ratemystudent.com? A Grand Idea.

A few days ago at work I had to give a training session for new volunteers for our exhibit featuring tarantulas. I know, pretty much every job has this training session, yes? Which is probably why this volunteer gave me a 4/5 on the training evaluation. She's probably seen better.

Wait.

Not so.

This girl - who is like 16, has probably NEVER been to a "survey of tarantulas" training in her life. (who has?)

(well, me. But I'm the exception not the rule)

(by the way - my training was WAY better than any I have attended NOT instructed by me.)

Everyone else gave me a 5/5 because I'm great. Not this chick. Apparently she could have been a little more impressed with the instructor's knowledge.

I called my friend Lindsey to vent. I was hoping she'd make me feel better and she delivered like dominoes!

She works at NYU and has the standard, official class surveys at the end of a semester.

But she also has to deal with the dreaded ratemyprofessor.com

This website is absolutely absurd. Why? Because there's a "hotness meter"

How hot is your professor? This is ridiculous.

Of course we all like having super sexy professors so we can fantasize about sleeping our way to an A+ (just me?) but who needs this information?

This totally makes me feel better about my 4 out of 5 - but it also gives my warped mind ideas.

Like . . .

Before I realized this I thought: I should make my own survey on them and grade them as instructees.

Afterwards I thought: I should still do this AND include my opinion on how hot they were.

By the way - in case you were wondering - this volunteer (who was anonymous) seemed intellectually retarded and has a unibrow and b.o. I would not recommend her as a student.

If the Devil Wears Prada, Jesus should too

Hello. My name is Chad. And I'm addicted to incredible footwear.

I'm not saying I'm a shoe whore like my dear friend Matt.

I am - but that's not what I'm saying. My shoe issue (I get points for NOT saying is-shoe, like I really really wanted to) is that a measurable portion of my life revolves around shoes.

Shoes make me feel happy. Shoes can make me feel sad. Most importantly: shoes help me see how douch-like the folks I encounter daily are.

Once again I should mention my thoughts on flip-flops. If you have a nice pair, wear them. Wear them sparingly though. Wear them when appropriate. Volleyball game? Yes. Picnic in the park? Yes. To a job interview at the bank? No.

Also - by "nice" pair of flip flops I mean they MUST be made of natural fibers. No foam. No rubber. If you got your flip flops out of a bin for $2.99 - you should probably kill yourself before I do because I will make it slow.

I feel now is a good time to relate a story.

Picture it: Last week I was helping my soon-to-be brother-in-law move some furniture. My sister and I were the best dressed in the storage compound (not a difficult feat). Davey? was wearing flip flops.

Chad: Hey Davey. I'm glad to see you're wearing your heavy duty flip flops to move furniture.
Davey: Hey. Jesus wore sandals and he moved furniture. He MADE furniture!
Chelsea: Jesus wore sandals. Not flip flops.
Davey: Flip flops ARE sandals!
Chad: Not Jesus sandals. Jesus didn't get his shoes out of a bin at Payless.
Chelsea: Jesus probably had a woven leather sandal. Maybe with a sling back.
Chad: A "mandal" if you will.
Chelsea. Right.
Chad: I don't like mandals either. But who am I to judge?
Chelsea: You're a good person to not judge Jesus.
Chad: Thank you. I am.
Davey: ???

Haha. You can tell Chelsea and I are related. You can also tell that Davey will probably be eaten alive by us within a year.

I should probably confess to something right now. Because Matt is a huge shoe whore I have discovered that when I want to buy shoes I can buy them for Matt. That way I get the thrill of shopping/trying on without the whole selfish feeling/buyers remorse problem! (Also - I know that if Matt should die in an industrial, mannequin-making accident before I can give him shoes, I get to keep!)

These? Are what I got Matt for his birthday.

Now can you see why its a confession?

But I love Love LOVE them!!

The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

So convinced, Kermit the frog is, that someday he'll find it - the rainbow connection - that he sings about it with banjo accompaniment.

That's pretty much how I feel right now. Only replace rainbow connection with the reason why John Paul hates me . . .

John Paul is this (fat) guy I kind of work with. I work in curatorial. He works in education. We don't have to deal with each other much but we do have to interact from time to time.

We used to be tight. "Buds" if you will. Then a few weeks ago for no reason known to me - he hates me.

Step 1: Confrontation.

Chad: What the hell is your problem John Paul?!

John Paul: (Rolling. His. EYES!!) You're too sensitive.

Then this jerk off turns and walks away from me.

Later . . .

I walked into one of our back rooms to find a fellow zookeeper and a 13 YEAR OLD volunteer with looks on their face that can only be described as "I just walked in on my grandmother whipping my grandfather while he was wearing a gimp mask."

NOW, I recognize the look as "Chad just opened the door just as John Paul (who is now behind the door) called Chad a fucking cunt."

Step 2: Tattle Tale on John Paul to my boss.

Chad: I don't know what his problem is - but that is absolutely uncalled for in front of a sweet 13 year old volunteer.

Mary Ann: I agree. I'll talk to him. Meanwhile just don't do anything to antagonize him.

Chad: Of course I won't!

Mary Ann: . . .

Chad: What?!

Mary Ann: Didn't you just describe him as "Jell-O with a belt"

Chad: Not to his face

Mary Ann: You did it over the loudspeaker.

Chad: . . .

Mary Ann: . . .

Chad: Well, when he sits down its takes five minutes for the whole mess to settle.

Mary Ann: . . .

Chad: Since when is his weight problem MY fault?!

Step 2 (Part 2): Tattle Tale on John Paul to his boss.

(I should mention that this was a completely normal circumstance and I acted the way I'm expected to.)( I should also point out that if I weren't pissed at John Paul I would have utterly overlooked the following.)

Chad: Hey Marcos. It's not that big of a deal. But whoever (John Paul) worked in the exhibit the past week hasn't been returning the animals. Not just that - they've been locked up and the key is missing. Whoever worked (again, John Paul) must have taken it home on accident. 5 nights in a row. I'm sure their fine - but they need food and water. . .

Marcos: HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN LOCKED UP??

Chad: About a week. I don't want to get anyone in trouble (pfft. Haha.) but I just want to make sure their okay.

Marcos: I'll take care of it.

Step 3: Denial of Cake.

My work just had its 15th Anniversary carnival. It came with games, events, bouncy castles and enough leftover cake to play soccer on. (Mmmmmm!!!) Now we all scuttle off to the breakroom for our secret stash of cheap, sugary sheet cake.

Mary Ann: Should we go tell John Paul we have cake up here?

Chad: No. He probably wouldn't want any. I think he's on a diet. And I for one think he looks great!

Marcos: Didn't you just say that they shove him through the Eisenhower tunnel once a month to clean it?

Chad: . . .

Mary Ann: . . .

Marcos: . . .

What? If the prick's gonna hate me I may as well give him good reason :)

Pizza + Cake + Cotton Candy = Speeches That Write Themselves

Jen Lancaster, one of my favorite authors, likes to put things into timeline form. So because I feel that it is the BEST way to portray this blog entry - I'm totally swiping her style for a moment.

May: My curator at work asked if I would be willing to be a guest speaker at the grand opening of a new sustainable library (I don't know what makes a library "sustainable". Aren't all libraries? They're based on the principle of reuse, after all) Anyway. My topic? Beekeeping.

I say yes.

June: I briefly wonder "when is that speech? I should find out so I can work on it." I then put it out of my mind so I can focus on other things. Things like someone should create a bread bowl out of donut and fill it with pudding! Mmmmmmm. pudding filled donut bowl. :)

July 7: At my staff meeting (you remember: the one where they read The Lorax to us?) It is mentioned that I am giving a presentation on beekeeping on Saturday the 10th. Shit. The 10th of JULY? As in . . . 3 days from now? Shit.

July 8: I am REALLY going to write my speech . . . after I finish helping my sister move. And do laundry. And watch Psycho. And procure an apartment in Germany for September. And pass out at Martha's house after eating 6 pounds of buttered noodles.

July 9: I NEED to write my speech.

9:00 am: But first I promised Chelsea I'd help organize to make room for the stuff we had moved the day before.

3:00 pm: I also need to try to fix Chelsea's garage door (unsuccessfully)

4:00 pm: . . . and work on my Volkswagen (UNSUCCESSFULLY) and have a small breakdown.

7:00 pm: Drive to Boulder with Zahra to drop off Ophelia, the tarantula I've been babysitting while her awesome tattoo artist mommy is out of town. Awesome tattoo artist mommy got me a spider totem necklace. Squeee!!! Bad mood - going away! Squeee^2!!!

8:30 pm: Call Matt to apologize for his having to deal with my small breakdown.

8:32 pm: Matt didn't answer. Call Lindsey to tell her that I'm a shit for unleashing my misdirected fury at poor Matty.

8:35 pm: Move on to a detailed description of the hobbit across the alley from me who is sitting at his computer naked (except for a pair of very large glasses and VERY unkempt body hair) with the blinds wide open.

11:00 pm: I've opened my notebook. Step one!

11:01 pm: Decide I need some background noise. Cabaret is appropriate. It takes place in Berlin, which will inspire me to get all my stuff done before I leave in 2 months.

1:00 pm: Go to bed. After watching Cabaret and not writing down a single thing. I'll do it at work tomorrow . . .

July 10, 8:36 am: show up late to work. No one really notices (cares) because we have our 15th Anniversary carnival all weekend.

11:00 am: Eat blue cotton candy.

11:30 pm: Eat two pieces of pizza

12:00 pm: Eat chocolate cake

12:30 pm: Breed tarantulas

1:00 pm: Eat two more pieces of pizza

1:05 - 3:00 pm: food coma.

3:00 pm: cockroach races.

3:45 pm: one hour until my presentation. Scramble to write an outline of honey bee facts I already know well

4:00 pm: Leave for library opening.

4:45 pm: Give my half hour presentation. (It was OUTSTANDING, by the way)(My audience was something like 10 people)(I knew 3 of them)(Still OUTSTANDING)

5:30 pm: Try to escape super creepy ginger little man who is pestering me with his questions and telling me that he'll see me again. Yeah, stalking is illegal in all 50 states sir. What am I? Some novice apiarist whore? Sure. But I still have standards.

5:50 pm: Call Matty to tell him how amazing I am with my public speaking skills. He laughs at me when he finds out the size of my public. I let him because I was a douche yesterday.

6:00 pm: Decide to blog about my procrastination skills.

6:01 pm: Decide to actively ignore the irony that I was right on top of writing about my procrastination skills.

Movie Review: Eclipse

Gina cajoled me into seeing the newest installment in the Twilight series "Eclipse" a couple of days ago. I reminded her that not too many husbands would sit through two hours of hormone-infused teenage romance blather, and that she should be pretty lucky.

The movie drones on about how mouth-breathing Kristen Stuart wants to become a vampire at graduation and her pasty vampire boyfriend will then have sex with her (with, I assume an ice-cold ding-a-ling). Tempers flare when werewolf other boyfriend Taylor Lautner (cromagnon man)tries to put the moves on bland, whitebread Kristen Stuart.

But wait! There so happens to be a vampire army (more like zombies) being assembled, up in Seattle. Beware of Dakota Fanning! She is a tiny carb-faced Darth Vader-type vampire!

Bella kisses the wolf man and the vampire. Why is anyone fighting over dumpy Kristen Stuart anyway? She practically has Rickets from living in the sun-less Pacific Northwest.

Can I have that two hours of my life back?

Go Team Victoria! Whoo!

Chad's All Staff Meeting

I had a meeting at work today . . .

Our meetings are good because they give me time to reflect and brainstorm. Unfortunately, my brainstorms are all in my head and have nothing to do with meeting topics. Rather - they are a way to pass the time without A) falling asleep B) Getting nasty cases of "church giggles" and C) keep me from blurting out my opinions that are generally not considered to be "constructive" by the rest of the staff.

I would feel bad about not really paying attention . . . but . . . well, our meetings go something like this:

Today I showed up at 7:30 am so that Marcos could get us all motivated towards efforts in conservation. Which most of us already are. While I've spent 2 days trying to procure 2 critically endangered species for breeding - administration has been cooking up their own methods of conservation.

It involves Marcos reading Dr. Suess' The Lorax. Like we're in elementary school.

I love the story SO much and Marcos did a very good job of reading - but do I really need to be here at this ungodly hour for this?

I started texting Matt, but figured he wouldn't believe that my meetings are really this bizarre - so you bet your ass I took pictures!

Around the time the Lorax began speaking for the trees I decided to read the online news from my phone.

It seems that Leslie Van Houten - one of the members of the Manson Family - was just denied parole for like the 20th time (Why do they even bother?!)

With my (forced) downtime I imagined a more fair/entertaining punishment for people like those crazy Mansons. But before I tell you my idea I have to give you a little info on Karen - a coworker of mine.

Karen is hysterical and sassy and I like her.

What I don't like is how Karen shares WAYYYYY too much and is very detail oriented. I don't need to hear about Karen's pot smoking kids, her impotent husband, etc.

But because she's my friend I bite the bullet and pray that I have the strength to survive her personal accounts.

NOW for my hilarious punishment!

I imagine sticking Leslie Van Houten in a sealed room with no doors, windows, vents, whatever. The only other thing in the room is an assortment of potential weapons. Not guns and knives (that's too easy - we're talking punishment people) - I'm talking hacksaws and reams of barbed wire. Maybe some flasks of various strong acids.

Then, through a surround sound speaker system - pipe in a looped recording of Karen describing her latest uterus scraping procedure. (trust me. She has HOURS of material with that one)

Then the general population could watch and enjoy via the monitor that could be mounted from the ceiling! There would probably be bets and pools going on as to how long Leslie lasts or what weapon she decides to use.

It would pretty much be like the super bowl except I would totally watch this.

Ahhhhh . . . good times.

Time to tune back into the meeting? Maybe Marcos is done . . .

Nope.

Remember: "UNLESS someone like you cares an awful whole lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not."