I'm small, not stupid

I love writing when I’m upset. So why not take advantage of the situation....
Yes, I’m upset. Big time.
Who wouldn’t be when his/her boss is only paying 7 hours out of 25.

First I didn’t understand what was going on. On the desk were a pile of invoices of the temp-agency (through which I have my contracts), a calculator, and the overviews of the lessons I have given the past 2 months. It’s no secret that I’m really bad with numbers, but that I have a great 6th sense. I knew something wasn’t kosher, I just didn’t get what. So I asked again and again to walk me through the numbers. Finally I got it: because he claims that the temp-agency is asking him too much money in their invoices, he won’t pay me the last week of August. Of course he didn’t say this, but that was what it came down to. And when he finally realised I wasn’t stupid (don’t tell ME what there has to be in an employment contract for God’s sake, I made hundreds of them), and I bluntly confronted him with the bare facts (“So you’re not paying me for hours I actually worked?!”), he said “well, um, yes, that’s it”.

Now get ready for a “premiere”. I said: “sorry, I don’t agree with that” – something I’ve never said to a boss before (actually, I did, once, but only after he had fired me). The discussion went on for 30 more minutes, but I refused to give in. I seriously thought: if he doesn’t agree to pay me, I’m out of here by Friday. In the end, I guess he got tired of my thorough HR legislation-knowledge, and he gave in.
You could say I won, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Do I want to continue working for someone who treats his teachers like that? It’s not the first “weird” thing that has happened these last few weeks. And then I’m not even talking about the loads of gossip I hear about him, but that I’ve always ignored and thought of as exaggerated – up until now.

It’s becoming a repetitive story in my life. People think for some reason that I’m an easy target (sweet, small, kind, etc), and when they realise I’m not, they are clearly not prepared for that. Resulting in:
- even nastier behaviour and dirt-throwing behind my back
- pushing me to the point where they can finally say “see, she’s weak and sensitive – I was right”
- firing me ‘cause I don’t turn out to be the puppet they took me for
- and now: not paying me for my work.
God only knows what will be next.
I just know that I’m fed up with it. Maybe I should go for short black hair and a black leather outfit. Bye-bye blond curls and flowery shirt. And instead of saving up for a Vespa, I should immediately go for the big, bad Harley. Start getting scared.

Go-Go Gadget!

If you grew up in the Eighties, you know Inspector Gadget. “Gadget Copter!” and a helicopter would come out of his hat. “Gadget Lasso!” and his tie transformed into a lasso. “Gadget phone!” and an antenna popped out of his finger. And so on. More than 20 years later, I still remember the begin tune.
Nowadays, “Inspector Gadget” is German. He lives in Brussels, and happens to be a good friend of ours. He has 1 remote control that controls...well, everything in the house (the next step is probably that it becomes voice-activated). He has at least four hard-disks, with more DVD’s on them than you can find in your average DVD rent-out. There are I-don’t-know-how-many speakers that provide a dolby-suround-THX- movietheater-sound experience. The lamps dim when you touch them. He has a movie-screen + projector. His peppermill is a flashlight at the same time. And believe me, that’s not the only cool thing in the kitchen.
Every time we visit, the same thing happens. The boys start drooling over everything related to film and music they see in the living room, while the girls throw envious looks at all these funky cooking appliances.
All the above makes that every dinner party over there is a real success. The food is always great (home-made Ben&Jerry’s anyone?), the gadgets are always a fun discussion topic (No honey, we really don’t need that at our home as well), watching a film becomes a real experience (popcorn included), and every time there’s the question : will there be a cool, new gadget that we haven’t seen yet? (Mostly: yes.).
It’s really just a matter of years before we can visit him just by saying “M, beam me up!”.

I'm the teacher

I finally found an aspect of my job that I really don’t like.
It’s saying goodbye to students. Sometimes you just “connect” with them, you spend hours together, and then, suddenly, they’re gone. Went home. Moved to another country. Finished the course. I try to stay professional about it, safely in my role, but what I really want to do is give them a good hug, have dinner together and plan our next get-together.
Maybe I’m being a bit transparent during my lessons when I try to convince them to “just take that job in Belgium, even if the salary is no good”... or when I already try to book their next lessons in one year, when they’re visiting the Belgian part of the family again. I make it sound like a joke, but actually I really mean it.
So you’ve heard me, right? You there, yes *you*: you’re not moving anywhere. And you two, yes, I’m talking to *you*, you’d better visit your family again very soon.
And since I’m the teacher, you’ll all just have to listen to me and do as I say. There.

Somewhere over the rainbow...

Yesterday evening, view from my living room. Isn’t it amazing?
I took more than 10 pictures of it, and kept watching until it disappeared. If you look closely, you’ll see that there’s even a second rainbow (reflection of the first one). I was so full of it, I even made a Facebook status of it. With different reactions:
- “Go on a search for the pot of gold.” Did it. In vain. As usual.
- “Every time there’s a rainbow, God kills a leprechaun.” What??! I’ve never heard of that one!
- “And somewhere over it, dreams come true”. That one has to be right though, ‘cause on this side, not much is happening.

About...

Summer appears to be “not good for writing”. The blogs I read seem to be deserted, and yours truly is not exactly in writing-mode either. However, seeing my reader-count go do down to unknown depths, I thought it was time for some action.
Right.
Ummm.
Hm.
I don’t want to bother you again with: our failing wedding-planning, my mom’s cancer, my love for the job, our noisy neighbours Beavis & Butthead, my insomnia, or other recurring themes.

So...something totally new today : Goji berries!
While these little red berries appear to be the hit in the UK and the US, they are still largely unknown in Belgium. Unless you have a colleague who’s into bio-, and even macrobiotic food. The guy started teaching at our school two weeks ago. By now, everybody has switched from black teabags to loose green tea leafs during the break. And everybody is munching Goji berries. After classes, we do our grocery shopping in the nearby “bio-shop”. Ok, I might be exaggerating a bit – but let’s just say there’s a small “health-wave” hitting our teachers’ room.
The Goji berries promise heaven on earth: you’ll get happier, you’ll live longer, you’ll be protected against a list of diseases, you’ll sleep better, and you’ll even loose weight. I did some research online – and apparently the little berries do contain loads of antioxidants, vitamins, etc. As from last week, a handful of them go into my cornflakes every morning. I’m still waiting for the spontaneous weight loss to kick in.
Anyway, so far my writing-contribution of the day. I know, I know: it’s not an outstanding literary achievement and it won’t make this blog into an overnight hit, but at least: I’ve posted something. And I’ve convinced you to start eating Goji-berries.
(Did I?)

A French afternoon

Sooo, I’ve been engaged for five months. We’re three-four months from our “ideal” wedding date, and we have (drum rolls).......NOTHING.
I thought the deal would be closed last week, and that we had a venue. Finally. But no. It didn’t happen. Then I thought it would definitely happen today – as P went over there to discuss the details of the contract. But no. It didn’t happen. As a matter of fact, it seems farther away than ever. The options I had taken on other venues are expired by now.
Instead of bursting out in tears on the metro while talking to P on the phone, I decided to do the only reasonable thing: eat and drink. So I went to the deli, bought five different French cheeses, a freshly baked baguette, and a small bottle of wine. By now, I’ve eaten and drunken most of it – and the heat on my terrace is making sure that the alcohol is doing its job. Even to the degree that I write about it on my blog.
Anyway, I’ve got different options at this moment (besides getting drunk and overdosed on French cheese)
a) I can cry my eyes out, convinced that my dream is never going to happen
b) I can get mad at P for never taking decisions, and always waiting until it’s (almost) too late
c) I can say “Fuck it”, and drink some more
Right now, all the votes (right and left hand) are in favour of option C.
Cheers!

What's the deal with pigs today?

I dreamed the entire night about piglets (who had lost their mom, and I had to take care of them)
I checked my favourite website Cute Overload this morning, and was greeted by the picture you see above this post.
I opened my weekly magazine when I came home from work, only to find a weird article about pigs on some beach in the Bahamas.
All this while I have a nice little headache, feel very tired, and just got back from Mexico.
Just to be on the safe side, I’ll go wash my hands once more, and take some extra vitamin C....