumstances surrounding Mychal Bell's case, we urge all concerned citizens to support the call for a new trial.

It is unacceptable to selectively enforce the law based on race. Prosecutorial discretion should be used in a fair and equitable manner.

The Jena Six should be tried by juries that reflect the racial and ethnic demographics of Jena, Louisiana.

The hanging of nooses is not a "youthful stunt" or "prank." It is a hate crime. Such hate crimes should not be tolerated at any school. Jena High School must establish a curriculum which promotes cultural sensitivity and understanding.

The NAACP calls on Louisiana Governor Kathleen B. Blanco and Louisiana Attorney General Charles C. Foti to thoroughly investigate and monitor the trials of Mychal Bell, Robert Bailey, Jr., Theo Shaw, Carwin Jones, Bryant Purvis and John Doe. The Governor and State Attorney General should do everything in their power to ensure that these young men's constitutional rights are protected.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS IMPORTANT MATTER!!!

If you have any questions, call Angela Ciccolo at the National Headquarters at (410) 580-5777


*M*

Teacher Heaven?

As many of you know, I moved to Las Vegas to take a new teaching post at a middle school where I was bamboozled into teaching 8th grade English, yearbook, newspaper and, evidently, putting together the parent monthly newsletter. You can imagine that I'm absolutely swamped with work--especially since my most recent teaching background is with 12th grade.

So, (and my teacher friends will comletely understand these next few points) imagine my absolute delight when I got the run down on my new job:

There is NO limit on copies! Unlimited paper supply! No copy code!
The walls are made of a soft material that allows me to staple directly into them! I have spent countless dollars on tape, glue, rubber cement, double sided tape, stickies, and 3M adhesives.
I have almost COMPLETE AUTONOMY in terms of what I teach and how I teach it. I can choose my books, my own writing assignments, my own projects; there are no scripted programs, district mandated pacing charts...
The school is huge and there is a beautiful outdoor courtyard that connects all the wings.
I do not have to walk kids to the bathroom, the lunchroom, their next class... and
I will be given a $200 Visa check card to purchase any materials I need for my classroom.

Teacher heaven, right?

Well, I thought so too...until I opened my classroom door and was confronted with 40 student desks. 40. 40 desks means there will be 40 breathing, talking, bodies that are perpeutally needy and the didjas. I need to go to the bathroom, my mom needs you to call her, I need to see my counselor, I need an extra day, I need, I need, I need. Didja check my paper? Didja give homework? Didja collect that already? Didja, didja, didja...

I stressed. I had a panic attack and felt my throat tighten, my stomach churn, my breathing quicken and my palms glisten. 40?! As I tried to assuage my fears, I said to myself: maybe the custodian just dumped the extra desks in here. So, I went to the office to inquire about who would be moving the extra desks and when he or she would be moving them.

The office laughed. THAT was when I was told that there is absolutely no limit on class size in Las Vegas.
I was hoodwinked. Bamboozled. Led astray. The wool was pulled over my eyes. I was blinded my all the lights, the dazzle, the bling-bling of being able to staple directly into the wall.

40.

*M*

FYI--the picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just like it.

I don't understand justice

Let me review the facts:

Paris Hilton is caught driving on a suspended license--45 days in jail and massive media circus
Lindsay Lohan is caught not once, but 3 times driving drunk and with cocaine AFTER she escapes from her third stab at rehab--1 day in jail
Nicole Ritchie is caught driving the wrong way on the freeway with substanes in her bloodstream--81 minutes in jail

Michael Vick gets caught fighting dogs (not people, dogs)--facing more than a year in prison and being evicted from the NFL.

I don't understand justice. Now, I like dogs. I am particularily fond of uppity poodles. But, I do not understand how dog fighting A) consitutes a federal crime, B) deserves this amount of media attention, and C) is evidently worse than coke, weed, underage drinking and drunk driving. Really. All jokes aside. In all seriousness.

How does this work? Until three days ago, I had only heard Vick's name once or twice. I thought he was heir to the Johnson and Johnson vapor rub fortune. I do not follow football; I"m a fairweather fan. But, when I heard this story I thought "hmmm. that's bad, he got caught letting dogs eat each other" Then the thought truly was dismissed from my mind. I felt bad for the dogs, but I figure: people hunt, I eat meat, animals die.

Let me share with you some things that really deserve immediate and extensive media, if not legal attention:

A five year old Iraqi boy is set on fire by insurgents and is burned beyond recognition;
Texas man puts two-year-old in dryer for punishment;
The UN estimates that more than 450,000 people have been murdered in Sudan by the Janjaweed, an insurgent group;
In India, latest estimates indicate that more than 5,000 brides die each year because their dowries are "insufficient;"
Israel turns away Sudanese refugees;
More than 1 million children are forced into child prositution each year;
Crazy ruler of North Korea believes he is the direct son of God and continues to develop nuclear weapons that could, quite literally, blow us all off of the face of earth and into oblivion;
Massive hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, dust storms, gnats, and a plauge of locusts carrying West Nile, threaten to also, quite literally, annihilate us all (thanks Hummers, F150s, Coal mines, nuclear power plants and hairspray!)
Polar bears have nowhere to live, nothing to eat and are turning yellow because the temperate in the North Pole is high enough to melt thousand year old ice caps;
Dedicated teacher gets robbed of books in car;
And though we know the baby's daddy, we STILL don't know who or what killed Anna Nicole and her son...

And we're concerned with dogs? I don't get it.

Animal people, like I said: I like dogs. I don't particularly agree with Michael Vick; quite frankly I don't really care.

How much longer are we going to be bedazzled by the tricks, flash and dance of the right hand and ignore the dealings of the left?

*M*

Rice Pudding (recipe attached--especially for my aunt Julie)

When I first went grocery shopping, I bought staples: brown rice, whole wheat pasta, whole wheat bread, peanut butter, jelly, etc. You know the rest. I bought things that would have a long shelf life and that would make and keep me full. And, thus far, they have.

What I did not factor in the plan was that eventually even the best trooper would tire of the same foods. There are only so many nights one can eat brown rice (1 pot is WAY too much for 1 person) and stewed tomatoes. After a while the repetition gets nauseating.

So today, as I was looking at my nemesis, the pot of cooked brown rice from last week, I decided to conquer it: Rice Pudding.

My family knows that I can remix almost any meal. For the past three years, I have been the post-Thanksgiving goddess. By Sunday, the 12-lb leftover turkey carcass is beginning its transformation into an assortment of different meals: From one carcass I can make turkey ala king, turkey tetrazini, two turkey pies and turkey soup. Nothing goes wasted.

I decided to have that same culinary artistic sprit when conquering the rice. However, a few problems were obvious from jump: I was a soldier with no weapon. Though I had rice, I had no sugar, eggs, cinnamon and the only milk I own is soy milk. Back to SuperWalMart.

Anyway, I made this really really good rice pudding. Feel free to use this recipe. It sounds a little strange, and if the heat is too high the eggs may begin to scramble in the pot, but I have convinced myself that this is actually a healthy dessert.

Ingredients:
All the brown rice you have left over from last week
The last corner of soy milk (ideally 1 cup) in the container
3 eggs
1/4 cup Splenda brown sugar
A dash of vanilla
enough cinnamon that your house smells like you've been baking, but not so much that your pudding looks sick

Directions:

Leave the rice in the same pot it's been in for the past week. This will help seal in the flavor. Add a little bit of water if the rice is dry. Heat at a medium temperature until the rice has reached a temperature that you would actually eat.

In a seperate bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar and vanilla. Make sure to break up the eggs completely or you may end up with scrambled egg bits in your pudding (not that bad, but kind of unsettling to look at).

Add the egg mixture to the rice pot. SLOWLY heat to a medium boil and stir constantly with a fork or you WILL end up with scrambled egg bits in your pudding. At this point the pudding will be very runny. Continue stirring. Do not stop stirring or you will end up with burned pudding bits at the bottom of your pot. Add in raisins to taste. The puddng will thicken in about 10 minutes, maybe a little longer or less depeding on how hot your stove is.

Stick fork in pot, pull out a taste. Taste. Wince. Remeber that the pudding is hot and that you have to blow before you taste. Blow. Taste again.

Determine if you want it thicker or not. If you're ok with the current consistency, remove from stove. Pick out scrambled egg bits with fork.

Eat.

~You may also use real milk, whole milk, skim milk, sheep milk, goat milk, powdered milk, or rice milk. You may use real sugar, but if you do use 1/2 cup. ~

*M*

It really is good...no, really.

Everything CANNOT go in the garbage disposal

When I lived in Detroit, I never had a garbage disposal. We just threw away our unused food stuffs and my dad took out the trash. It was a pretty simple process. So you can imagine my suprise and sense of intrigue when I realized that my apartment has a garbage disposal. On my first day, I peeled a grapefrut just so I could dispose of the peels. It was fun.

The fun really hasn't worn off. There is still something very satisfying about the whirrrrr and inevitable crunch that occurs whenever I toss something down the disposal.

Now, I am a reading teacher. The first thing I did was read the book on garbage disposals. I learned that while I could safely dispose of soft foods, fruits, and vegetables, I could not safely dispose of the following: bones, metal bits, hair or rocks. I thought to myself, "hmmm, this should be fairly easy. I left all my bones, metal bits and rocks buried in my yard in Detroit."

So today I cut a cantaloupe. It was really overripe and the rind was soft. I though it was the perfect candidate for the garbage disposal. I was wrong.

About 2/3 of the rind went down the drain. I would hear that satisfying whirrr and the ineveitable crunch would soon follow. Then, something happened. The whirrr was not followed by a crunch. The whirrr was follow by a hiccup then a cough then a choke. After the choke came the slight pause, and then, the garbage disposal belched back everything I had just stuffed down its throat. I jumped back and watched in horror as bits of black, melon and rind spewed forth from what can best be described as the belly of a very sick and incensed beast.

This is easily the most disgusting thing I've seen today. I'll be making a servce request in the morning.

I Need to TESTIFY for a minute

God is GOOD! Ok, so many of you know (or have heard or have read) about my recent financial and car troubles. And, I have felt swamped and discouraged at different spots during this experience (even though for the most part I have enjoyed it immensely) due to various outside forces.

But, in the midst of all random dilemnas, I kept thinking: I prayed about this and my spirit led me here. I KNOW God is not going to leave me out here with no help. I have to admit, that sometimes that was hard to believe, as negative thoughts are easier to entertain sometimes than positive ones. But, I remained positive that God would have my back.

And He has.

Here are a few parts of the car story I left out the first time. The day that my car broke down, I signed up for AAA literally 45 minutes before my car started smoking. There was a AAA vendor in the workshop where I was and I ignored her for most of the day until 5 minutes before she left this nagging feeling that I needed to go ahead and spend the $50 to enroll. So I did.

That same day about 2 hours before my car realized it was a cousin to a dragon and started blowing smoke, I got good news that I would be getting a SUBSTANTIAL advance on my first paycheck if I joined one of the local credit unions. I wanted to wait because I thought that I may need the money later. However, that same nagging feeling kept telling me to sign up and get the cash, just in case. So, I did.

Yesterday, I got the total bill: it was $300 shy of my advance. God is good.

Well, today, the dealership called me back to tell me that one of the technicians had noticed a problem that he had not noticed before. Some part had gotten clogged with oil and water and it had to be fixed. The part and labor for that one piece was priced at a grand additional $900. I almost choked. Ok, I did choke. Then the dealership told me that normally the techs could flush it out, but my mixture of oil and water was so bad that they had been flushing for an hour to no avail. So, I said to him: I need you to keep trying. He said to me: It looks very unlikely. I said to him: I understand what it looks like, but I also know what it has to be. I cannot give you an additonal $900 and this has to work so I need you to keep trying.

We hung up the phone and I prayed. Actually, that's the wrong word. I believed. Ironically, I didn't cry like I've been doing, I didn't go to the bank for an emergency loan, I didn't start begging. I just believed. I just knew it would be fine. I said to myself "God can move mountains, I know He can fix this." Then, I took a nap. I really did.

I awoke to the dealership calling. The technician was, miracuously, able to flush out whatever gunk was clogging whatever ridiculously additional $900 part and my car is ready.

God is Good.

*M*

Hot Oil Treatments

The weather here in LV has been great for my face! My pimles are pretty much gone, leaving behind smooth, supple, clear skin. I'm loving it. However, the air has wreaked havoc on the rest of my skin and my hair. My hair is very dry and I'm afraid that it may start breaking soon so today I decided that I needed a hot oil treatment (H.O.T.).

I've heard from multiple hair dressers that H.O.T.s are great for the hair. So, since my current financial status does not allow for me to go to the hair dresser for that good H.O.T., I decided to do it myself.

First, I washed and conditioned all of my incredibly, incredibly, incredibly thick hair. That was no easy feat. Then, I heated a bottle of oil (no, not like Canola, real hair oil) in some hot water for 1 minute, according to the package directions.

If I were at the hair dresser, this would be the time where he put a plastic cap over my head and sat me under a hot dryer for a nice, relaxing 30 minutes.

However, I think it goes without saying that I am not at the hair dresser. So, I had to modify the routine just slightly.

Instead of a plastic cap, I used one of the multiple plastic grocery bags I have on hand to secure in the heat.

Then, finding a way to infuse my hair with warm, circulating air became a problem. Think, Miah, think. Think think think...

Aha! I live in one of the hottest climates in the continental United States. Finding warm, circulating air should not be a problem. I improvised. The current temperature is registering 104 degrees. That should be hot enough to seal in the hot oil. Then I had to find a way to get the air from the atmosphere to my hair. Aha! My (rental) car.

I tied a scarf over my plastic bag, got in my car, turned off the air conditioner, and drove around for about 30 minutes.

Voila! Immediate hot oil treatment.

*M*

MY car

broke down today.

Just when you thought the story was going to end...

So yesterday, as I was driving home from my workshop, my car started smoking from the hood! Ok, now we have already established that my financial status is, at best, questionable. So I am sure you can imagine the sickness i felt emerge from the pit of my belly when a pillow of gray smoke emanated from the hood of my car.

Ok, I'm woman enough to admit that I cried. I really did. I pulled over on the side of the road and bawled. But, as most of you know, I am a closet cryer so what really happened was more like a half choke-half wimper-half hitct. Then, I called my mom. She promptly told me to stop crying, buck up, and get my self together. So I did. No one can ever say that my mother is a coddler. (I love you mom!)

I began the first of multiple phone calls. First to AAA (who I signed up for literally 45 minutes before my car went kaput). Then to my insurance company (who inquired how my car got from MI to NV). Then to my best friend Alana (who desperately tried to cosole me). Then my sister Maegan (who told me not to worry). And on and on and on.

Now, most of you can relate to the feelings of trepidation that arise when a car breaks down. How much will this cost? How long will it take? Blah blah blah...I had my car towed to PepBoys (note to self: find a REPUTABLE mechanic ASAP) and hoped that this would not be very expenive.

Hope springs eternal--disappointment. It is expensive. The most current estimate is $1400 worth of expensive.

At this point, to keep from crying, I am just laughing. Because one thing I have is faith and another I KNOW is that God will, can and does work it out.

This too shall pass...I'll just be back to PB&J until it does.

*M*

Are you Serious? Another letter to the Better Business Bureau

Last night, Jill and I visited my local 24 hour grocery store. I have never had such a horrific customer service experience. Instead of repeating it, I"m going to copy the letter I'm sending their store headquarters:

M. XXX
XXX
Las Vegas, NV XXXXX

Customer Service Center
Safeway Inc. -- M/S 10501
P.O. BOX 29093
Phoenix, AZ 85038 – 9093

Attn: Safeway Phoenix-BPSC


To Whom It May Concern:

On Saturday, August 18, 2007 a friend and I visited hours the Vons store #392 located at 7530 W. Lake Mead Blvd, Las Vegas, NV 89128 around 1:30 am. In that store, I was confronted with the most horrific display of rudeness and contempt that I have ever experienced from any store—grocery or otherwise. One of the late night cashiers was incredibly rude in his demeanor, attitude, and speech. I am filing a formal complaint with your customer service headquarters and would like to speak with a Vons representative before I file my formal complaint with the Better Business Bureau.

Being new to the area, I am unfamiliar with other grocery stores and was impressed that Vons is open for twenty-four hours. After completing my shopping, my friend and I went to the register where we had to ring a bell and wait for several minutes for a cashier. When he arrived, the first thing I noticed was his demeanor—he rolled his eyes when I asked to apply for a Vons card, he sighed noticeably on several occasions, and he never smiled or welcomed me to the store. When the total bill was calculated, my friend offered to pay for half of my groceries because she wanted to retrieve money from her debit card.

Before I swiped my credit card, I asked the cashier if he could please split the total bill between two payments. At that point, he looked at me, smirked, and said “what, you don’t have enough money on that card to pay for your groceries?” I was shocked and appalled.

For a few more minutes he refused to split the payment between two forms of tender. When he finally split the bill, my friend requested $50 back in cash from the automated system. After requesting the money, he said to her “You can’t get cash at night because the registers do not carry cash. The register, however, had opened on its own and we were looking at the cash. After much discussion, he gave my friend the cash she requested.

At that point, I was disgusted and knew that I wanted to speak to a manager. I told the cashier that I was personally offended and at that point realized that he was not wearing any paraphernalia that would identify him as a Vons employee: he did not have a name tag and he was not wearing a Vons smock. At that point, I asked him for his name; he laughed and said “George.”

I then asked to speak to a manager. “George” informed me that there was no manager on site. I again asked for whoever is responsible for the night crew. He paged another young man who was also not wearing any identifying paraphernalia. I explained what had happened to the second employee and asked him for the cashier’s name. I was told that his name is not George, but Buddy.

My points of contention are as follows: First, it is completely inappropriate for any store employee to ever question the financial status of store guests. Not only was I embarrassed beyond belief because I felt as if I were being personally attacked as an African-American woman, the cashier made it a point to turn to two young Caucasian men behind me and laugh. Second, customer service at store 392 is in a dismal state. Training needs to be severely and immediately overhauled at store 392. Third, neither employee was wearing any identifying paraphernalia. Employees should be required at the bare minimum to wear an accurate nametag. Fourth, late night store policies are not posted. If the store policy dictates that guests cannot get cash back after a certain time, that policy should be posted and so customers are well informed.

If this is the Vons way of conducting business, last night’s experience is my first and my last. As an educated, gainfully employed guest, I refuse to be treated with disgust, contempt, and disdain when I am financially supporting any establishment. I may be reached at XXX-XXX-XXXX or XXX@aol.com.

Thank you,



*M*
PS--the tranny story is coming...I PROMISE

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas (unless it happens with a tranny, a man in gold latex briefs, and a crowd of several hundred people)

More details coming today. Stay tuned!

*M*

A dentist with no probe, a cop with no gun, a circus trainer with no whip

Today I experienced my first real taste of loss and Las Vegas Culture. But, before I get to that, there is an exercise that I want you to humor me with. Close your eyes. Ok, keep them open so you can read this. Pretend that you are a surgeon who is going on a long journey, perhaps to practice overseas. You're not a very smart surgeon, because all that you pack is band-aids. No scapel, no syringe, no anesthesia. Bandaids.

Now pretend you are lawyer who is working on a very high profile case. When you get to court, all you have is a yellow pad. No briefs, no folders, no evidence. A yellow pad.

Now, pretend you are an architect who is building the 8th wonder of the world. When you get to the site, all you have is a pencil. No blueprints, no compass, no protractor. A pencil.

If you have accurately managed to summon the feelings of those three professionals, then you know how stressed and underprepared I feel right now.

When I left my last school, I packed up EVERYTHING I needed for my profession as a teacher--including over $600 of professional books. However, today as I was putting together my classroom, I realized something very important: I have roughly 1000 paperclips, 2000 staples, 3 staplers, 20 binder clips, 25 reams of paper and 600 pencils. No books.

I think my books may still be at Lathrup. This should be fun..

Is this bad? Hell yeah! This is horrible. This is appaling. Simply beastly.

Let's add insult to injury.

Yesterday around 4 pm I checked my mail in my apartment complex and, luckily, I had 2 boxes of books and papers! Just what I had been anxiously waiting for. I put both boxes in the backseat of my car where they were kept company by another box, another package, several CDs and a few DVDs. When I got of my car, I noted that it was a warm 118 degrees so I decided to leave the boxes, full of books mind you, in my car until about 7 pm when it would be decidely cooler.

At 7:00 I went downstairs to my car to retrieve my books. The first thing I noticed was that my car door was open. Curious and confused, I tiptoed to my car in case there was anything trying to get out. The big box, the package, the DVDs and the CDs were still there. The loose change was still there. The emergency $10 in the console was still there. The books? Gone.

So, either some very very smart, intellectual thieves who like to read and are on a quest for knowledge of 7th grade literature stole my books, or some very very stupid, unhappy blokes who were looking for more intriguing booty stole my books.

If you would like to contribute to my book fund (which I desperately need) please let me know.

*M*

Some things NEVER change

So, I have to admit that when I left Detroit and moved to LV, part of me was hoping that my new city would be peppered with debonair, dashing Prince Charmings who would sweep me off of my feet and into blissful oblivion instead of the toads I was used to dealing with in Detroit. I just knew that in this city of bling, there would be men for the pickin', ripe and ready for a cultured, sophisticated (yes, me) woman to charm.

So I went out. On Saturday night, I looked GREAT. My hair had managed to hold out until Monday until it went kaput, I had a nice new dress, good vacation jewerly, freshly pink pale pink paninted toes, my pearls (some of you will laugh at that) and even my SPANX. I was bad. Bangin. Hot. Sizzle. A dime, not a nickel.

And what happened? Nadda. Nil. Zero. Zilch. I chalked it up to beginner's bad luck.

Well tonight I was feeling like I needed to waste a few hours, so after I cooked and ate dinner I tossed on my workout clothes, fully intending to hit the treadmill. On my way there, I got a better idea. I decided to stop by Borders to see if there were any good books on clearance that I could use in my classroom. I looked a complete HOT mess. My hair was very puffy, and though curled, not the easy-breezy-covergirl I am used to. My eyemakeup was smudged and my mascara had left dark marks under my eyes. In short, I was not divadout.

So within five minutes of being in Borders, here comes a goober.

I mean damn.

And he was the prototype for goobers everywhere. Country, with a gold molar. He came in with 2 kids (which I noticed he let wander off while he tried to get his mack daddy on) and one of his goober boys. As I was trying to indulge in a little cultural intellectual stimulation, this fool wants to strike up a conversation. He even asked if he could conversate with me. Goober.

I tried to give him the cold shoulder. But, my Anti-Goober potion must not have been working because this fool KEPT talking. And talking. And talking.

Finally, he went away, leaving me to ponder the evening's events.

Let's follow simple logic: If A, then B.

If I look good,then nothing happens.
If I look hit,then goobers happen.

Can someone please solve the equation so that the end result is that "fine, dashing and charming" happen?

*M*

Finding the Hood

On top of my list of things to do in LV is finding the hood. Now, some of you may be wondering why I would be looking for the hood, especially since I just left one of the biggest hoods in the entire Northern Hemisphere. Detroit, leading the nation in obesity, syphallis and Henessey consumption, is frequently charactized as the hood and, in theory, once one left, he or she would not seek to replace the hoodlike elements found in the city.

One would be wrong. I now live in the suburbs with very few hood like elements--including Black hair dressers.

Many of my girlfriends would agree with me in that any progressive, upwardly mobile Black girl in mainstream America NEEDS (like one needs sustenance) a good hair dresser. For those of us with those tight, lovely, curly locks (read between the line: naps) we may need someone to maintain and tame our hair on a weekly basis. Weaves and braids are an option, but someone still must put them in. And I, as some of you know, are "between stages." Half of my hair is relaxed, half of my hair is pressed, all of it needs immediate attention.

There are not good black hair dressers in my new neighborhood. I'm fairly sure of it, because the only hair salon I've seen around here is called "Angel hair" Ha.

So, I sought to find the hood. I just knew that in the hood I would either find a hair dresser or someone who could point me in the direction of one.

Well, how does one go about finding the hood in a new neighborhood? Well, look for a few telltale signs: the streets will stop having names like "Rock Springs Circle" or "Wilson Avenue North" or "Cheyenne Springs" and will start having names like "D" or "H" or "Martin Luther King Boulevard." When one is really in the heart of the hood, the street names will cease having letters and rely solely on numbers "2nd" or "15th" or "33rd."

Another second good clue is the absence of banks and the upsurge of Check Cashing Centers. When National City is replaced by CashFastNow!, there is a good chance one is near the hood.

A third dead giveaway is the $.99 store. Dollar stores like DollarTree can now be found in practically any neighborhood. However, the $.99 store is a unique to the hood.

A fourth indication is that the number of barbeque joints, poice cars and fire trucks will increase exponentially.

Now, I like the hood. I grew up in the hood. I understand the hood. Though I have seemingly replaced the hood with the burbs (quid pro quo) that does not mean that I have written off the hood. The hood is usually full of interesting, warm and friendly people who can point you to a good church, a good bbq joint and a good hair dresser.

So, today, I took the first step toward finding a hair dresser: I found the hood.

10 Steps to Crashing a Party

This evening I wanted to go out. But, having no money in my budget for partying, I decided that my only option was to find somewhere to crash. I ended up crashing the BEST party I have been to in years: the National Association of Black Journalists party at the Bellagio. NABJ--which I am evidently now a member of--hosted their annual convention in LV this weekend. Below are my sure fire steps to crashing any party, designed especially for the Champagne and Oyster girl who is working with a beer and hotdog budget.

10. Do your research. Find out what events are happening in your city. The web is your BEST friend for this task. If you are in a big city, this should be easy as the city's website may post pertinent information about upcoming conventions. If you are in a smaller city, your options may be limited. I suggest you make a list of the hotels downtown and check their websites or call their front desks to find out who they are hosting in the upcoming weeks.

9. After finding out who is coming, check the organization's website. Most likely the entire schedule will not be posted, but you should have a good idea of the host hotel, and the major events. Most professional organiations will have an opening event, a bunch of workshops, a party and a banquet. You want the party and the banquet because food and libations will be provided.

8, Get the attire for the party you are crashing. Almost any party can be crashed, but you have to look and act the part. For example, when crashing a wedding, wear a nice dress and heels. When crashing a hoedown, wear jeans and boots. When crashing a biker convention, wear something black and tight--preferably leather.

7. Eat a light meal. Light enough that if you get in you still have room for the good food, but if you get denied you are not starving.


6. Get dressed and show up at the event. This takes 2 parts gumption, 2 parts creativity and 6 parts nerve. When you get dressed, make sure to bring a LARGE purse. This will be essential for carrying back goodies: this evening I got a bottle of Toriani Hazlenut syrup for my coffee and several small pots of honey.

5. Find and talk to the people who actually belong at the event. From the people there, get as much information as you can about the event. For instance, ask things like: "are you going to the banquet tomorrow? I can't remember where it is, do you?" or "Hey, do you know if you need tickets for this? I left my convention booklet in the room." or "Dang girl, I left my ID in my other purse. Can I walk in with you?" This evening I found the migrating hoards of black folks and walked with them, talked with them, basically made myself fit in as a journalist.

4. Be friendly and SMILE. Make small talk. Let others lead the conversation and chime in when ONLY wheny you have enough info about the event to make an intelligent comment.

3. When walking to the table where name badges are being checked, walk with LOTS of CONFIDENCE. Remember, you belong here as much as everyone else. (ok, not really, but your dinner can depend on it) Walk right into the ballroom/conference center and only stop if someone asks you to. (The rules for what to do if you get stopped at the door will be coming at a later time).

2. Find out if the bar is cash and carry or open. Find the food tables. Enough said.

1. Scope out at least 2 emergency exits if you have to leave quickly and decide on an alternate name for the evening. I like my middle name and the street I grew up on--I won't forget who I am if I need to give a fake name.

I guarantee you can crash any party with these 10 simple steps. I have crashed parties on Capitol Hill (I really have), wedding, bbqs, family reunions, birthday parties and conventions. I have never been denied access. :)

Tonight I partied with Tom Joyner (he MCeed the event) and Oleta Adams performed! The event was called Chocolate City and there were beautiful flowing fountains of white and dark Godiva chocolate, marshmallows, strawberries, melons, berries, a beautiful (and expensive) cheese spread, etc. When the party music came on, I QUICKLY found other Deltas and Bruhs and had a PHENOMINAL time. This was the best party I've been to in months. I also met some sorors from LV who were at the party.

Oh, I also bought a bed and a mattress. :) My floor days are ending.

Crashing a party- $0.
Drinks- $0
Membership in the NABJ-$0
Partying with Tom Joyner, Jacqui Reid, and Oleta Adams? Priceless.

Tomorrow I will be talking about my field trip to the hood.

*M*

I can afford wine and dessert!!!

I have found the holy grail.

Today I decided that I would like a plant. Trader Joe's had some pretty plants sitting outside their store so on my way inside to purchase it (my plant needs a name, so please make some suggestions) I remembered that Trader Joe's ALWAYS has some snacks on hand for shoppers.

My first snack was a tasty watermelon slice. MMMM, great after being in the Vegas sun for a few hours. Then, as I was meandering toward the check out to purchase my plant, my powers of astute observation kicked in. All the way in the back of the store, in a darkened corner, in front of the wine, was a short, portly, older, smiling gentleman surrounded by about 20 bottles and tiny plastic cups. I had to investigate further.

Wine tasting! 10 reds, 10 whites, 1 beer! All FREE and all UNLIMITED.

Who knew? Evidently in Vegas, the goveror signed a law making it possible for venues to conduct wine tastings on a daily basis. Trader Joes has them every single Friday, Saturday and Sunday and all day.

After tasting the whites, I needed a break before going to the reds so I meandered back around the store. The watermelon display had been changed to a cookie display.

Let me get this straight: fruit, cookies AND libations?

3 guesses where I was for the next hour.

*M*

Getting a Pet

Today I realized that I am utterly and completely alone. This may not bother some, and quite frankly does not terribly bother me, but it is a bit disconcerting--especially since I have always lived with others. In fact, my last residence was coined "Habitat for Humanity" because of the amount of family members who would pop in for a night and stay for four years (namely me, thanks Aunt Linda, Aunt Julie and Contessa). So, as one might expect, to be completely alone poses a bit of a culture shock.

So I decided to get a pet. Preferably a dog, but a cat or even a few cute goldfish would do for the time being.

Upon further investigation, however, I realized a few very important things: pets cost money, $400 deposit and $25 rent each month at my apartment. Pets need to eat on a regular basis and I was told that neither cats nor dor dogs nor goldfish will or can eat PB&J. Pets need a bed, a blanket, their OWN bowl...all things that I am not willing to provide at this juncture of my life. I am also not willing to share my only bowl and only blanket right now eather. Evidently , I am not in the buisness of putting up anoyone right now, be he man or beast.

But the problem of me not having a companion did not go away. So I compromised:

I got a plant.

A very nice plant, but a plant nonetheless. I even got a plant that needs less than I--only the occasional water and sunshine. I got a plant that can do some things for me, should the need arise. My aloe vera plant will provide me with a soothing balm in the event that I get burn or a cut on any part of my body. My plant will breathe in my carbon dioxide and breathe out nice, clean oxygen (thanks 5th grade biology) so I am guaranteed to have fresh air on a daily bais.

So I am no longer alone, I have ready made balm AND unlimited clean air! Who needs a dog?

*M*

The Weather (enough complaining for now)

Last night I moved up the stepladder of life. I slept on an air mattress. Better than the ground...

But enough of my complaints.

The weather here is absolutely beautiful! For the time being, I feel like I live in some sort of a tropical paradise. Even though the temperature is higher, the no humidity thing is wonderful. I have been comfortably warm (not steaming hot) since I have been here. In fact, when I am out making on of my many many many runs to Walmart-Target-Marshalls, I sometimes turn off the air (gets too cold) and roll down the windows (feels just right). The dry heat thing is great for now.

Thec city is flanked on all sides by indescriably beautiful mountains. They seem to rise out of nowhere and extend into everywhere at the same time. One does not question the existence and goodness of God when surrounded with such majesty and beauty.

LV is very different from Detroit. I live approximately 5-10 minutes away from everything. DSW, Borders, BedBath&Beyond are a 1 minute drive away. Target, Walmart and Marshalls are less than 10 minutes away. I have never seen so many restarants (notice I said seen, not eaten in. My current financial constratints restrict me to a strict diet of PB&J and cereal).

The city is actual clean! After coming from Detroit (and I do LOVE my city), I have to admit this was a bit of a culture shock. I figured wth 3 million people, the city would be a sespool of garbage, hyodermic needles, used condoms, and chip bags. However, I was wrong.

Bowls: The Magical Wonderdish

I realized something very very important today: moving is incredibly expensive. I am seriously thinking of moonlighting as a pole dancer...

Anyway, as I was in Target earlier today trying to choose between dishes and an iron, I was able to get both-even though I am on a very tight budget. I just had to change my thought process:

I did not buy a set of dishes. Right now, I do not need a set of dishes. I have nothing to cook and therefore nothing to put it on. However, realizing that food will be coming one day, I decided to be prepared: so I bought a bowl. Why a bowl? Well, ANYTHING can go into a bowl, but not EVERYTHING can go on a plate. Case in point: if I want some soup, I can put it in the bowl but not on the plate. If I want a sandwich, I can cut it in half and put it on a plate, or in a bowl. Bowls can hold anything.

Because I bought the bowl and not the set of plates, I was also able to spring for the iron.

Someone asked me earlier what would happen if I wanted a sandwich to go with my soup. Easy, the soup goes in the bowl and the sandwich goes on the napkins I stole from McDonalds earlier. All foodstuffs are happy.

3 people needed

This evening, as I was driving alone around LV, I realized that I need 3 things: a strong man, an employed man and a woman between 28-33. These three things are essential to my new life. The strong man is necessary because someone needs to move all the heavy crap I am currently lugging around in a rental car. He'll also come in handy as I am dragging boxes up stairs and eventually (though not today) putting together furniture.

The employed man is crucial, well, because I am hungry. My diet is consisting of the following: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, KASHI cereal, yogurt and free pretzels from the bar which I have considered sneaking into my purse. The employed man will be critical because that's how I plan on eating from this point on. Plainly put: I need a date--and a date who supplies dinner.

The woman is necessary because I left all of my good girlfriends (except Alana) in the midwest so I currently have no one to hang out with. Any girl knows girlfriends are priceless and can help weed out the applicants for the two aforementioned positions.

Beds are Overrated

So last night was my first night in LV and it was a rough one. I came to a very astute conclusion, however, around 3:30 am: beds are an overrated component to modern life. I came to this conclusion because I did not have one. While I was cradling my sore, tired, aching body on a scratchy rug and praying that no bugs scampered by, I realized that eventually, no matter how absolutely miserable I was, my body would shut itself down and find sleep. Eventually, it did. Though I woke up sore and weeping for comfort, my body had managed to trick itself into REM stages 1-3. So, beds-overrated. If you're tired enough, you'll find sleep.